At his first glimpse of Caer Fflam, Fflewddur felt the excited swell of homecoming surge within him. Small as the castle was, and as dreary as it could be at times, it nevertheless stood as a beacon of familiarity and rest after months of uncertainty and hard travel. Perched high upon a rocky outcrop, the fortress was surrounded by a fringe of pines whose resinous scent wafted toward the companions as they drew near. A swath of green pastures, dotted with whitewashed, thatched-roof cottages, flanked the diminutive castle on the lower slopes.

For Gurgi, the scene was entirely new and all the more thrilling for it. He twisted and turned in his saddle, craning his neck so far in trying to catch a better glimpse of the castle that he nearly tumbled from his horse."If Gurgi had a home as fine as this, he would not leave it with wistful wanderings, oh no!" he gushed. "He would curl up beneath the pine trees in restful slumbering, and climb the hills in adventuresome ramblings!"

Fflewddur beamed with no small measure of pride. "Yes, it is one of the fairest lands in Prydain," he boasted. "That is to say, when the sun sees fit to shine, and the winter winds aren't howling, and there isn't that misty drizzle in the air… It is good to come home to it, though, after months of travel."

Before leaving the shelter of the surrounding woods, Telyn hung back a moment so as to shed her coarse traveling garb—best to make a good first impression if she had the means to do so. From the saddlebag, she retrieved the gown gifted to her at Caer Cadarn, did her best to shake out and smooth the wrinkles from it, then slipped into the deep blue pool of fabric and tied up what lacing she could reach. Her boots, she exchanged for the fine pair of matching embroidered slippers. Finally, she wiped her face clean with water from her flask, and worked her fingers through her windblown hair, untangling and then re-plaiting it carefully.

When she at last stepped into view, Fflewddur and Gurgi could not help but gawk at her transformation. Smoothed and de-smudged, with the cobalt gown flowing over her like a river, Telyn looked for all the world like a high-born lady. Her lithe carriage—a straight spine anchoring fluid movements—only strengthened the impression.

"So, how do I look? Suitable for the grand court of Caer Fflam?" she asked with a sparkle in her eye, as if she couldn't guess the answer from her companions' stunned expressions.

"Why, I'm afraid you'll make us look rather shabby by comparison," Fflewddur said, glancing ruefully down at his own patched and travel-stained garb, then over at the veritable squirrel's nest of leaves amassed in Gurgi's fur. "But I can't see much to be done about it," he added with an attempt at an untroubled shrug. "At least one of us will look presentable, I suppose."

Entirely unabashed, Gurgi scampered over to touch the folds of the gown, in awe of its fine texture and glittering embroidery. Smiling, she favored him with a twirl, showing off the gown to full effect.

"I will admit, I do enjoy a lovely gown from time to time," she said. "But only from time to time. Usually they are such a bother… too many layers, and laces, and buttons, and not enough room to breathe."

Fflewddur chuckled a little at that comment, as the voice of a certain red-haired former princess echoed in his head. He had a sneaking suspicion Telyn and Eilonwy would get on quite well…

"Oh—speaking of buttons: can I trouble one of you to play lady-in-waiting for me? I need help fastening the sleeves," she added, shaking one arm to show her dilemma. "The lacing up the front was easy enough, but these sleeves are pretty well impossible to manage on one's own."

Fflewddur exchanged a hesitant glance with Gurgi, who looked just as discomfited as he.

"Gurgi can try…" the rumpled creature said hesitantly, scratching his head in consternation as he stared at the multitude of delicate buttons and tiny loops running up the back of each fitted sleeve. "…but he is afraid it will only become a twisted tangle. He has never fastened a button before."

"Hmm. No, you wouldn't have, would you?" Telyn acknowledged. She turned to the bard instead. "Fflewddur?"

"Oh—ah—yes. Well. No trouble at all," he stammered. "A Fflam is always dexterous! If I can manage harp strings, a few mere buttons shan't pose the slightest difficulty." He hoped.

Telyn moved closer and extended one arm, twisting it slightly so he could reach the back seam. He fumbled with the buttons at first; it didn't help that his fingers were, unexpectedly, trembling. Telyn was holding quite still, but he couldn't help notice the slight rise and fall of the gown's bodice as she breathed. He bit his lip and focused more intently on his task; made it halfway down one sleeve before realizing he'd missed a button, forcing him to undo his progress and begin again. Thankfully, by the time he'd finished the first sleeve, he'd finally caught the trick of it and the second sleeve went far more expeditiously. When he finished popping the last button into place, he looked up to find Telyn smirking openly at him.

"Only a few sleeve buttons, and look at you blushing!" she teased. "Surely this isn't the first time you've helped a lady dress." Fflewddur's blush deepened—there was no good answer to that question, so he opted to remain silent. Telyn burst into a rolling, golden laugh. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take such delight in your discomfort, nor jest about it," she apologized. "I know that put you in an awkward spot. I truly did need assistance, though, or I wouldn't have asked. You saw how difficult it was, even for the person not wearing the foolish thing."

Fflewddur ruffled his hand through his hair, making its spikes stand out that much more wildly. He managed a smile, but still looked as though he felt rather like a frog in a bird's nest. "Yes, I do see why a handmaiden comes in… well, handy," he acknowledged.

Telyn grinned. "You have my deepest thanks." So saying, she dipped into a gracious curtsy. "And now I am fit to be seen. Well, aside from the wrinkles—but they cannot be helped, so there isn't much point worrying about them." She strode back over to her horse, hitched up the gown, and climbed into the saddle. "Let us be off," she urged cheerfully. "We've spent too much time on this nonsense already. Home awaits!"

Home. Such a small word, so offhandedly spoken, but it caught Fflewddur entirely off guard. Telyn considered Caer Fflam her home? But yes—she would, wouldn't she? It had been her home for a handful of years already. Great Belin, how did it keep slipping his mind that she and Llyan were one and the same? It shouldn't be an easy thing to forget…

Telyn and Gurgi were already a few lengths ahead by the time he collected his thoughts. Shaking his head at his own distraction, he swung up into the saddle and urged Generys into a trot. There would be time to mull such things over once they'd reached their destination.

Visitors were a rarity in the kingdom, so the moment the companions came within sight of the gatehouse tower, Caer Fflam's inhabitants scurried to see who it was. When Fflewddur saw the small crowd that had assembled in greeting, he was doubly glad that Telyn, at least, appeared so regal. Although his subjects knew better by now than to expect pomp and regalia from him, he still hated to disappoint them with a lackluster homecoming. He greeted the throng as graciously but quickly as possible, hoping his enthusiasm would distract everyone from his travel-worn state. Then, he hastened onward with his companions to meet with his key servitors in the Great Hall.

If the Chief Steward was shocked to see him—with unfamiliar companions no less—he was far too dignified to show it. The lean, nearly bald older man simply bowed to his liege lord and extended a cordial but perfectly proper welcome, as if Fflewddur were returning from a mere week-long ramble.

Fflewddur's other servants were not nearly so restrained. One weather-beaten man with salt-and-pepper hair and a warrior's build stepped up right away to shake the bard's hand and clap him heartily on the back. "My lord! I should have known we hadn't seen the last of you," he said, his tone bright despite the edge of gravel in his voice. "Found a way to dodge that prophecy, did you?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. I shall tell you the whole of it later," Fflewddur replied. "But I hope you are not terribly disappointed by my return, and the lost opportunity to become king in my stead," he added wryly.

"Ha! Had I any desire to usurp your throne, I could have done so ten times over by now," the man retorted with a sideways grin.

"You ought to have dispatched a messenger to notify us of the change in plans, though, sire," chimed in a second, shorter, barrel-chested man. "I'd have the stables already prepared for your new steeds."

A rosy-cheeked, matronly-looking woman came up next and threw her plump arms around the bard, squeezing so hard she nearly smothered him. "Oh, you poor man!" she cried, taking a step back and grasping him by the arms to look him over. "You're as thin as a dried-out beanstalk in winter! Why, I do believe I could see right through you if I squinted hard enough! Ach—the state you let yourself get into when you travel…" she clucked good-naturedly, shaking her head.

"Ahem," the Chief Steward interrupted with a pointed cough. "If you have all quite finished with your… ah… greetings…" The other two men exchanged a knowing glance and the woman rolled her eyes, but they backed away a few paces.

"It appears some introductions are in order," the Chief Steward continued. He turned toward Telyn and Gurgi. "I am Baeddan Son of Berwyn, Chief Steward of Caer Fflam since the reign of King Godo. This," he continued, gesturing smoothly to the older warrior, "is Cadwallon Son of Cadfan, our war leader for more than twenty years, now. Ovan Son of Esgeir is our stablemaster and falconer," he went on with a nod to the shorter man. "And this is my wife, Delyth Daughter of Aderyn. She serves as our both our chief cook and the primary chambermaid."

"You would put me last, wouldn't you?" Delyth teased, elbowing him good-naturedly.

Baeddan gave her an apologetic look, but continued without a halt. "Should you require anything at all, you have only to ask. We are all humbly at your service. And this is… Gurgi, I presume?" he continued, at pains to disguise his perplexity over the shaggy, half-human creature. "I have heard quite a few tales about you."

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi enthused. "This is bold, clever, loyal Gurgi! He travels to Caer Dathyl to serve wise and kindly King Taran and Queen Eilonwy. He could not leave them behind with boatings and floatings—oh, no, never."

"Ah. I see. Well… I hope you find Caer Fflam to be a pleasant stop on your way to reunite with them," Baeddan replied awkwardly. He quickly turned to Telyn rather than extend the puzzling conversation. "And you, my lady, are…?"

Telyn stood tall and looked him squarely in the eyes. "I am Telyn Daughter of Branwen, Daughter of Gwennan, of Cantrev Arvon," she declared, in a courteous yet firm tone that discouraged any question of her authority. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she added as she sank gracefully into a curtsy. "King Fflewddur has told me a great deal of your loyalty and unfailing service, and I look forward to knowing you better."

Baeddan, more than a little flattered to hear that his king had spoken highly of him, beamed and turned slightly pink about the ears. Seldom did he receive any recognition for his efforts to keep some semblance of order and etiquette amidst the decidedly irreverent atmosphere at Caer Fflam. He gave Telyn a courteous bow of both welcome and thanks. As he rose, his gaze flicked back and forth a few times between her and Fflewddur, with a shade too much hopeful curiosity for the bard's taste. But that was to be expected; Baeddan had hounded him for years about shirking his duty to find a suitable queen.

What Fflewddur had not anticipated was how easily Telyn could adopt such a formal mien. It was so at odds with the unpretentious boldness she'd embodied before—yet she'd slipped into it far too smoothly, too naturally, for it to be mere imitation. It left him questioning, yet again, who she truly was. As if sensing his puzzlement, Telyn cast a mischievous sidelong glance and quarter-smile his way, hinting at her game: she knew all too well what Baeddan would assume upon meeting her, and she was toying with him as surely as a cat with a mouse. The bard fought back a smile and cleared his throat to keep from laughing.

Happily unaware of the jest, Baeddan turned toward one of the young pages milling about in the background. "Bradwen, please show Lady Telyn to the guest chambers so that she might be refreshed after her long journey. Oh, and see to it that the… uh… that Gurgi finds suitable lodgings as well," he added vaguely, still rather befuddled by the creature. His experience as Chief Steward was broad, to be sure, but he had yet to encounter anyone or anything like Gurgi, and had little idea what his needs or wishes might be. Not that he would ever admit to such ignorance, of course.

"As you wish," said the page, looking rather perplexed himself. Telyn followed him from the hall, with a single backward glance at Fflewddur and the slightest perceivable wink. Gurgi gamboled alongside her as joyfully as ever.

"So… I gather Lady Telyn is nobly born, then?" Baeddan asked Fflewddur once she and Gurgi had departed. The note of optimism in his voice was unmistakable, as was the sudden brightening of his normally stodgy demeanor.

"Ah, no, nothing like that," Fflewddur chuckled. "She had you fooled for a moment, though, didn't she old fellow?" The buoyant expression on Baeddan's face deflated, and he uttered a sigh so long that it almost qualified as a breeze. "Sorry to disappoint you. No, the truth of it is, she hails from a family of skilled healers," he continued, ignoring Baeddan's pointed sigh and doleful expression. "You'll be glad she's around the next time this drafty old castle brings a fever and sniffle your way." He gave his crestfallen steward a hearty thump on the back, then strode after his companions with a jaunty spring in his step.

"Why is that man so incapable of choosing appropriate female company?" Baeddan blustered, to everyone still present and no one in particular.

"Better a healer than some alehouse maid, I suppose," Ovan said with a shrug.

"Or that milkmaid he fancied as a young lad," Delyth added.

"Or a Rover, like the last one," Cadwallon chimed in.

"A Rover?" Delyth exclaimed. "Fancy that! He never did let slip to me about her…"

"Ungh!" The exasperated Baeddan threw up his hands and stalked from the hall in the opposite direction from his maddeningly unorthodox king. The others stifled their laughter as best they could until he was out of earshot.

"I don't know why he gets himself into such a fluster over these things," Delyth said, shaking her head. "Lady Telyn seemed agreeable enough to me. Reasonably lovely, too, in spite of those mismatched eyes. And as light on her feet as a cat…" she mused.

"I say—speaking of cats…" Ovan noted offhandedly as he scanned the room, bemused. "Where is Llyan, anyway?"


Despite the short notice, Baeddan arranged a lively feast the very next night to welcome Fflewddur and his companions. As Telyn had predicted, the cottagers did seem pleased to see their king again—and if any questioned his unexpected return, none saw fit to complain. They packed into the Great Hall until every last seat was filled, then hauled in a hodgepodge of stumps and barrels and stools so that none need be turned away for want of a place to sit.

The cottagers' children were sorry to find both Fflewddur's harp and his great mountain cat gone, but were absolutely delighted to meet Gurgi. They crowded around him immediately to get a closer look, eager to find out if he would agree to play the monster in their games. One or two even dared to reach out and pet him curiously. Gurgi, for his part, relished the attention. Gleefully, he joined them in play, cavorting between the rows of tables and letting the smaller children take turns riding upon his back. A few of their parents looked askance at first, but realized soon enough that Gurgi was about as dangerous as a large puppy.

Telyn continued to play the high-born lady for a while, gracious and dignified. As the celebration wore on, however, and the ale, wine, and music began flowing freely, the allure of the revelry proved too strong to resist. Soon enough, she was belting out bawdy folk songs along with the rowdiest of the cottagers, her earthy alto full of character if lacking somewhat in refinement. When they came to a tune she didn't know, she hiked the hem of her fine gown up almost to her knees, and joined those dancing instead. Around and around she reeled and spun with them, lost in the ecstasy of music and movement. Fflewddur, watching from afar, found himself transfixed—found himself longing to join her, to be pulled into her euphoric whirlwind and swept away. And he could, he supposed. It would not be quite proper, king that he was, but not terribly improper either. He could. And yet, somehow, he could not.

After several songs played out, Telyn finally returned to her seat beside his and sank back into it, flushed and breathless. She flashed the widest, purest smile Fflewddur had yet seen. "Oh! I'd forgotten just how good it feels to dance!" she exclaimed. "And it would feel even better if this ankle weren't still complaining a bit…" She turned to him, then, eyes questioning. "But why did you not join in?"

A good question, indeed. Not in the nature of a Fflam to hold back… "As if I could keep up with you!" he replied, with a light laugh that belied his internal muddle. "I'd have better luck keeping pace with a racing stallion!"

"Hmph. You'll never win the battles you don't fight," Telyn countered. "A Fflam ought to know that."

"True enough—but nor will I suffer an inglorious defeat. A Fflam must also consider his reputation, after all," Fflewddur responded with a wink.

Telyn bit her lip for a second, thinking. Then her mouth twisted into a sly grin. "You owe me a boon, as I recall…" she said, tilting her chin in challenge. "It would be poor form to deny your guest of honor a request." She did not wait for his reply. In a flash, she was back on her feet, grabbing Fflewddur by the hands, and pulling him out of his seat. "Come, come, come—for a song or two, at least," she cajoled.

And how could he resist such persuasion? Gladly, he relented, letting her draw him into a wild and freewheeling caper, weaving in and out among the other dancers. It was every bit as exhilarating as he'd imagined, watching from a distance—and as disorienting, too, as though he were adrift in a swirling current and his only anchor were her. A sea of bodies, waves of sound, a surge of energy flowing through his every limb, with only Telyn's firm handclasp and laughing eyes to steady him and guide him through. He had danced before, certainly—countless times—but could not recall ever dancing quite like that before. Then again, he had never encountered anyone quite like Telyn before. He wasn't sure what to think about any of it.

For the moment, it didn't matter; the raucous joy of the festivities and the relief of being home were more than enough to take in. Late into the night, the hall rang with merriment and song, until the torches burned low and the last few revelers staggered tipsily back to their homes. Telyn and Gurgi finally retired to the guest chambers, and Fflewddur collapsed, happily exhausted, into the bed he had not seen in months.


No sooner had the sun risen again than the weight of royal obligation came crashing down on Fflewddur like a deluge from a burst dam. Hour after hour, his subjects streamed once again into the Great Hall, now seeking an audience with him to air their grievances.

It seemed every last subject had some issue or other that they wanted their peripatetic king to address before he had a chance to wander off again. Alun and Idwal were caught in a squabble about whose grazing land began on which side of an old stone wall. Hergest wanted a new dam built across the stream near his cottage, and Cranog wanted the dam near his cottage removed. Emlyn the cobbler had mistakenly made ten pairs of boots instead of sandals for Merfyn the tailor's family, and now Merfyn refused to pay for them. Meirion took issue with the fact that his brother, Beinon, was to inherit three cows from their father while he'd received only two. And Carwen was fed up with her neighbor Eurwen's goats eating the laundry she hung out to dry. And on, and on, and on, and on...

Fflewddur bore it all as patiently as he could, doing his best to deal fairly and compassionately with every mundane problem his subjects put before him. The longer the day wore on, however, the lower and lower he slouched on his throne, withering under the tedium like a plucked leaf in the sun.

"Great Belin, a Fflam is forbearing, but this is worse than picking burrs out of a woolen cloak," he muttered under his breath, as yet another throng of cottagers filed in behind Baeddan. "I should have snuck out with Telyn and Gurgi when they ventured forth this morning to explore the countryside."

Finally, well after the sun had dipped below the horizon, Baeddan ushered out the last round of cottagers and took his leave of his weary king. Fflewddur heaved a sigh of relief and stood, stretching and shaking out his cramped limbs. Too exhausted even to eat supper, he retired to his chamber and flopped down upon his bed without even removing his shoes.

Not ten minutes after he closed his eyes, a knock sounded on the chamber door. Fflewddur groaned inwardly. Drat and blast, he thought. Who could it possibly be now? And what in the name of Don might they want that can't wait until tomorrow? He said not a word, hoping whomever it was would think him asleep and simply leave. No such luck—the knock sounded again, more insistently. Reluctant as a criminal headed to the pillory, Fflewddur went to answer.

To his great surprise, it was Telyn who waited at the threshold. She had already changed into a loose linen night shift, and stood there staring up at him, her hair unbound and slightly disheveled. "I cannot sleep," she explained, as if that were reason enough to show up unannounced and less than half-dressed at his door. There was a lengthy pause before she realized Fflewddur seemed to need more explanation. "It feels so odd being here—being home again—but sleeping on a pallet instead of the floor, and in a room all by myself, and… It's familiar, but it's not, and it feels that much more wrong for being so close to right."

Fflewddur merely blinked, flummoxed and much too weary to follow her logic.

"And it's too quiet," Telyn continued. "I think I'm so accustomed to your snoring by now that, without it, I hear each little mouse scurrying and every breeze whistling through the chinks in the wall."

Fflewddur rubbed his ragged head, unsure whether to be embarrassed about snoring or flattered that Telyn seemed to miss it. "Uhhh, yes, well… What is it you want exactly?" he asked. "A Fflam always tries to be helpful—in fact, I've been doing quite a lot of that all day—but it is rather difficult if I don't know what is being asked of me."

"May I stay in your chambers tonight?" Telyn asked, without any hesitation or pretense. "I need only a blanket and a place near the hearth," she added hastily upon seeing Fflewddur's shocked expression. "Really, I don't mean to be a bother. But I think it would help if I could sleep where I always have—at least until I'm more accustomed to being a person again."

There was another lengthy silence while Fflewddur weighed the blatant impropriety of such an arrangement against his desire to be accommodating. Telyn was still adjusting to her new circumstances, after all… And she had usually slept beside his hearth… And he certainly wouldn't mind her company… But Great Belin, would it ever stir up trouble if anyone found out.

Telyn laughed at his clearly bewildered expression. "You needn't look as though I'd asked you to stand on your head and swallow water at the same time!" she quipped. "Go to sleep like any other night, and imagine I am still a cat in the corner. You won't know the difference with your eyes closed, will you? Aside from the lack of purring, that is…" She grinned again, and a fleeting glint of mischief flashed in her eyes.

Fflewddur's heart thumped so hard he was sure she must have heard it. Finally, though, he smiled too; the entire situation was simply too absurd to take seriously. Besides, he had learned long ago that there was no use in denying Llyan something she'd set her mind on having, and Telyn seemed no different.

"Well, I know for a fact that Baeddan would object vehemently to such an arrangement…" he began. "But as they say, what he doesn't know won't harm him." He poked his head out into the corridor to ensure no witnesses were around. "Come in, and welcome."

He ushered Telyn into the room, and offered her an armful of blankets and pillows from his bed. There were always far too many piled upon it, anyway. Delyth was forever insisting he would catch a cold without them—never mind that he slept perfectly fine under no more than a cloak during his ramblings. Telyn pulled a narrow couch closer to the hearth and curled up on it as though there were nothing odd about it whatsoever. Fflewddur collapsed back onto his own bed, arms sprawled wide in a posture of utter exhaustion.

"Did you have a chance to explain to everyone who I really am?" Telyn asked after a moment.

"Mmmph," he grunted.

"Does 'mmmph' mean yes?" Fflewddur could hear the wry smile in her voice.

"Yes," he clarified. "The disappearance of a giant cat was far too noticeable for them to overlook, and the tale of your transformation is far too interesting for me not to relate."

"Good. Thank you for sparing me that conversation. I'm sure you told it better than I could, anyway."

"Mm-hmm," Fflewddur mumbled.

Both of them went quiet. A log popped loudly in the hearth. Tired as he was, Fflewddur found he, too, now could not sleep.

"Are you all right?" Telyn asked after a while, propping her head up on her hand and looking his way. "You seem incredibly weary and worn down…"

"That, my friend, is the very definition of an understatement," he groaned. "Trekking across mountains? I find it no more taxing than a leisurely stroll! Slashing my way through fields of warriors from sunup to sundown? A Fflam never flags! Plucking at a harp for hours on end, until each finger blisters? I count it a joy! But," he continued, "listening all day to the quarrels and complaints of every last subject of this realm? Dealing with convoluted legal procedures and tedious customs? Poring over official documents written in the tiniest script imaginable? That is enough to make me want to sleep for a month afterward!"

"Hm. Yes, I suppose I have noticed that before," Telyn remarked, "particularly when we've returned here after a long absence." She continued to study him from across the room. "But you were taught how to handle such matters, were you not? I mean, you've been royalty since the day you were born, and have had ample practice at fulfilling such duties. I would think you'd have some endurance for it by now."

"No, sadly, that doesn't seem to come with time—knowledge of it does, but not tolerance. It's simply not in my nature, I'm afraid." Fflewddur sighed again, more bitterly. "I was never supposed to be a king in the first place," he muttered. "I never expected to, anyway. And I suspect no one else did either—or that they were very pleased when I did take the throne."

"How so?" Telyn questioned, puzzled. "If you were born into a royal family, would you not expect to be king one day?"

Fflewddur hesitated a moment before answering. "Well, I had three older brothers, you see. It hardly seemed likely that the crown would ever pass to me. Oh, I threw myself into my training anyway, of course: combat skills, diplomacy, court procedure... A Fflam is diligent!" He glanced over at Telyn and caught her skeptical look, even in the dim light. "Ah, yes, well… That is to say, I put rather little effort into my training, for far too long. It was every bit as dull then as it is now. My heart simply wasn't in it.

"Gethin and Gwythyr didn't take it all that much more seriously than I, though they certainly lost no opportunity to play liege lords over me," he continued. "Ffynnon, on the other hand… He was every bit a king in the making: clever, even-handed, with a strong sense of duty and justice…" His voice trailed off into leaden silence. He did not look back Telyn's way again. Several breaths passed.

"Illness or battle?" she asked gently.

"Battle." Fflewddur's reply was quiet, terse. For once, he showed no signs of wanting to tell the story, much less elaborate on it.

"Were you with him? With them?" Telyn continued.

"No. Not in combat." Another pause. "I wanted to go with them, but couldn't. I'd been injured just a few days before, falling from a blasted horse—an enchanted horse, at that."

Telyn pried no further. The bard's pain and self-reproach were palpable, and it made her own heart ache in concert. She longed to reach out and take his hand—to offer him some physical link back to the present and out of his grim memories, but the space between them stretched wide.

"I think you owe a debt to that horse…" she said at last, quietly. "As do I."


.


A/N: Bonus chapter this week, since it continues the homecoming theme. Enjoy, and stay safe out there everyone!

Also, should anyone find their curiosity piqued by that mention of a Rover girl, go read chapter four of Companion Wanderer's mini-fic "One-More-Day" here on this site. You know what? Go read it even if you weren't curious. Do it! It's a very touching snippet of story, and actually initiated my own musings about the deeper aspects of Fflewddur's character (and subsequent dive into writing fanfic). Plus, it dovetails pretty well with this chapter, the opening chapter, and the whole Fflewddur & Llyan(Telyn) dynamic.