"Great Belin! Who in the name of Don are you?!" the bard shouted, scrambling to his feet and casting about instinctively for his sword. The stranger crouched by the fire didn't look terribly threatening, but one could never be too careful…

At Fflewddur's outburst, the woman looked sharply over her shoulder at him but held her ground, unabashed. The bard quailed a little under her gaze; it had the same intense, unwavering focus of a cat sizing up its prey. Still more unnerving, her eyes were two markedly different colors: one dark and inscrutable as the cold North Sea, the other a strangely familiar warm amber. For a moment, the two merely stared at each other—utter shock juxtaposed against improbable composure.

Woken by the commotion, Gurgi began to stir. It took him a moment, groggy as he still was, to notice the odd visitor in their midst. The instant he did spot her, he let out a great yelp and sprang atop the oak log behind him, wide-eyed and panting in fright.

The shout jolted Fflewddur back to his senses somewhat. Ashamed that he hadn't thought of it sooner, he hastily doffed his cloak and stepped forward to offer it to the woman. Whomever she might be, she was unclothed, and likely cold besides. In one lithe motion she rose, took the cloak from the bard's hands, and wrapped it snugly around her lean but well-muscled frame.

"Deepest apologies for startling you, milady, but you gave me quite a fright," Fflewddur said with a bow. She nodded in acknowledgement but did not speak. "I have been remiss, failing to introduce myself and my companion properly," he continued. "I am Fflewddur Fflam Son of Godo, a bard of the harp—although sadly without a harp at present—and the somewhat unusual-looking fellow over there is my old comrade, Gurgi. Now, if I may ask more politely, what is your name? And what brings you through our humble camp? You look as though you might be in need of some assistance."

At last, the stranger opened her mouth to reply. Only an unintelligible mumble issued forth, as if her tongue and lips would not heed her intentions. A look of intense consternation washed over her and she shook her head in frustration. She tried again. "Eeeaan" she managed to eke out that time, as she thumped one hand over her breastbone. Her face flushed with embarrassment at the ungraceful utterance.

Fflewddur frowned and Gurgi scratched his head, both of them still hopelessly puzzled.

"EEEEE-AAAAN," she said again, louder and slower. That yielded only more blank stares. She rolled her eyes, irked by her companions' lack of comprehension, then mimed cat ears and whiskers with her hands. "Eeeann," she repeated, finishing up with an uncannily feline, "mrreeowww".

Understanding drenched Gurgi and the bard like a bucket of cold water. They stood there utterly dumbstruck for a moment, still as statues and with mouths actually agape.

"Wait… Llyan?" Fflewddur croaked at last, incredulous. "But… but that's… how?" His gaze darted rapidly about the campsite, scanning for any sign of the giant cat. There was neither whisker nor tail to be found. He looked back at the stranger with a jumble of wonderment and suspicion. "No tricks, now…" he said sternly. "You… are truly her?"

She nodded vigorously in assent. Gurgi's eyes went even wider than before and Fflewddur let out a low whistle of amazement. Apparently, shrinking down to proper mountain cat size had not been the end of Llyan's reverse transformation. And if she hadn't always been a cat… then who was she? Fflewddur's skin prickled with unease. It had never occurred to him that the end of an enchantment could be as disconcerting as the enchantment itself.

Gurgi on the other hand, finally confident that there was no threat, clambered down from his perch and came over to investigate. "Mountain cat has turned into lovely maiden?" he asked, befuddled. "But how? Gurgi thought all enchantment went away with sailings and failings." He circled around her, sniffing the air tentatively as if to catch either a familiar scent or a trace of magic. Llyan couldn't help but grin at his comically earnest examination. She gave him a friendly pat on the head and a scratch behind his ears.

"Perhaps she was doubly enchanted…" mused the bard, shuddering at the thought. That supposition earned another emphatic nod from Llyan. "Hmmm. It seems you have a rather interesting story to tell us, my friend! Once you are more comfortable speaking, of course. I imagine you're rather rusty at it—meows and purrs aren't quite the same as speech, are they? And you must have been a cat for many a year by now..." He scratched his head as he tried to figure out a possible timeline.

Llyan gave a slight shrug. Fflewddur couldn't tell whether that was a gesture of uncertainty about how long she'd been a cat, discomfort with talking, or a reticence to discuss the matter. So, he let it go for the moment.

"Well, breakfast first and stories later, I suppose. A Fflam knows how to be patient!" he said, and flashed her a reassuring grin. She smiled wryly in return and arched an eyebrow, as if to say she knew right well the true extent of a Flam's patience.

Once past his initial shock, Fflewddur studied Llyan more closely while they huddled down by the fire to eat. Her age was difficult to guess—a handful of years older than Eilonwy and Taran but somewhat younger than himself, perhaps? Oddly enough, she did bear some resemblance to the mountain cat she had been: that tawny hair, akin to the shade of her former fur coat; that amber eye, most likely a vestige of her previous form; her quiet tread and the sinewy grace of her movements; that uninhibited stare… A bit wistfully, he wondered how many of Llyan's more intangible qualities she possessed—if any. There were so many things to wonder about, really. How had she been transformed into a mountain cat, of all things? From where had she come? What sort of person was she? Could she be trusted? It was deeply unsettling; he had gone to sleep beside a companion and awoken to find a stranger in her place. Unsettling, and yet… intriguing. Yes, she was undeniably intriguing.

Llyan was nearly silent for much of the morning, save for some faint murmuring while she practiced speaking. As much as Fflewddur and Gurgi longed to know more about her, neither pressed her for conversation lest it make her uncomfortable. After all, she was likely suffering enough already, what with being barefoot and clothed only in the borrowed cloak. She had wrapped it around herself and pinned it up behind her neck, fashioning a makeshift dress, but it was hardly adequate protection from the elements. So, her companions chatted idly between themselves instead, hoping she would be more forthcoming about her story in time, of her own accord.

By afternoon, however, Fflewddur could no longer restrain his curiosity. "So…" he began, with some hesitation, "if you don't mind my asking… What is your true name? I assume it's something other than Llyan, since you must have crossed paths with Glew after you'd already become a cat. I can't imagine that little weasel had the skill for such a spell."

Llyan shook her head disdainfully—no, her transformation had most certainly not been Glew's doing. "Telyn," she said, answering the bard's question with some lingering difficulty, her tongue still reacquainting itself with language. "Telyn… Daughter of Branwen… Daughter of Gwennan. Healers. Of Arvon."

"Cantrev Arvon? In the far northwest, along the sea?" Fflewddur asked. "Beautiful country as I recall. I have passed through it only once, but I should certainly like to visit again sometime."

Telyn gave a dismissive shrug and her lips pressed together in a grim but inscrutable expression. "No wish to return," she said flatly.

Fflewddur looked at her questioningly, but she offered no more. Sensing her unease, he decided to stick to more straightforward questions for the time being.

"Shall we call you Telyn, then, or Llyan? I wouldn't blame you one bit for wanting to shed the name Glew gave you, after the way he trapped you and forced all of those noxious giant-making potions down your throat." The thought of that still turned Fflewddur's stomach and churned up a surge of ire. He had come all too close to a similar fate, years ago, when he had encountered Glew in the caverns of Mona.

Llyan wrinkled her nose at the mention of the petulant former giant. "Hmm…" she hummed, considering the matter for a moment. "Llyan sounds nicer on your tongue," she finally replied. "But I like Telyn too. Whichever. I'll know who you mean."

"Well, perhaps Telyn, then," Fflewddur concluded. "I might feel a bit odd calling a lady by the same name as my former steed…" He glanced over and caught Llyan—no, Telyn—smirking a little. Apparently, the awkward associations of that were not lost on her, either.

"Ohhh, it makes Gurgi's poor tender head hurt to think of so many names! One name is more than enough for him!" Gurgi exclaimed. "But what of your changings and rearrangings? How did noble lady become a monstrous mountain cat in the first place?"

Telyn's smirk quickly turned to a scowl. She hesitated a moment, as if loath to even utter the name. "Morda," she finally spat.

Her one-word reply was more than enough to send an icy shiver down her traveling companions' spines. They well remembered their own encounter with the evil enchanter, who had snared them in his forest lair, and transformed them into animals themselves. Morda had nearly been their doom. Fflewddur rubbed his ears absentmindedly, recalling his brief but terrifying stint as a caged hare. The memory still made his ears feel too long, even after so much time.

"It's odd that Morda's spell didn't wear off when he died, as it did for us… And that you ended up so—ah—bare," the bard pondered aloud. "Perhaps the effect of Glew's potions complicated matters? Or the sheer length of time you spent in that form did so… How long was that, anyway?"

Telyn shook her head regretfully. "Eight years? Ten? I lost track after a while—lost track of myself, really. Even forgot how to speak, with no one to talk to. I felt less and less like a person in a cat's body, and more like a cat with a person's memory…" She trailed off, either lost in thought or unwilling to say more.

"Hmmm. That is quite a tale, my friend—quite a tale indeed… In fact, I shall have to compose an epic song about it sometime!" he ventured cheerfully, attempting to lighten the mood. "A damsel in distress, run afoul of an evil enchanter and a cowardly would-be giant! Trapped for years in a cat's body, and later a cage! Fighting her way free of both captors, and going on to do battle against Arawn Death-Lord himself!" He smiled broadly as he warmed to the grand arc of the story. "Yes, that has the makings of a fine song."

Telyn laughed warmly at the bard's enthusiasm. "I look forward to hearing it—soon." A demanding gleam flashed in her eye. "Harp or no harp," she added. Fflewddur's breath hitched.


By early evening, the companions came to an offshoot of River Ystrad, swollen by recent snowmelt but still shallow enough to cross. Gurgi splashed right into the water without hesitation, as untroubled as ever by the prospect of a drenching. He knew he could shake himself mostly dry upon reaching the other side, no worse off save for that lingering wet-wolfhound odor of his. Telyn, on the other hand, blanched at the sight of the icy, rushing water. Without her old coat of fur and powerful limbs, the crossing promised to be difficult and downright miserable. Fflewddur pulled off his boots and cautiously began to wade out into the river.

"You're not going in with your clothes on, are you?" Telyn exclaimed, aghast. "You'll be sopping wet all evening and night! It doesn't make a bit of sense."

Caught off-guard, Fflewddur paused with one long leg in midair, looking like nothing so much as a disheveled stork about to go fishing for his supper.

"What— Well— What else would I do?" he stammered. "I mean, given the present company, it would hardly be appropriate for me to—"

"Oh, pssshh," Telyn cut in dismissively. "You've seen all there is to see of me by now, like it or not. And there have been plenty of times when you went bathing in a river with me around. Granted, I was a cat at the time, and not paying much attention, but nevertheless…"

For once, Fflewddur was utterly speechless. Ignoring his shocked reaction, Telyn promptly stripped off her cloak-dress, balled it up tightly, sucked in a deep breath, and plunged ahead into the icy river without a backward glance. She hissed audibly as the icy water enveloped her.

"Do as you like," she called out, her voice already wavering with cold. "I hate being wet, and hate being cold, and I intend to keep what few clothes I have dry."

Great Belin and Holy Don, thought the bard. She certainly isn't one to mince words—or to bother with decorum

Shaking off his astonishment, he decided he might as well follow suit. She did have a point, after all—multiple points, really, though he didn't want to think too much about some of them. So, he too pulled off and bundled up his clothing, then followed her into the river. He did his best to appear unruffled by the odd state of affairs while respectfully keeping his eyes on the water, just in case Telyn happened to look back.

Wouldn't want her to get the wrong impression, after all, he thought. A Fflam is honorable, even in extenuating circumstances such as these.

He needn't have worried. The crossing was treacherous enough that there was no room for inattention. The frigid water pulled hard at the companions as they picked their way along the rocky riverbed, submerged to well above their waists. Telyn slipped twice and just barely managed to keep her head and precious cloak above water. Fflewddur himself nearly lost his footing on a particularly slick stretch of rocks midstream. Only Gurgi seemed to have no trouble, paddling along as happily as a dog going for an afternoon swim. At last, all three reached the opposite bank and scrambled up to safety. Telyn and Fflewddur, both shivering violently, hurriedly dressed.

"See? Aren't you—g-glad—that you have d-dry clothes—to put back on?" Telyn asked through chattering teeth.

The bard nodded, and jumped up and down a little to drive away the last of the chill. Wool might retain heat even when wet, but dry clothing was infinitely better. It seemed Telyn was as sensible as she was brazen.

Set once more to rights, the companions hastened onward, hoping to cover a bit more ground before sundown.


When they finally halted for the evening, Gurgi agreed to take the first watch again, promising with vehement shakes of his shaggy head that he would not fall asleep at his post like the night before. Utterly exhausted after the day's long and eventful journey, Fflewddur and Telyn gladly accepted his offer. They built a small fire, downed the last of their provisions, and settled in for the night.

The bard flopped down on the most root-free patch of ground he could find, hoping sleep would overtake him before he had time to notice how cold he was without his cloak—and without Llyan's warm fur to lie against. And without her soporific, rumbling purr, too… A vague, hollow loneliness seeped into him even as his body-heat drained into the earth below. He had no harp… no plausible chance to become an official bard… and now, no steadfast feline companion. What would slip away from him next?

Light footsteps crept up behind him in the darkness, close and coming closer… Telyn. Without a word, she sank to the ground and curled up beside him, her back pressed warmly against his own. Startled, Fflewddur tensed from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Seconds passed, then moments. Telyn, for her part, seemed entirely at ease. Before long, her soft, rhythmic breathing slowed, and the bard felt her taut muscles soften as she dropped into sleep.

Only then did Fflewddur himself relax. It appeared Telyn was merely doing as she was accustomed: lending him some warmth and comfort as Llyan had done on countless nights afield. Seen through her eyes, little had changed: he was the same as ever she'd known him, habit was habit, heat was heat, and it was a cold night. Seen from his perspective, however—or, rather, felt… He exhaled a cautious sigh and tried very, very hard to pretend it was still Llyan who slept beside him.


Author's Note: And so, we come to the second great liberty I have taken with Lloyd's creation. I always thought Llyan had a remarkably rounded personality for a feline side-kick: by turns fierce, affectionate, playful, demanding (or assertive, to put it politely), and courageous in defending her friends. I also thought Prydain could use another strong female character in the mix. Since I prefer to rely on canonical characters when possible rather than create new ones... allow me to introduce Telyn, my attempt at translating Llyan's personality into human form, and a nod to all of those old tales that involve animal/human shape-shifters. I have ended up liking her quite a lot, and hope you do as well. :) Her name, by the way, means harp. The backstory for that will come later...