Fflewddur strode downstream on the north bank of the Great Avren. When he left Taran in the mountains with Craddoc, he had intended to go directly to Caer Dallben, but the road took him further west than he anticipated. The Great Avren was shallow at this time of year, and he could cross it now and be at Caer Dallben within a few days—but he could also continue to the harbor near the mouth of the river and catch a boat for Mona in about the same time.
It was late fall, and despite Taran's emotional turmoil, Fflewddur felt a responsibility to check in on Eilonwy. After all, Taran had Gurgi with him, but Eilonwy was alone, and had been alone for several months now. What friend did she have to talk to or lean on? And one could hardly expect Dallben or Coll to go visit her. He checked himself. Surely, such a lively and garrulous princess would have made plenty of friends by now. He imagined her cutting a red-gold streak through the staid lives of the courtiers there and smiled proudly to himself. But would Eilonwy have adjusted to life at court? What had she known but the chilly confines of Spiral Castle, practically a prison, and the homely warmth of the farm at Caer Dallben? Best to check in on her, just to be sure. He could be back at Caer Dallben within a couple of weeks, and if necessary, return to Taran before the winter snows fell. Nothing about Taran's situation demanded more speed than that.
With the decision made, Fflewddur unconsciously picked up his pace, eager to see his little princess again. He imagined her smile at seeing him and her excitement for news from everyone . . . especially Taran. His thoughts made him suddenly stop short. Llyan went a few paces on and looked back at him inquisitively.
Taran had charged Fflewddur to deliver that ridiculous message. What were the words again? Delivered in bitter anguish, torn from his throat in ragged pain, Taran's cry still echoed in Fflewddur's ears: "Bid her my farewell. She and I must never meet again. It were better the Princess forget the shepherd boy!" Well. "A Fflam is trustworthy!" he muttered to himself. His excitement at the prospect of seeing Eilonwy again was decidedly dampened. "What am I, a matchmaker? I don't need to be a go-between for these kids!" Fflewddur briefly imagined himself as a regal matchmaker back home in his kingdom, and he laughed to himself, before visibly shuddering at getting involved in such nonsense.
But Taran had already involved him in this, and he could not shirk his duty. So. He was going to see Eilonwy. And she would see him, throw her arms around him, and then ask him if he had any news from Taran. He glanced down at his harp balefully.
He could just tell the truth. "Taran told me to tell you to forget about him." He could imagine Eilonwy's eyes flashing, then marching all the way across Prydain in a huff, only to confront Taran in his shepherd's cottage and shout in his face, "I'll forget about you when I've DECIDED to forget about you, you stupid Assistant Pig-Keeper!" and then turn around and march all the way back to Mona, leaving the young lad dazed and speechless. Fflewddur had a good chuckle at the thought, and it cheered him up for a while.
But then Fflewddur remembered other relationships among youths he had known, and from his own youth, and he remembered how easily unguarded words could destroy love, especially when time and distance were against the couple. Eilonwy was no longer at Caer Dallben, and who knew what stresses and pressures she was struggling under? He could easily imagine other scenarios, at least equally as likely, if he told the truth. Eilonwy's lip trembles, then she turns and flees to her room, sobbing. And what then? Despite his assurances, in the loneliness of the following days, her fears grow, she remembers the worst of Taran instead of the best, and she makes an emotional break from him to free herself from the pain. There were plenty of dashing young men in the court, and plenty of opportunities for a beautiful young woman looking for someone to ease the pain of rejection.
Fflewddur reached up and scratched the back of his head as he walked. Llyan nuzzled up against him, almost knocking him over. Fflewddur reached up and scratched her behind the ears. "It's okay, girl, I'll get it sorted out before I get there."
The problem was the harp. Fflewddur could come up with all sorts of likely messages from Taran— "I think of you every day," "I hope your time in Mona is going well," "I miss our times together at Caer Dallben" —but he knew the harp would not let him get away with it. "Confound it!" he said to no-one in particular, "a harp of all things shouldn't get in the way of true love!"
He could not leave it behind. It would look too suspicious. Eilonwy had never known him without the harp. Who would believe any explanation for why he did not have it? Especially since its one primary quality was to call him on his lies. "And it won't even settle for outright lies! The strings snap at the tiniest little exaggerations!" Llyan gave him a deep-throated meow and looked at him inscrutably. Fflewddur put his head into Llyan's fur and sighed. "And to think," Fflewddur said, "I took up barding to get away from responsibility!"
By the time he purchased passage on a boat for Mona, the best plan he had come up with was that he would unstring the harp. Eilonwy was sure to ask about Taran straight off, he would tell her what she needed to hear, and then he would re-string the harp the first opportunity he had away from her. He had taken to using a harp case recently—it was amazing how much it helped protect even a magic harp from the elements—and it would not be immediately obvious it was unstrung. With decided confidence, he boarded the boat. He settled down against Llyan and started picking out a tune while the sailors cast off. One of them nodded to him as he passed.
"Oh, they've been looking for a skilled bard at Dinas Rhydnant, yes sir! You'll be lucky if you can get down the gangplank before you're besieged with requests!"
Fflewddur's heart went cold.
Fflewddur was still thinking feverishly when they arrived a few days later. He had discarded the plan to unstring the harp; it would look too suspicious if he got caught without it strung, and it sounded like he would have to string it anyway as soon as he arrived. He chewed his lip and thought furiously. There were just too many things that could go wrong any way he acted.
As the sailors tossed the ropes to the shorehands, a sailor called out, "We've got a bard on board! Let the castle know!" A young boy scurried off and by the time Fflewddur disembarked, there was a representative waiting to escort him to the castle. A group of onlookers had gathered, at first perhaps to get a look at Llyan, but obviously excited by the prospect of a bard. "You'll be just in time for the afternoon tea!" the castle representative said to him delightedly.
After a quick clean-up, he was escorted into a large room, elegantly furnished, and full of richly-dressed men and women at various tables. He heard a breathless exclamation of "Fflewddur!" from the other side of the room, but it was time to begin. As his fingers plucked the harp strings, a beautiful melody came out, a soft, chill melody, speaking of loneliness, emptiness, and silence. As his eyes picked through the crowd, he finally found Eilonwy, breathtaking in a simple, understated blue gown that matched her eyes and contrasted strikingly with her hair. She looked every inch the princess she was. She caught his eye and smiled winsomely, and Fflewddur felt his heart melt. He thought back to the ragged little girl in a dirty gown who had first shown up in his cell with her bauble, and as he did, a new theme came into the melody, a theme of warmth and strength, of the breaking dawn and the rising sun. Eilonwy put her hands over her mouth and shut her eyes, and—was that a tear glistening in the corner of her eye?
The tune meandered slowly on, and then eventually started heading towards a natural resolution. Shortly after that, tea would be over, and then Eilonwy would latch onto him and demand to know of Taran. There would be no time to unstring the harp, and at any rate, Eilonwy's eyes would be on him the whole time. What would he do?
Suddenly he knew. He had just enough time to pull it off. Into the mouth of the beast it was, then. "A Fflam is resourceful!" he muttered to himself. Nineteen strings, one of which was the unbreakable string Lord Gwydion had gifted him. Eighteen, then.
This would be his grandest tale ever.
He finished his tune and cleared his throat. "A change of pace, before we end!" he announced. "I will tell you tale of—of Lord Gurgi the Valiant and the maiden Hen Wen!"
Eilonwy choked on her tea.
"Hen Wen was the fairest maiden in the whole land of Prydain! [twang!] Her hair was long [twang!] and luxurious [twang!], and her skin was as pale as the morning! She was noted throughout the land for her especial cleanliness and disgust of dirt [twang! twang!]. However that may be, one day she found herself lost in the forest. As she wandered to and fro, she soon found herself an unwilling guest of the Fair Folk! Now, I've met some Fair Folk in my time, and some are quite gentle and benevolent, but these—these treated the fair Hen Wen like a pig!"
Eilonwy desperately tried to stifle her laughter. Her body was shaking, and she could not seem to catch a breath.
"But there was one, one alone who dared to sally forth and ride to her rescue – Lord Gurgi the Valiant! [twang!] His armor blazed like the noonday sun! [twang!] His sword was long and sharp [twang!], and the pennon on his lance snapped in the wind [twang!] as he rode on his white steed! His search ranged across the land of Prydain, from the southern forests to the northern mountains. He faced wolves, warriors, and worse! as he battled to her rescue."
"Then, one day, he finally found it—the secret entrance to the Fair Folk realm in the northern mountains! There, he encountered the tall and slim King Eiddileg [twang! twang!], and bargained for her release [twang!]. King Eiddileg, the quiet [twang!] and intellectual sort [twang!], challenged Gurgi to a riddle game [twang!] for the freedom of the fair Hen Wen. King Eiddileg asked his riddle [twang!]:
Thirty white horses, upon a red hill
Now they champ, now they stamp, now they stand still.
At this, there was silence. The entire realm of the Fair Folk waited with bated breath. Lord Gurgi stood, as motionless as a mountain, for three days and three nights [twang!], considering all he knew and pondering all the deepest mysteries of horses and hills. He even pondered donkeys and valleys, just to make sure he didn't miss anything. Then, he opened his mouth and spoke, saying,
'He who owns thirty white horses must indeed be of highest royalty, King Eiddileg! What king in Prydain has a stable so large? And the hills of Prydain are green, brown, gray, or white as the season dictates. But only in the excess riches of the realm of the Fair Folk could a hill be found of purest ruby! Such noble steeds must need champ and stamp in their impatience to race, and they could only be quieted when struck dumb with awe in the presence of that ruler whose rule is the rule for all rulers, that king above all kings who yet reigns below all kings, the one whose very presence causes the earth to quake with joy and the powerful to quake with fear, the noblest of the noble and the fairest of all folk, his Royal Highness, King Eiddileg!'"
"King Eiddileg said, 'Well spoken, Lord Gurgi the Valiant! While that was not quite the answer I was looking for, it is clear that you have proven your wisdom and cunning to all who hear your voice! I release the maiden Hen Wen into your keeping, and as a token of good faith, I give you the dwarf Doli as a guide, who can turn invisible if and when he decides to wear only one shoe.'" [twang!]
"And that is the story of how Lord Gurgi the Valiant rescued the maiden Hen Wen." Fflewdur took his bow.
As he expected, Eilonwy rushed up to him immediately after the tea was over. Her face was flushed from laughing. "Oh, Fflewddur! I've never tried so hard not to laugh! Whose idea was it that laughing at tea was un-ladylike? That's like giving someone a rose and not letting her sniff it!" She threw her arms around him. "Oh, it's so good to see you again! I've missed you so much!" She stepped back. "Come, walk with me! I want to hear all about everything!"
Fflewddur casually shoved the harp into the leather case without looking at it and followed along after Eilonwy. "Oh, you know, everything's good with everyone, but we all miss you. Dallben spends his time meditating and Coll works in the fields. Taran—"
"Oh, Taran!" Eilonwy exclaimed. "What were you doing with that song you played? That first part was like my life in Spiral Castle, and then suddenly Taran showed up and everything changed. I almost broke down in sobs in front of everyone."
"Well, that wasn't actually what I was thinking about when I was playing the tune, but who knows? Maybe the harp was playing it for you. Like I was saying, Taran is fine; he's doing a bit of traveling; did Kaw bring you the message? He's looking for his family, and—and I think he might have found someone that he might be related to . . ."
"Oh, here we are!" Eilonwy exclaimed as she stopped in front of a door. "This is where I do my embroidery. I want to show you something I'm making for Taran." She took him to a corner by the window and unfolded a large piece of green cloth. In the corner of it was a stick-figure man next to the white outline of a blue-eyed pig. "That's Taran, and next to him is Hen Wen," Eilonwy exclaimed. "Did I tell you I'm making it for Taran? I'm going to give it to him when I see him next." She looked dreamily out the window at the sea. "Maybe that won't be too long from now."
Fflewddur examined the embroidery. "The eyes are blue."
"Yes, they are, aren't they?" she said a bit wistfully. "As blue as the sea. Not light blue like the sky, but gray-blue, like the waves that roll towards the shore."
Fflewddur was a trifle confused. "Are we talking about Hen Wen? Because, I mean, I'm not an Assistant Pig-Keeper, but I'm pretty sure her eyes are brown."
"Every day I think back over the experiences we've shared," Eilonwy said quietly, her back to Fflewddur as she looked out onto the sea. "And every day I look out at the sea and imagine I'm looking into his eyes again." She sighed, then whispered to herself, "Taran, Taran, what are you doing right now?"
Fflewddur cleared his throat and started in again. "Well, right now, Taran's doing just fine. Like I said, he thinks he has a lead on someone he might be related to. He wanted you to know he thinks of you a lot and is looking forward to seeing you again, but right now he's just doing what he has to do, continuing his search."
Fflewddur paused. Eilonwy sighed and hummed to herself, to all appearances lost in her reverie.
"In the process, he's got a patch of land up on a mountain; no, more than just a patch, more like a whole mountainside. And he's really working it, giving it quite a makeover, turning it into a beautiful place. I mean, he's building his own "Caer Taran" up there. You'll have to see it! It's a regular castle. The Fair Folk couldn't fit stone together more tightly. And it's all white stone. Gleams in the sun when the first rays of dawn hit it. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Dallben and Coll just decide to join him up there."
Fflewddur's eyes were beginning to shine, and seemed fixated on some spot in the distance.
"It reminds me of my castle back home. You've never visited me up there, but you can come one summer and I'll give you a tour. It'll take the whole summer to travel through my entire realm. I'll show you the vineyards, the orchards, and the fields. We'll hunt wild stags in the forests! Then the harbor—it's like Mona Haven, but with twice as many ships! Their masts reach to the sky! And finally, the Fflam castle itself! It's larger than you can imagine! The entirety of Caer Dathyl could fit in its central keep! Every day is a feast day, and the banners on the turrets are large enough and fine enough to clothe all the courtiers in Dinas Rhydnant!
Fflewddur suddenly caught himself. He shook his head, as if to clear it.
"You were saying something about a castle?" Eilonwy asked, as she finally turned, reluctantly, away from the window.
"Oh, yes—Dinas Rhydnant here is very lovely. Most impressive. Will you show me your favorite spots?"
That night, after dinner, Fflewddur was entertaining some of the courtiers with stories and songs on his harp. Eilonwy was laughing and carrying on in a most un-ladylike fashion, but the courtiers gathered around Fflewddur were all in high spirits, and Queen Teleria was long gone, so it was all quite enjoyable. In a break between songs, after Fflewddur had taken a drink, Eilonwy suddenly turned and looked at him.
"It seems like you might have mentioned something about this already, but did Taran give you any special message for me?"
Fflewddur froze. His hands gripped his harp with white knuckles. He looked at Eilonwy, then at his harp, then back at Eilonwy. His mouth worked soundlessly, then he swallowed hard.
"In his shame at discovering he's the son of a shepherd, he told me to tell you to forget about him."
Time
. . . . . . . . . .stands
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .still
And Eilonwy threw her head back and laughed delightedly. She clapped her hands. "Oh, it's perfect! That sounds just like Taran!" She laughed again. "It's so noble and morose and morbidly self-pitying! Who but Taran would think being a shepherd was a step down from being an Assistant Pig-Keeper?" and then, a little softer, "And who but Taran would think I could forget him after we sealed our pledge together?"
Fflewddur sighed in relief. "I knew you'd see the humor in it!"
His harp twanged loudly as a string broke.
A/N: Of course, Fflewddur has misremembered. Just before the words of the "message," Taran had said, "But to have Eilonwy know I am a herdsman's son . . . No! That would be more than I could bear." Memory is a tricky thing (as all bards know). Eilonwy's memory, though, is probably better. When she later says to Taran, "you met someone you thought was your father but wasn't. Or was it the other way around? I didn't altogether understand it," she is undoubtedly just being tactful.
Eiddileg's intellect is an open question, but Fflewddur believes it's a lie, so the harpstring breaks. His riddle in this story is not from Tolkien's The Hobbit. Tolkien himself took it from the Anglo-Saxon Poetic Records, so it's at least a thousand years older than Tolkien.
