By the rosy light of early morning, just before the sun crested the horizon, Fflewddur, Gurgi, and Telyn bade a warm goodbye to Aeddan and Alarca and struck out for Caer Cadarn. With bellies full and two solid nights of sleep behind them, the prospect of a days' walk seemed much more agreeable. The three stepped out lightly, and the conversation flowed much more freely than before. There was talk of the past, and talk of the future, and no small amount of talk about the hearty welcome they hoped to find at King Smoit's stronghold. There was talk, too, about the peculiar predicament of how to introduce Telyn.

"I hope you didn't mind my bending the truth as I did last night," Fflewddur said. "I was caught a bit off-guard, and you didn't seem eager to let on that you and Llyan were one and the same."

"Oh, do not worry about that," Telyn assured him. "I do feel a bit guilty for misleading Aeddan and Alarca, but my curiosity won out—I wanted to see how you would spin the tale. And, if you notice, I myself never lied," she pointed out with a smirk. "I said only that your mountain cat disappeared with my clothing—which is entirely true. You ran with the story from there. I simply didn't stop you."

Fflewddur laughed heartily. "Did I think you were a mountain cat? Sly as a fox is what you are, my dear lady!"

"Hmph. If it spares me from awkward explanations, then yes, sometimes," Telyn replied. "And in this case, as outlandish a tale as your version of events was, it was more believable than what really transpired. No harm done."

"What happens when we encounter Smoit, then? It is sure to come up…"

Telyn frowned a little. "It will, won't it? Well… we may as well tell him the real story, I suppose," she concluded with a sigh. "He'll question why you and Gurgi are traveling in the company of a strange woman, anyway—and I doubt the explanation you'd concoct for that would be any less awkward than the truth."

"So be it, then. Smoit shall have the full tale, in all of its glory!" said Fflewddur. "And glorious it is, too! It would truly be a shame to let such an interesting story go unheard. You needn't be ashamed of it."

"Oh, I'm not ashamed of it, exactly—"

"Look, look!" Gurgi called out suddenly, cutting Telyn off and pointing toward the horizon. "Mighty fortress is in sight! Oh, joy and gladness! Hasten with walkings—do not go slowly with talkings!" he chided.

Indeed, the companions had crested a slight hill, revealing the robust towers of Caer Cadarn across the valley. They picked up their pace, energy renewed at the sight of their destination. Fflewddur broke into a lively tune to help pass the last few miles, and Gurgi nearly gamboled along in his growing excitement.

As they drew nearer to the castle, however, Fflewddur noticed a faint wave of sadness wash over Telyn's face. He followed her gaze and saw that it rested a short distance away, on the low, stony burial mound of King Rhun. Telyn's pace slowed and she began looking about, scanning the terrain for something. Gurgi and the bard watched, puzzled. At last, she meandered off a short way and stooped down to pluck a few of the early spring flowers that dotted the ground. Wordlessly, she carried them to the burial mound and scattered them over the rough stones. She stood there for a moment, pensive, arms folded across her chest, before finally rejoining her companions.

"It looked too barren—too lifeless for someone so cheerful," she explained.

Fflewddur and Gurgi merely nodded. A lump rose in the bard's throat and tears sprang to Gurgi's eyes as they remembered their ebullient young comrade, who had given his life at Caer Cadarn only a few months earlier. Without his courageous sacrifice, they likely would not be standing there, above the very ground he lay beneath. It came as a slight surprise to recall that Telyn, too, had known Rhun—that she had been there on that terrible morning, and fought as valiantly as any of them.

The three turned back toward the massive, battle-scarred, iron-studded castle gates. Although the guards were skeptical at first of the motley trio before them, one recognized Fflewddur's name and let them pass. Another led them onward to the Great Hall to meet with King Smoit. As expected, there sat the red-bearded giant, already midway through his evening meal.

"My guts and gizzard! If it isn't Fflewddur Flam! I'd recognize that long nose of yours anywhere! And the little whatsit, Gurgi!" Smoit roared, boisterous as ever in his in joyous surprise at seeing his old comrades. He rose and hastened over to greet them, towering above all three.

"But how can this be? I thought you were long gone, sailing off into a merry sunset on a ship with golden sails!" he boomed. "And who is this lovely lady traveling with you?" he asked, turning to Telyn. "I must say, she looks a bit the worse for wear from her journey, and rather ill-garbed besides. I'd have expected better treatment from the two of you," he scolded good-naturedly, drawing his thick brows together into a single furry line of mock reproof.

"Yes, well…" Fflewddur began, sheepishly running a hand through his wayward hair, "in our defense, she joined us under rather, ah, unusual circumstances. And clothing doesn't exactly grow on bushes around these parts. Aeddan and Alarca put us up very generously for the past two nights but—well, as you see—they didn't have quite what we needed on hand. We were hoping you could help us in that regard."

Smoit laughed uproariously. "Of course, of course! I'll have my Chief Steward handle that directly—but not before we've been introduced. Come—who are you milady, and whatever convinced you to throw in your lot with these two rogues?"

Telyn introduced herself, then Fflewddur enthusiastically launched into the story of their flight from Avren Harbor and Telyn's unexpected transformation back into human form. Telyn mostly gave him free rein with the tale, although she did interject at several points to keep his exaggerations in check.

"Oho!" bellowed Smoit. "Now, I've heard of feisty women being called wildcats before—and have even met one or two who fit that description—but I never thought I'd meet one who actually was a wildcat at one point."

At that moment, Smoit's Chief Steward reentered the Hall.

"Aha! Just the man we need!" Smoit called out, waving him over. "This noble lady here needs raiment befitting her station—a fine gown for a fair guest!"

"Plus leggings, an undershirt, and a tunic, if it's not too much bother," Telyn added. "And sturdy boots. And a warm cloak. Gwythaint bones—I'll not go traipsing through forests and fields in a gown and slippers! Oh, and someone will need to return these garments to Alarca," she added, gesturing to her current garb. "I won't have her inconvenienced on my account."

Smoit laughed so heartily that the rafters above nearly trembled. The poor Chief Steward, on the other hand, looked quite befuddled—both by Telyn's existing attire and her unconventional demands. Nevertheless, he politely drew her aside to further discuss her wishes.

"You'll need to tread carefully with that one, my friend," Smoit said behind his hand to Fflewddur, giving him a playful nudge in the ribs and almost knocking the lanky bard over in the process. "I suspect she's as quick to bite as she is to purr."

Fflewddur's ears reddened. He choked out a terse "hmm" and glanced over to see if Telyn had overheard.

"What? Cat's got your tongue?" the burly king teased, laughing heartily at his own jest and slapping his massive thigh. "No, no, no, don't mind me. I mean no offense—you know me well enough to know that." He sniffed and wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. "But enough talking and jesting. Come, to meat! There is nothing like a gathering of old friends and new to whet one's appetite!"

He gestured the companions over to the sturdy table at the end of the Great Hall, and they sat down to the feast already in progress. True to form, Smoit's table was heaped with all manner of meats, breads, stews, and dried fruits, with many a flagon of ale and wine besides. Fflewddur, Telyn, and Gurgi ate voraciously, but still downed scarcely half as much as Smoit himself.

"So, you're heading to Caer Dathyl, eh?" the king asked as he gestured for a servitor to bring still more refreshments to the laden table. "Or what's left of Caer Dathyl, that is… not much more than a pile of rubble around a burned-out tower, from what I've heard. But that's not dissuading Taran in the least, is it? Planning to host a Great Council there in three months' time, he told me—decided as much the very afternoon after you lot set out for Avren Harbor. My blood and bones, he's a bold bird for being such a spring chicken! There's no putting him off whatever when he has a mind to accomplish something."

"A Council, you say? That will be quite an undertaking," Fflewddur noted.

"For meetings and greetings?" Gurgi asked. "Or for sly schemings…" he continued, his eyes narrowing.

"Well-asked, my shaggy friend," answered Smoit. "The rulers of every cantrev, and a few war leaders besides, are to be there. And it will be a right pit of vipers, I can assure you," he added, thrusting a massive finger forward for emphasis. "Why, look how many cantrevs sided with Arawn last winter! And the others? If they haven't turned traitor yet, you can be sure those slimy grubs have considered it."

"Hmmm. We had better attend the Council ourselves, in that case," Fflewddur said. "Great Belin, I'll not have Taran and Eilonwy face down a tangle of snakes without reinforcements! A Fflam never stands idly by when treachery is afoot!"

"Tarry here for a while, then, and travel to Caer Dathyl along with my own guard," Smoit suggested. "We shall make merry while we march! The journey will feel only half as long!"

"Your offer is sorely tempting, my friend… But no," Fflewddur replied, shaking his head. "We really ought to stop in my own realm first. It has been far too long since I left. True, my subjects seem to get along well enough without me, but I owe them a visit at least—kingly duty and all that, you understand. Besides," he added ruefully, "as far as they're concerned, I'm halfway to the Summer Country by now and never coming back. I had better break the news of my return to them sooner rather than later, before they get their hopes up…"

"Now, that is hardly fair to you or your subjects" Telyn protested suddenly. "You're a perfectly decent king, and a kind one into the bargain. And you know they're quite fond of you. They will happily welcome you back, I'm sure. Oh, Baeddan is sure to grumble about the inconvenience of concocting a formal explanation for your return," she continued, waving a hand dismissively. "But he's always grousing about something being improper. I believe he'd complain about a wheat stalk that didn't stand up quite straight!"

Fflewddur chuckled, mildly surprised at Telyn's outburst. For one who didn't talk all that much, she certainly wasn't shy when she did. But it pleased him to hear that she, at least, thought well enough of his kingly abilities. Her description of his Chief Steward was vividly apt, too—Baeddan was nothing if not a stickler for proper procedure and courtly tradition. Fflewddur himself had run afoul of that tendency many a time. Clearly, the fact that Telyn had been a cat during her time in his realm had not hindered her ability to read human character.

"Well, if I cannot convince you to linger, then at least allow me to provide goods and gear to set you well on your way," Smoit urged. "But that can wait for tomorrow—tonight is for feasting and merriment with old friends! My belly and beard, there's been too little of that lately, and I'll not stand for it any longer!"


True to his promise, Smoit hosted his comrades well that night, and led them to his stables and storehouses early the next morning to gather supplies for their journey onward.

"Here. These steeds should serve you well: Seiriol, Generys, and Mawr," Smoit boomed, waving his massive hand in the direction of three sturdy war-horses, one a bit smaller than the others. "Mawr is a bit of a runt, but his mettle is just as strong as the other two—more so, perhaps, since he begins at a disadvantage and still manages to hold his own. He'll be just the right size mount for Gurgi."

"That is very generous of you, but surely you can't do without such fine steeds," Fflewddur demurred. "We can continue on foot, or take lesser horses."

"My body and blood! I'll not have my friends ride shoddy, swaybacked old nags for a furlong, much less all the way to Caer Dathyl! Besides," Smoit added, "it's not putting me out at all. These horses are new to my stable. Came from Lord Goryon's stock, they did—redress for his last spat with Lord Gast."

"Are those two at odds again already?" Fflewddur asked. "I thought they had made amends when the time came to face Arawn."

Smoit snorted loudly. "So they did—and were at loggerheads again before they'd even sheathed their blades. My stomach and spleen, neither dungeons nor diplomacy seem to have any lasting effect on those two hotheads! But I'll gain something in return for the trouble they cause, as sure as I'm a Smoit! Better that these horses serve you three than an ill-tempered boor like Goryon!"

Moving on to the storehouses, the companions rifled through piles of riding gear, saddles, and all manner of weapons. They gathered up extra swords and spears, bows and arrows, and a short-handled battle axe for Gurgi. A finely-wrought dagger caught Telyn's eye, and she picked it up for a closer look.

"Aha!" Smoit roared, grinning. "Lady Telyn has an eye for weaponry! That's from the forge of Hevydd the Smith himself, and a better wrought dagger you'll never find. Take it—it fits your hand well!"

"Oh, I wouldn't take such a treasure from you," Telyn began, shaking her head. "It's much too fine a weapon for the likes of me."

"My pulse! Not at all, not at all," assured Smoit. "That comes from the treasure trove of Lord Gast—recompense for his retaliation against Goryon! That pinchpenny knave has more stockpiled weapons that he could ever hope to keep track of, and he isn't hurting for the lack of this one. It is far better suited to you, who appreciates its craftsmanship!"

"Cow thievery again, eh?" Fflewddur chimed in, chuckling. He was all too familiar with the perpetual feud between Gast and Goryon over cattle.

"Surprisingly, no" Smoit replied. "Our friend Taran put an end to most of that nonsense when he forced them to give up Cornillo. No, they've now moved on to sheep stealing! Someone put it into Gast's head that a supply of fine wool would round out his wealth, and it all rolled downhill from there." He shook his head in irritation. "It's a shame they can't keep the peace between themselves, really. They're stout-hearted and loyal warriors when they have a mind to be.

"But enough talk of livestock and belligerent liegemen—it boils my blood and churns my stomach!" Smoit declared. "Onward to the larder! We'll scrounge up provisions for your journey, and have a hearty meal besides!"

"Crunchings and munchings?" Gurgi asked eagerly, though it was only a few hours since they had left off feasting at breakfast. "Gurgi misses his magical wallet of never-ending munchings. He is not used to having rumblings and tumblings in his belly anymore." He sighed pitiably, as though he were reminiscing about a dear, long-lost friend.

"Never fear, you shall have all the food you could ever want or hope to carry!" Smoit reassured Gurgi, clapping him soundly on the back.

"Ah… one other small request, if you don't mind my asking," Fflewddur said. "You wouldn't happen to have an old harp lying about here somewhere, would you?"

Alas, Smoit did not. For all of their looting and hoarding, neither Gast nor Goryon seemed to have any musical aspirations.