Chapter 22

Rhian's heart and mind were still full of the last song of Galadriel was Lorien vanished from their sight, and the river took them away. She sat in the prow- she thought the front was the prow, anyway- of the boat, looking back the way they had come. Behind them Merry and Pippin sat as near to the middle of their boat as they could get, eyeing the water distrustfully, and beyond them Gimli and Legolas spoke together, their faces grave. She looked skyward, squinting against the sun, and hugged the leather-cased harp to her chest.

They were carried on, ever southward, past bare grey trees and beneath the ghostly, shadowing branches. Rhian fought the melancholy that settled in a hard lump within her chest, as the sky darkened, and she yearned for the gentle sky of Lorien. There were no stars to be seen through the mists, and it was cold. She drew the elven cloak around her, burying her hands in the folds. It was full dark before they drew near the grey shore and disembarked to make camp; Rhian's legs ached from the sitting, and Erin's hands were like ice. Frodo and Aria were both deeply asleep, and Aragorn lifted them out of the boat like children. They wrapped them in their blankets and left them to dream. There was little talk and no laughter as the others made camp. Rhian was glad to curl up between two massive tree roots, back to back with her sister, and shut her mind to the world.

In the morning they rose before it was full light, and set out again, and that day and night was much like the first. Rhian felt the greyness weigh heavy on her soul. The third day they made camp early, before full dark, and sat close around the small fire, unready for sleep.

"Lady," Legolas said suddenly, "the Lady Galadriel called you by other than the name we know you by. How was this?"

"Oh," Rhian said, drawing her mind back from the darkness into the circle of the firelight. "She called me by my full name. Rhiannon Fiachra O'Connor. Rhian is just a short-name."

"Like Merry and Pippin are for Meriadoc and Peregrin," Aria said promptly.

"And you, Lady Erin? What was the name that you gave?"

"Raithnait," Erin said. "It is my first name, but when I was little I couldn't say it. So I went by Erin."

"So O'Connor...is your third name?"

"No- it is our last name, or surname; it was our father's last name, and his father's name."

"Like Brandybuck and Baggins and Gamgee," Aria pointed out.

"Right."

"Do your names have meaning, then?" Frodo asked curiously.

"Rathnait is Gaelic for 'little graceful one'," Erin said.

"She grew into it," Rhian told them. Erin stuck out her tongue at her.

"...and Erin comes from Eireann, which comes from Eirinn, which comes from Eire, which is the Gaelic name for Ireland, the Emerald Isle. Our family comes from there, at least part of it."

Boromir looked at Rhian. "And you?" he asked.

Rhian grinned. "Fiachra is actually a masculine name," she said. "It comes from fiach, the Gaelic word for 'raven'," she lifted her braid and shook it. "It was also the name of the patron saint of gardeners," she grinned at Sam, "and one of the children of Lir."

"The who?"

"It's a long story," her grin widened, "but The Fate of the Children of Lir is one of the Three Sorrowful Tales of Erin; King Lir was married to Ove, the eldest daughter of King Dearg. Their children were born in sets of two; Fingula, the daughter, with Aod the son, and then later the sons Fiachra and Conn, whose birth was the death of Ove. Lir remarried to Oifa, Ove's sister, and they lived happily until Oifa became jealous of Lir's love for his children. She took them out with her in her chariot, and threw silver chains about their necks, and they were transformed into beautiful white swans."

"Oh!" Aria gasped. Rhian nodded.

"When Lir learned of his wife's treachery, he went to Dearg her father. Dearg asked Oifa was form she thought the worst of all forms on earth, and she answered him 'a demon of the air'. And so she too was transformed until the end of time."

"And were the children swans forever?"

"Not quite. It was many years later- 900 years, according to some- that Lairgnen, Prince of Connaught, sought to capture the swans at the request of his bride Deoch, but when he removed the silver chains from their necks they became human again. But by now they were ancient, and they died within the hour."

"Oh," Aria said softly. "It is so sad!"

"Most Celtic stories are sad," Rhian said. "The story of Rhiannon, for instance, is full of grief."

"Another story?" Pippin asked. He and Merry had been dozing, but they were awake now.

"If you want to know about Rhiannon."

"We do!" they chorused.

"Well then, Rhiannon is Welsh, from Rigantona, which means 'great queen'. Pwyll was Prince of the Dyfed, and had already had many adventures of note when he chose to walk the top of a great mound, called Gorsedd Arberth, of which it was said that if a man of noble birth should take his seat there, he would come away either covered with wounds, or having seen something wondrous. Pwyll was not afraid of wounds, and he wished to see what this thing might be. And so he and his men climbed, and sat, and waited, and at length a lady appeared on the road below, mounted on a pearly white steed, and clothed in silk, brocaded with gold. Pwyll inquired of his men but none of them knew her, and so he sent one of them to ask her name, but could not catch up to her, though her horse seemed to be walking at a gentle pace. And so the fastest horse in Dyfed was fetched, and ran like the wind, and still he drew no closer to the beautiful lady. It was agreed that some magic was afoot, but Pwyll was determined. At last on the third night as he galloped after he called 'Lady, for the sake of the man you most love, wait for me', and she stopped She told him that she was Rhiannon, daughter of Hefeydd the Elder, and that she was pledged in marriage to a man she despised, for she was unwilling to marry any save Pwyll himself, and he knew of no maiden or lady in the world that he would rather have as his wife; and so it was arranged that in a years time he should come to the court of Hefeydd and claim her for his wife."

"It doesn't sound sad to me," Merry said.

"Just you wait, my young gentlehobbit," Rhian told him. "Pwyll went after the year had past to Hefeydd's court with a hundred men, and great was the feasting upon their arrival. But when the meal had ended and the songs were begun, and man entered the hall. Pwyll, in good cheer, bade him sit with them, but he would not, 'until' he said 'you grant me what I am here for.' 'You shall have what you desire,' Pwyll promised rashly, and Rhiannon chastised him for his hastiness, for this was Gwawl son of Clud, the man who wished to take Rhiannon against her will, and it was for this he had come; Pwyll could not go back on his word, and that which Gwawl desired was to take Pwyll's place as bridegroom."

"Oh!" Aria exclaimed.

"Exactly. Rhiannon, however, was clever, and told Pwyll to keep his word, and she would prevent Gwawl from taking her."

"How?"

"Rhiannon agreed to tryst with Gwawl in one year's time, as she had with Pwyll, and so he came; but Pwyll came also, dressed as a beggar as Rhiannon has instructed him. When they were merrymaking in the hall he entered, and asked a boon. 'So long as it is reasonable,' Gwawl said, 'you shall have what you ask'. Pwyll, the beggar, asked that his small bag be filled with food, and Gwawl, thinking this a humble enough request, said that it should be so. But though the servants did all they could, they could not make the small back full. Gwawl demanded if it should ever be full. 'Only,' Pwyll told him, 'if the greatest man in the kingdom presses the food in with his feet.' And so Gwawl, who was arrogant, had no sooner stepped in the bag than it was up and over his head, and bound shut with leather thongs."

Merry and Pippin laughed out loud. "He was rather asking for it, wasn't he?"

"Yes- Pwyll released him after he swore to seek no vengeance and cause no more trouble, and Pwyll and Rhiannon were married, and lived in happiness in Dyfed for two years. In the third year, a son was born to Rhiannon, and six women were called to watch the boy's first night. But by midnight they were all asleep, and in the morning the boy was gone. They were afraid, because they knew they would be blaimed, and so they took the pups of one of the hounds, and killed them, and scattered the bones in Rhiannon's bed and smeared her with the blood, and agreed to swear that Rhiannon had killed her child in her sleep." The entire company stiffened with outrage, but Rhian waved them to silence. "The Druids, who made the judgments, believe the women and said that as punishment, Rhiannon should sit outside the court by the horse mounting block for seven years, and offer to carry anyone who would let her. Few did, but so she spent the year.

"Now, in those days Teyrnon Twryf Liant ruled Gwent Is-Coed, and at that same time, through singularly strange circumstances, he found upon his doorstep a baby boy wrapped in gold brocade. Teyrnon and his wife called him Gwri of the Golden Hair, and raised him as their own until he was four years old- it was then they heard the news of Rhiannon and her punishment, and Teyrnon, pondering it, found it had taken place on the same May-Eve that the boy had been found. Realizing who he was-"

"Who?"

"Rhiannon's son, of course." Rhian wrinkled her nose at Pippin. "I know you can recite the names of all your grandfathers backwards and forwards, you should have no trouble with a simple story. Don't interrupt." The hobbit muttered sulkily to himself, but Rhian ignored him. "There was great rejoicing at the homecoming of Rhiannon's son, and her and was renamed 'Pryderi', the Celtic word for 'care', but upon his return Rhiannon's care was lifted from her."