A little scene from The High King, when they are spending one or two nights at Caer Cadarn after it has been retaken.
With a sigh, Eilonwy raised her arms to allow the chambermaid to slip the loose sleep shift over her, its warm softness a comfort to her freshly bathed skin.
"If your ladyship will allow me," the young woman, Megwyn, stood with a hair brush in hand and nodded toward the chair.
Sighing, the princess of Llyr ran a hand through her red and gold locks. "I will do it myself Meg, thank you." A year at Dinas Rhydant had made her intimately familiar with the motions of ordering a servant about, but she was still no more fond of it than she had ever been. Snatching up the brush, she settled herself in the chair, and reached over to straighten the small mirror sitting crookedly on a table that passed for a vanity. Though Cantrev Cadiffor was just as rich as any other, and her king more renowned than most, the whole countryside had a decidedly more rustic feel than Mona had. Even the private chambers of Caer Cadarn; which was plainly a fortress first, and a royal residence second.
Eilonwy found she much preferred it.
After a moment's standing in place, Megwyn walked over to where Eilonwy's simple traveling clothes had been delivered by the laundresses. The girl shook them loose from their neat folds, inspected them for some flaw, only to fold them back up again. Eilonwy tried not to get too irritated with the nervous girl. With it's king a widower, Caer Cadarn had no need of proper ladies in waiting, and the hastily appointed serving maid was clearly nervous she would flub the job.
It was still so strange, to have others see you as worthy to give them praise or condemnation as you saw fit. Like you were a rabbit the other rabbits treated like a hunting cat.
Having finished folding the clothes, the girl turned to the sheathed sword leaning in the corner, only to hesitate. Whatever tutoring she'd gotten in the duties of a chambermaid clearly hadn't included the handling of arms.
"You can leave the sword where it is," Eilonwy told her, a little pride creeping into her voice. That might have something to do with the girl's awe of her; you didn't see that many warrior princesses in this day and age.
"Of course milady," Megwyn turned back to her. "I'm sure the castle smiths have well attended you and milord," she nodded toward the wall, where Taran was sleeping in a neighboring room.
Taran's no lord, she thought about correcting, but decided not to. There was something about the assistant pigkeeper that did indeed seem to belong somewhere higher than his station. There always had been, a subtle quality you noticed after a while; but at their reunion Eilonwy thought it had grown far more noticeable. Nobility was supposed to look something like wisdom, she supposed, and Taran seemed to have acquired more of that than most actual lords nobles had.
"If you like, you can retire for the evening," Eilonwy instructed. "I'll see you again in the morning."
"Very good milady." The girl paused in place, mouth slightly open, as if she needed to say something.
"Yes," Eilonwy nodded. "What is it?"
The girl waived for several breaths, then apparently made a decision. "Are you really riding out tomorrow," she asked. "All of you, I mean?"
"It looks that way, yes," Eilonwy gripped the brush a little tighter, as she forced it through her hair. Really, it was all simply terrible; the forces of Annuvin being prepared to unleash themselves all over Prydain, with dear Rhun's death no doubt being the first of many. And yet, the princess of Llyr couldn't help but feel a guilty excitement. Once again, her and Taran and the others were going to ride out against the powers of darkness, and they were going to do things the bards would put into song one day.
The better part of her knew it was a silly, childish way of looking at things, but there it was. Best not show it in front of the nervous chambermaid though.
"It was just, well, some of us had wondered if, with a war begun and all, he had returned to accept our lord's offer?"
"He?" Eilonwy paused in her brushing, fixing the girl with a puzzled look. "What offer? Who are you talking about?"
The girl looked bashful, and self consciously smoothed her apron as she spoke. "The servants, well, we tend to hear more than you might think. And our great lord, if you excuse my saying so, he has never been a hard man to overhear." No arguing with that. "We know he offered to make Taran of Caer Dallben his son, when last he was here."
Eilonwy put the brush down on the vanity, with a little more force than she intended. "What!" This was very much news to the princess. "He offered to . . . for Taran to . . . you're quite sure you heard right?"
The girl was taken aback by her response. "I, eh, forgive me milady, I should not have spoken of it."
"No," Eilonwy answered. "I mean, no, it's nothing to apologize for." She was not used to finding herself at a loss for words. "I was . . . not aware of it."
"Of course milady." When servants couldn't think of anything else to say, they agreed with you.
Picking up the brush, Eilonwy tried to go back to straightening her hair, as if nothing had happened.
Taran, as Smoit's adopted son? Taran as prince of Caer Cadiffor! Surely, it couldn't be true. Not that Taran wouldn't make a perfectly fine prince, for all his humble upbringing. Probably better because of it in fact; lords who actually knew their people were in far too short of a supply.
But surely he would have mentioned it, if he'd been offered to be made the heir of a king. Why would he not? True, things had been moving very fast since they reunited mere days ago, and much had been left unsaid (a great deal between the two of them personally, in her opinion). But they had talked of his previous visit to Caer Cadarn on their way here. Fflewddur had even entertained them with a lively, and good natured, tune he'd written; about the King who was a cowherd, and his two lords that were stubborn plow mules. The almost prince was never mentioned.
"I am sorry to have assumed so much milady," Megwyn seemed to find the silence unbearable. "I should not have spoken."
Eilonwy couldn't help herself. "Did the rumors say why he turned down the offer," she had to know?
"It was not exactly clear, milady," the servingmaid replied carefully. "Something to do with the journey he was taking."
His journey. Taran had not come out and said it, but she knew he had gone in search of his parentage. And she believed she knew the reason why. Had he turned down the chance at kingship to keep looking for the truth of his family. That . . . would be a very Taran thing to do, actually.
"Would you have wanted him to say yes," she really couldn't help herself. "You can speak plainly."
"Milady!" Megwyn seemed to be frightened by the very idea of speaking plainly to her. "With," her fists were clenching her apron now, nervously. "Dear king Smoit will be riding out to war now," she said. "And he has no sons, no heir; it would have been a comfort to know things were settled, in case . . ." she didn't want to say it.
"Smoit has ridden to war many times," Eilonwy said as confidently as she could. "And he has always come back."
"This time may be different," the girl stared at her feet. "This war won't be like any of the others, everyone is saying so. And our king is . . . he is not so young as most other warlords."
"That should be a comfort I would think. It's not for no reason that he's lived to grow so old."
"Yes," the girl said halfheartedly. "But the last time he rode out, when the lords of Cadiffor rose against each other last, he was very nearly killed. He would have been, if it hadn't been for Lo- for Taran."
She said the name so awkwardly; as if she was desperate to put some title in front of it, if only someone would allow her.
Eilonwy put the brush down, trying to think of something comforting to say. "Smoit's leal lords and men-at-arms will keep him safe," she offered. "as for us, we'll do our best to make it a short war, you may depend on that."
Megwyn managed a small smile. "That's good of you to say milady," she said. "And the two of you would be most welcome, if you return to Caer Cadarn after the fighting."
"Thank . . . you," Eilonwy felt a little color flood over her cheeks, as the implication of the girl's words hit her. The two of them . . .
She seemed to be under the impression that there was some engagement between her and Taran. And when one servant thought something, experience said the whole castle did. Neither she nor taran had ever suggested they were pledged together, but somehow that impression had been given.
"Did I say something wrong milady," Megwyn noticed her discomfort. "If I, if I said something that was meant to be secret-"
"No, no not at all," the last thing they needed was for the idea to get out that there was some clandestine affair in action. "Attend me to bed, please, and then you may go."
The girl departed with some relief, as the princess of Llyr was left to lie awake in bed and stew with her thoughts. The mattress and blankets were heavenly, after the last days spent travelling. Eilonwy knew she should be appreciative of the opportunity before they rode off again. But her thoughts stuck at her; like a needle in the cushions somewhere that she couldn't find.
There was something between her and Taran; something that hung in the air around them, but neither would speak of. She had expected it when she returned to Caer Dallben, almost been dreading it.
But he hadn't asked.
It was perfectly understandable, of course, that there had been no proper time to ask. They had reunited barely a quarter hour, when Fflewdur dragged in the wounded Prince of Don, and the world had turned sideways. Now they were girding for war, and there were a hundred other things that should be seen to first.
But she was still waiting for it. She couldn't help herself.
She had known there would be any number of things that might make Taran hesitant to ask, but there was a particular problem that loomed larger than all the others. She was a princess, and he was a pigkeeper.
It wasn't even something Eilonwy gave an ass's hoof for. Llyr was gone, her title as it's princess was nothing more than that, a title. And she would be perfectly happy to never preside over another self important court again, with or without a marriage beneath her station. Taran would be the one to insist; always obeying the rules of propriety, when only he really cared about them.
And that's what would make it truly ironic (perhaps even humorous, to someone it wasn't happening to) if the stubborn man had actually turned down an opportunity to remove the only obstacle left between them. And for what reason, of course, but "honor."
Turning over for the fifth time, the princess of Llyr gripped the covers hard in frustration.
Perhaps she should ask first, if he did not soon. Brake two traditions at once.
And if he said he was too lowbord to ever marry a princess, she might finally strangle him.
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