The better part of a month after leaving Caer Dallben, Taran, Eilonwy, and their host of guards finally came within sight of Caer Dathyl. Even from a distance, they could sense the pall of death and destruction hovering over the great fortress. Its once proud white towers and ramparts were now battered and fire-blackened, biting into the sky like jagged teeth. Gaps in the outer walls yawned wide like howling maws. Even the sun seemed to be wearing a cloak of mourning that day; heavy clouds blotted out its rays and cast the entire valley in shades of brown and gray.
When the young king and queen passed through the shattered gates and saw the full extent of the devastation, despair threatened to swallow them whole. Only the Middle Tower remained more or less intact—although its battered door, still partially hanging from twisted hinges, warned that Pryderi's army had ransacked the rooms within. All else lay in utter ruin. The Hall of Lore was razed and burned, and every last one of the precious documents therein had been reduced to cinder and ash. So, too, had the Great Hall been set aflame. Its charred rafters now hung like a blackened ribcage above the stone walls. The hemlock grove marking the mounds of honor was no more than a field of stumps, and even the barrows themselves had been defiled. The orchard, too, had been hacked asunder, and the adjacent gardens trampled to mud. Wind howling through narrow cracks in the perimeter walls echoed like the wails of the slain. What Pryderi and the Cauldron-Born had cruelly begun, winter had heartlessly finished. Sleet and snow had fallen in through the ravaged walls and roofs. Like a wedge, ice had penetrated fissures in the stone, fracturing them still more. With the spring thaw, all of it had melted and flooded the ruins, washing mud and debris into every corner and crevice.
For a long while, Eilonwy and Taran merely stood and gaped at the wreckage, wholly overwhelmed. The destruction had been painful enough to watch from afar; images of the devouring orange flames against the night sky still blazed vividly in their memories. Yet, even that was nothing compared to seeing the wreckage up close, in detail, with every fallen stone, and charred beam, and toppled wall lying before them like stark relics.
"How do we even begin to rebuild?" Taran murmured, his voice choked.
Eilonwy did not answer for quite a while—merely stood there, unconsciously clutching the crescent moon pendant that hung over her breast. "Well…" she said at last, hesitantly, then frowned, swallowed hard, and drew herself up tall in defiance of the ruin around them. "Well, we rebuild it like anything else, I suppose: stone by stone. We're bound to finish it eventually." Even in her ears, the forced optimism rang somewhat hollow. "At least we don't have to start from bare ground… Some of this can surely be reused," she added, looking around at the piles of rubble and lonely stretches of remaining wall.
"But where do we begin when everything is in ruins?" Taran asked plaintively. "We need all of it repaired, and quickly. The walls give no protection… and the gates… and the roofs… and… and who will even help us?"
With one look, Eilonwy could see he was drowning. The immensity of the work ahead had flooded over him, plunging him into such a roiling current that he could no longer see in which direction the shore lay. Instinctively, she reached out and placed a hand on his back.
"It is rather like trying to make bread without flour or water or a hearth, isn't it?" she said, keeping her tone deliberately bright. "As I see it, though, we don't need everything right at the outset, do we? The kitchens should be rebuilt straightaway, of course; people will need decent food if we expect them to work, and outdoor fires just won't do for long. Won't we need the smithy, too, for making tools and such?"
"Yes… those will be required immediately…" Taran agreed slowly, blinking and coming back to himself.
"And what else?" Eilonwy prompted. "What other things must we absolutely have to begin setting things to rights?"
"Workshops… for carpentry and masonry," Taran added, regaining focus. "Once those are up and we've set the quarry to work, the other repairs can get underway… And we must start on the outer walls as soon as possible, for defense; they will take a great deal of time to complete."
"And…?"
"The Great Hall—that must be finished before everyone arrives for the Council." He turned and surveyed the battered building. "The walls still appear fairly sound—so it will only need a new roof and much cleaning. That ought to be possible within a few months…"
"All right, so those are the places we begin, then," Eilonwy said with a decisive nod. "Now, what can wait for later?"
Taran tried to recall the multitude of structures he had seen within Caer Dathyl's walls. His head still swam a little to think of it—so long was the list, and so important each of those buildings was. Gradually, though, he began to see how some might be forgone for a while.
"Large spinning and weaving rooms could be delayed for a few months I suppose… and potteries, too," he replied after some time. "Our need for those wares is low right now, and could be met by trading with the cantrevs and Free Commots. That would lend them some support, besides."
"That sounds reasonable to me," Eilonwy concurred. "And I certainly won't weep over a lack of spinning rooms. So long as we don't have one, no one can expect me to spend my days cooped up in it," she added. That coaxed a faint smile from Taran at last. Having worked alongside Dwyvach Weaver-Woman, he well knew how tiresome spinning could be, even when done by choice.
"It pains me to say it, but the Hall of Lore could be delayed as well," he went on. "A simpler, timber structure should serve the bards well enough at first. The Hall should be worthy of the knowledge it will contain, and such a thing cannot be built in haste. We ought to begin planning it soon, of course, but the actual building could come later."
"There, you see?" Eilonwy said encouragingly. "We've already set out a list of what our first moves ought to be. There's little use in thinking twenty steps down the road if we haven't thought through the first ones yet."
Taran nodded once in agreement. A renewed sense of resolve had taken hold in the set of his shoulders. "True. We can only begin from where we are," he acknowledged.
Slowly, he walked to the broken remnants of the Middle Tower door, drew in a deep breath, and heaved aside the planks that barred the entrance. Suddenly, the sheer absurdity of it all crashed over him: where they stood, how they had ended up there, what they hoped to accomplish, the fact that this ruined castle was now the very place they most belonged… An abrupt laugh burst from his lips and he shook his head slightly in disbelief. Then he stepped aside, sweeping an arm toward the portal and making an exaggerated bow to Eilonwy.
"Welcome home, milady," he said wryly.
Eilonwy hesitated a second, then smiled crookedly herself and returned Taran's bow with a facetious curtsy. Then, the pair of them burst into the half-delirious laughter that only comes in the face of nearly hopeless odds. When they had finally caught their breath, Eilonwy clasped Taran's hand firmly and stepped with him across the threshold. Home, indeed.
Over the course of the ensuing days and weeks, the ruins of Caer Dathyl slowly transformed into a sprawling encampment. Returning warriors and craftsmen pitched tents throughout the courtyards and beyond the outer walls, alongside those of cottagers whose homes had been destroyed. Smoit's guards agreed to stay on until the upcoming Council, providing what protection they could, and then depart with their king at its conclusion. Many of the Commot folk decided to remain for a time as well, returning to their usual trades and lending their skills to the innumerable tasks at hand.
Hevydd the smith was among them, having vowed not to leave Taran's service until the forges were restored and an abundant stock of tools and fittings made. With his own hands, he helped lay the stones for a new forge, then immediately began to labor over the ironwork for a massive new set of gates.
"These gates will be even mightier than the last ones," Taran said to him one day, as he admired the master smith's handiwork. "Though even they cannot be as stout as your own heart, old friend. Will I never cease to be in your debt?"
The burly, black-bearded smith laughed heartily and clapped Taran on the back. "I work for the sake of friendship and the good of Prydain. Besides," he added, "I could do far worse than having the High King in my debt. Only let me get a look at those parchments you recovered from Annuvin, and I will happily count myself repaid. Regaining the metalworking wisdom they contain would be a priceless boon."
"You shall have that knowledge, and welcome," Taran replied, "so long as you share it with every other smith you know or meet."
"Never fear! I will be no stingier in sharing it than I was in doling out work when you labored in my forge," Hevydd replied with a bright grin.
Craftspeople from other cantrevs, too, had ventured forth to volunteer their services. There were carpenters and stonemasons, guards and grooms, farmers, a fair number of household servants, general laborers, and even a master builder who had overseen the design and construction of several castles and fortified strongholds. Fortunately, King Math's Chief Steward, Medyr, along with the other surviving servants and castle guards, also chose to remain in service of the new High King and Queen. The tasks ahead would be many and difficult, but Taran and Eilonwy took some comfort in the knowledge that they would not be alone in the struggle.
Once the debris of the old was at last cleared away, signs of new life began to take shape upon the bones of what remained. A lofty roof rose once more over the Great Hall. Smaller outbuildings—stables and workshops—were framed-up and covered with daub, ready to serve until longer-lasting stone structures could replace them. Simple but well-crafted furnishings began to fill the rooms of the Middle Tower, including two thrones and several sturdy tables for the Hall, and a burnished oak bed to replace the frameless straw pallet upon which Taran and Eilonwy had slept for the first several weeks. The kitchens were rebuilt, the nearby cottagers contributed what they could from their own harvest stores, and the cooks worked tirelessly to keep the masses of hungry workers well-fed. Slowly but steadily, with each stone hauled in from the quarries and heaved up by the masons' hands, the gaps in the ruined walls began to close, and Caer Dathyl regained a trace of its former vibrancy.
Much to the surprise of the other laborers, Taran and Eilonwy themselves took a direct hand in the work. Taran planted fresh saplings where the hemlock glade once stood and, without Eilonwy's knowledge, grafted the apple scions from Caer Dallben onto the maimed stumps that remained in the old orchard. He built a new pen for Hen Wen and her family, continuing to handle much of her care, since workers were still in somewhat short supply. In the space between the orchard and the kitchen garden, he even began a garden plot of his own, in which to test the farming knowledge recovered from Annuvin. That had been Eilonwy's suggestion, thinking it might give him a welcome diversion from the governance and rebuilding efforts that preoccupied most of their time.
For her part, Eilonwy took the lead in coordinating the repairs Taran envisioned, ensuring that his lofty aspirations were tempered with a measure of practicality. It was frustrating at times, acting as intermediary between the sundry tradesmen and suppliers, and making certain that expenditures did not get out of hand. Even so, she found it infinitely more interesting than the usual domestic purview of a queen, which she eschewed whenever she could find a suitable excuse. She did—occasionally—lend a hand in crafting new banners to hang in the Great Hall, each proudly blazoned with the emblem of a white pig on a field of green. Although none of her handiwork matched the refinement of previous banners that had adorned Caer Dathyl, her skill had improved markedly since the first battle flag she stitched—and this time, she took no liberties with the color of Hen Wen's eyes.
Day by day, Eilonwy and Taran watched the progress and regained some measure of hope. It would be years before Caer Dathyl was restored to its legendary glory, but each sunrise and sunset brought that time one day closer.
One night, after a particularly taxing day, Eilonwy and Taran wearily made their way back to their own chambers. They did not expect to encounter anyone at so late an hour. Yet, as they emerged from the stair tower and started down the hall, they saw that a tall young man in simple garb stood watch beside their chamber door, spear in hand and sword belted at his hip. It was none other than Llassar. He stood at attention as they approached.
"Good evening, Your Majesties," he greeted them, warmly but with far more formality than ever before.
"Llassar! What are you doing here?" Taran asked. He was somewhat taken aback, but more than happy to see a familiar comrade.
"Why, I am here to guard your sleep, my lord and lady," Llassar replied, looking slightly puzzled that Taran had even asked. "The king and queen must have a guard at night."
"And so we have—more guards than I anticipated, in fact," Taran replied.
"True, but nearly all of them are strangers to you," Llassar noted. "If you require a guardsman, who better than I? I am as stout-hearted as any trained warrior. Moreover, you already know my loyalty—the same cannot be said of the others."
Taran couldn't help smiling a little at Llassar's earnestness, so reminiscent of his own boyish enthusiasm in years past. The shepherd was barely at the threshold of manhood—still slight of build and hardly a match for any sizeable warrior—but he had indeed proven both his courage and devotion in leading the Commot warriors through the Hills of Bran-Galedd to Annuvin.
"We could not ask for a more steadfast protector," Taran told him. "But is the danger truly so great that we cannot even trust our own guardsmen?
Llassar shifted awkwardly on his feet. "Your positions on the throne are… precarious, sire. To have strangers around you when you are most vulnerable… If you'll pardon my saying so, I didn't follow you all the way from Commot Isav to the gates of Annuvin to see you fall now by a traitor's blade."
Taran's stomach lurched and Eilonwy paled slightly. The possibility of such a threat had crossed their minds before, of course, but to hear it spoken aloud was something else again.
"Oh, I don't seriously think you need fear anyone in Caer Dathyl," Llassar added hastily, seeing their uneasiness. "Those I've met so far all seem like trustworthy sorts. But one can't be certain. And when the cantrev kings arrive… it seems to me that it would be especially wise, then, to have a personal guard you know well."
"But what of your mother?" Eilonwy chimed in. "She must miss you sorely by now, especially with your father so recently gone. How will she care for the flocks alone, without you to help her?"
A shadow of longing passed over Llassar's face at the thought of his family and home, but he stood firm. "I returned to Commot Isav briefly after leaving Caer Dallben in Goewin's care—bade my mother a proper farewell and explained my desire to take a position among your royal guard. She was not entirely pleased with my decision, but she understands. And she does have my younger brother there to help her," he added. "He is not as good with the sheep as I, but he learns quickly. My cousins, too, will surely lend a hand."
Taran and Eilonwy exchanged an uncertain glance, still hesitant to accept the offer.
"Please, Your Majesties," Llassar urged. "There is far greater purpose and honor for me here, guarding you, than there is in guarding a flock of sheep."
"Of that, I am not so sure," Taran replied gently. "There is pride enough to be found even in common tasks—a lesson more than one wise person has taught me." His mouth crooked into a rueful grin. "I only hope you learn that more swiftly than I, and with far less hardship."
Llassar looked crestfallen, albeit at pains to conceal it.
"Nevertheless," Taran continued, "we would be fools to turn down help offered by so true a friend. I hope your fears for our safety are unwarranted—but in case they are not, please do continue as our night watchman, with our deepest thanks."
The young shepherd's eyes brightened and he stood tall once again. He threw his wiry shoulders back confidently, and tilted his chin upward with pride.
"I shall," he said boldly. "For as long as you will have me."
Eilonwy smiled warmly. "Now, if you will excuse us…" she said, nodding toward the door behind him.
"Oh. Yes, of course. My apologies." Llassar hastily moved aside to let them pass.
Eilonwy took Taran's hand and pulled him swiftly inside, bolting the door firmly behind them.
"Ooof," she huffed, once they'd moved beyond Llassar's hearing. "If we must have a guard posted everywhere we go, at all hours of the day and night, I'm sure to go mad. There were plenty of guards around Dinas Rhydnant, of course—and truly horrible ones at Spiral Castle—but none them took much notice of me, so I didn't have that unnerving feeling of being constantly under watch. It's like having cobwebs brush the back of your neck day in and day out." She shivered a little just thinking of it.
"I know," Taran agreed. "I am even less accustomed to it than you. He is right, though; we hardly know anyone here well, and most of the cantrev kings not at all. Some of the Southern Cantrevs are longtime enemies of the House of Don, and I can't imagine they will be any more friendly toward us. You heard how bitter Rhodri was, and he wasn't even one of those who sided with Arawn last winter."
Eilonwy's brows knitted in frustration. "At this point, I'd like to give the Sons of Don a piece of my mind. Yes, even Gwydion," she added when she saw Taran open his mouth to protest. "I don't see why they had to leave immediately after Arawn was vanquished. They might have stayed long enough to help us find proper councilors, at least, and give some advice on being King and Queen, and let us know who should or shouldn't be trusted. So long as they left before too much time passed, that should have satisfied the silly old prophecy. It was hardly fair to leave us hanging so, however much faith they had in us. I think they were simply being selfish."
Taran bit his lip. "I am sure they had good cause for departing right away," he argued half-heartedly. "Nevertheless… it would be a lie to say I didn't feel the same from time to time," he admitted. His shoulders sagged a little. "I am not proud of such feelings, nor do I think them truly justified, nor will they accomplish a bit of good… but there it is."
"No, there is no use complaining, is there?" Eilonwy said with a sigh. "I may as well shout at swallows for flying away in winter. I do know better, and I shouldn't be so petty, but it just bubbles up sometimes, like a pot coming to a boil—one minute the surface is still, and next you turn around, it's splashing over onto your toes and making a mess of things."
Taran frowned and leaned heavily against the stout table they had brought in to serve as a desk, saying nothing.
"I will say," Eilonwy continued, "I am actually rather glad now that Dallben sent me to Dinas Rhydnant to learn 'how to be a lady' from Queen Teleria. Thanks to that, I have at least some sense of how a court is managed. It was such a bother learning it all and I never thought it would prove very useful, but I suppose it is now that we are King and Queen." She paused, considering. "Come to think of it, I wonder if that's why Dallben sent me away in the first place… If the Book of Three made him suspect you would become High King, perhaps something in it suggested I would end up Queen." Another idea struck her and she looked sharply over at Taran. "Or something someone said or did made him think that…" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Just how long did you wait to ask me to wed after the notion came to mind?"
Taran's troubled frown disappeared at last, shifting into a crooked smile. "Longer than I wanted to wait, and longer than I think it wise for me to admit," he replied.
Eilonwy pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "Taran of Caer Dallben, you are absolutely impossible sometimes."
"No less so than you, Eilonwy Daughter of Angharad—but I would not change that for all of the gold in Prydain."
