A/N: Bonus double-update this week, at Skyboy's request. (See how accommodating I am to readers who leave comments?) ;-)
Taran, Eilonwy, and their host of guards made slow but steady progress across Great Avren and into the heart of the Valley Cantrevs, through woods of oak and elm that opened into rolling green hills and pasture land. With some regret, they skirted Cantrev Cadiffor, knowing the temptation to linger would be too great if they stopped to visit King Smoit. Instead, they pressed onward through the Valley of Ystrad, their attention turned ever northward toward Caer Dathyl.
After a full week of travel, they arrived in Cantrev Rheged, not far east of Annuvin, where the terrain began to thrust upward into mountains. In the distance, a dark fortress perched on a rocky hill, surrounded by scattered farmsteads.
"That must be it, then," Taran said to Eilonwy, pointing to the stronghold. "The seat of King… King Rhodri? It is Rhodri, isn't it?"
"Yes, I believe that's what Smoit told us. And if not, we will find out soon enough, I suppose—we're sure to have a proper introduction upon arriving."
Taran nodded, but looked uneasy.
"If it bothers you that much, we could go digging through our storage chests to find that scrap of parchment I wrote everyone's names on. But, with our luck, it will turn out to be buried in the very bottom of the very last chest we search."
"No, no, it is not necessary," he replied with a wave of his hand. "I only…"
"Want to make certain you do things properly?" she finished for him. "Are concerned about not seeming as green as an apple in July?"
Taran smiled ruefully and shot her an amused glance. "You read me too well."
She grinned right back. "As easily as a book. I have known you for quite a few years now, Taran of Caer Dallben. I was bound to pick up on your tendencies eventually."
He chuckled at that, but the sound died as soon as he looked back toward Rhodri's stronghold. "I do wish he had simply visited Caer Dathyl like the other kings," he remarked. "It was overwhelming having so many introductions at once, but at least Smoit was there to help… It is easier to stand tall, somehow, when you have a giant like him standing beside you."
Indeed, the prospect of meeting with an unknown king—in his own stronghold, no less—was decidedly intimidating. And that feeling only intensified the closer they came to the castle. Though modest in size, it cut an imposing figure against the ruddy evening sky—solid and somber and scarred by many a battle past. Black and red banners flew proudly in the wind above each of the high towers. Yet, for all the castle's apparent might, the surrounding land seemed drab and worn. It was weakly green with spring, but lacked the full flush of life it should have had by that time. The few field workers they passed looked empty-eyed and weary, as though they were being dragged through life on puppet-strings.
As the travel host approached the gates, a guard called down to ask their identities and business in Rheged. "It is High King Taran and High Queen Eilonwy," Taran shouted back. "We desire a council with King Rhodri." As soon as the words passed his lips, he wondered whether he was even the proper person to make that announcement. Should one of his guards have done so instead? The new titles felt odd on his tongue, too, as though he were introducing a pair of strangers he himself had only just met.
Regardless of his qualms, the heavy, iron-studded gates creaked open. He sat as tall in the saddle as he could, and rode through with the rest of his host. The Chief Steward, a thin and somber old man, arrived soon after to greet them, then led Taran, Eilonwy, and a handful of their guards into an austere Great Hall.
There, the cantrev king waited on a heavy, simply-wrought, oaken throne. He rose slowly as Taran and Eilonwy entered, but made no move to step down from the dais after his Chief Steward made the requisite introductions. His mien matched his fortress well: King Rhodri was clearly a seasoned warrior, lean but sturdily built, with a battered nose and streaks of gray in his dark, close-cropped hair and beard. He was garbed rather plainly for a king, in somewhat coarse linen and darkly dyed wool. The sole ornamentation upon him was a silver belt buckle, fashioned in the shape of his family's emblem: a silver boar, whose blood-red ruby eyes glinted as he moved to stand.
Rhodri bowed to his monarchs, but it was scarcely more than a tilt of his head and chest. "Well met, King Taran and Queen Eilonwy," he said without any trace of a smile. "What brings you to Cantrev Rheged? I would have thought you well on your way to Caer Dathyl by now."
"That is indeed our final destination," said Taran, "but passing so close to your realm, we wanted to speak with you before continuing onward. We had hoped to do so while the cantrev leaders were gathered at Caer Dallben but, alas, you had already departed."
"I had more important matters to attend to than meeting with an upstart young king who has climbed above his station," Rhodri replied, his voice flat and unflinching.
Eilonwy drew in a sharp breath and her eyes went wide; she looked poised for an outburst, but Taran's hand on her arm urged restraint. Indignation flared hot in his own chest, but he forced it down and did not snap at the bait.
"You misjudge me," he said instead, firmly yet without malice. "I did not seek the crown, nor do I wear it lightly. I have accepted it at the behest of Dallben and Lord Gwydion—two men whose wisdom and judgment I trusted beyond all others."
Rhodri's dark brows furrowed and he folded his arms across his chest. Coldly, he stared down at his new liege. "That means little to me. I respected Gwydion as a war leader, but I had no great love for the House of Don. Outsiders they were, from start to finish—swept in like self-important heroes, held themselves above and apart from the rest of us, made sure to keep their bloodline as separate as possible… Who were they to decide our fates?"
Taran swallowed another surge of anger, and thought for a moment before he spoke. "Is that why you and the other southern cantrevs rose against the Sons of Don years ago? Why you joined forces with the Horned King and Arawn?"
Rhodri bristled. "Rheged has long been an ally to the other southern cantrevs, since well before the Sons of Don set foot in Prydain. Yes, I sided with them. I thought it better for men with deep roots in this land to rule it. I swallowed my distaste for an alliance with the Horned King in hopes that it would serve a greater purpose." He paused a moment, his jaw set. "It was misguided. I do not deny that. But I bear no shame for my intentions."
"And yet, you sided with the House of Don this winter past?" Taran asked. "If I am not mistaken, you fought alongside King Smoit when he rallied against Arawn's allies…"
"Make no mistake," Rhodri said with a defiant glint in his eye, "I would have sided with Pryderi had he not become a puppet of Annuvin. I made such an error once, and would not make it again. So yes, I did fight with the House of Don in the end—but it was for the sake of Prydain itself, not for them.
"What good did it do in the end, though?" he continued. "True, Arawn was defeated. But the House of Don has left Prydain in shambles, under the rule of a wanderer who knows nothing of being a king."
"How dare you say that?" Eilonwy hissed, no longer able to hold back. "That's worse than spitting in someone's food at their own feast! You've never met Taran in your life, so how would you know anything about his ability to be king?"
"I mean no insult, though it may sound otherwise," Rhodri replied, unruffled. "I only speak hard truth as I see it. Make no mistake," he said, turning to Taran, "I do not question your valor. You have more than proven yourself in gathering the Commot forces and slaying Arawn. But leading an army is only one aspect of kingship, and it seems to me you could know precious little of the rest. Are you the man to hold this land together while petty cantrev lords scrabble over empty thrones and depleted resources? Can you hold the good will of your people, while asking still more of those who have already given so much? I have my doubts."
Eilonwy glared at the cantrev king, but Taran held his head high against the challenge. "I will do all that I can," he said. "It is true, my knowledge is not as great as I would like. But if your own greatest concern is healing this land and bringing peace to it, then we share a purpose. And if you do not trust me to accomplish that on my own, then have a hand in it yourself: come to Caer Dathyl three months hence and join in the upcoming Great Council. Together, we will strive to mend what is broken."
A glimmer of surprise flickered across Rhodri's face. Whether he was pleased or offended, Taran couldn't say. Nevertheless, seeing the slight chink in Rhodri's armor, Taran pushed onward.
"The tasks ahead are too great for any man to accomplish alone, even if he were the greatest of kings. So, I ask for your support. I will not command it, for I want no one to serve grudgingly—but I hope you will give it willingly, and teach me what you know of kingship."
Rhodri stood silent a while. His arms remained folded, but the grim set of his jaw had softened a little. He gazed searchingly at Taran with a warring mixture of skepticism and respect.
"I will consider it," he said at last. "And in three months, you will know my answer."
Taran nodded. "So be it," he said.
"In the meantime," Rhodri continued, "you are welcome to stay here and take respite from your travels. I would be a poor king myself if I let my reservations about your leadership color my hospitality."
"Thank you," Taran replied. "But we shall stay no longer than the night. We yet have far to go, and too much work ahead to spare a single day."
Rhodri nodded, then beckoned to his Steward, who directed Taran and Eilonwy to a guest chamber. Like the Great Hall, the rest of the castle, and King Rhodri himself, the room was markedly plain. There were sturdy, serviceable, well-kept old furnishings, but nothing adorned or without purpose. Whatever beauty they had lay in the quality of their craftsmanship and their stolid functionality. The quarters were comfortable enough but, on the whole, quite cheerless.
"Well, I like that," Eilonwy said testily as soon as the Steward left the room. "Inviting us to stay after insulting you up, down, and backwards. As if we would even want his sour company! He's as prickly as a hedgehog in a thorn bush!" She scowled and plopped down in a small chair by the hearth, picking away irritably at the cord fastening the end of her long braid.
Taran answered with a wry smile. "Well, I can't say it was the warmest welcome I've had… but it's no worse than I expected, really. "Can you truly blame him—or anyone—for doubting my ability to be king? I doubt it myself…" Weary to his bones, he settled on the bed with a sigh and rested his head in his hands for a moment.
"You are being too hard on yourself again," Eilonwy reassured him as she continued to unplait and comb out her hair. "I don't know why you insist on doing that—you might as well throw yourself down a hill just so you can climb up it again. Why, think of how many situations you've fallen into before that you knew nothing about—and you did respectably well in all of them. I don't see why this would be any different. Besides, it's unfair to expect someone to know something without having had a chance to learn it. You wouldn't expect a hatchling to keep pace with a full-fledged eagle, would you?"
"There is so much to be done, though… and so much I have not encountered," Taran lamented. "I do not even know which questions to ask, let alone how to begin answering them."
"Keep in mind, you are not entirely alone in this," Eilonwy pointed out. "I said it back at Caer Dallben and I will say it again: should you have any difficulties, I will happily give you my advice. I did learn a few things while I was at Dinas Rhydant, you know, about how to run a castle and such." She straightened in her chair and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "None of it was terribly interesting, mind you, but some of it can be useful nonetheless."
"Why do I have the distinct impression that I couldn't avoid your advice if I tried," Taran said, lifting his head to toss a slight smirk her way. "Not that I would ever want to!" he added quickly, raising his hands apologetically when he saw the stormy look forming in Eilonwy's eyes.
"Hmph. Well, I still say King Rhodri judged you unfairly and you should pay him no mind," she went on, changing subjects. "He's about as likeable as thunderclouds at a picnic, and twice as gloomy. It's no wonder his queen left him."
That offhand statement caused Taran to sit fully upright again. "His queen? How did you know he had one? Or that she left?"
"There was that empty throne in the Great Hall for starters—dustier than it would be if it were being used regularly," Eilonwy stated matter-of-factly. "But even before I noticed that, I heard about it from the court ladies at Dinas Rhydnant. It's surprising how much they seem to know about people they've never met before, especially since they hardly ever leave the island. I always found their gossip so tiresome when I was there, but I suppose it's proving somewhat useful now."
"Wait—what happened? What caused her to leave?" Taran asked, his curiosity piqued.
"No one knew for certain, though you can be sure they all had their speculations. Supposedly, she left as soon as their children were grown—went back to her kinfolk in Cantrev Madoc. Their daughter went with her, while their son stayed and took up one of the smaller strongholds within Rhodri's lands. I can't seem to remember any of their names at the moment…"
"That is… quite sad," said Taran.
"That I can't remember their names?" Eilonwy asked, a bit perplexed. "Well it's not as if they know I have forgotten them, so they couldn't possibly mind—"
"No, no—the story. The story itself is sad," Taran clarified.
"Oh, I don't know. It seems rather understandable to me, now that we've met Rhodri. I certainly couldn't bear being wed to someone so disagreeable. It would be worse than having scouring sand in my shoes every day."
"Perhaps his demeanor is what it is because she left," Taran wondered aloud. "Perhaps the loss made him bitter? Either way, I have some pity for him…"
"Well, pity him all you like, and that will make up for my lack of it," Eilonwy replied with a shrug. She rose from the chair, strode over, and turned her back toward Taran, sweeping her long hair aside so he could help her with the back laces of her gown. "Right now, all I care about is going to sleep, so we can be up and out of this dismal place as soon as possible tomorrow. I can't even enjoy having this room to ourselves here, it's so grim and dreary! I'll take a tent and the hard ground over this any night."
Taran couldn't disagree. The pall that seemed to hang over Rheged already felt like it was closing over him—a shroud of grim determination and bare survival, under which joy was no more than a threadbare memory. Not much later, as they both drifted off to sleep, Taran wondered how many other cantrevs were the same.
