"Recruitment to the garrison is going well, Llassar?" The young guard stood before Taran and Eilonwy in the Council Chamber, summoned to give his monthly report on the state of the garrison—the unofficial report, which tended to be slightly more reliable than that given by their Captain of the Guard, Cadfan, a long-time warrior under High King Math, who had a strong incentive to save face.
"It is," Llassar replied. "We had nine more men join this month—not experienced warriors, mind you, but eager to learn. One of them is particularly skilled with the bow and will make a fine archer."
"Good. And Iscawin's men are serving well? You have witnessed no hostility between them and our own men?"
"No, sire—no hostility, that is. King Iscawin's men are a bit stand-offish, but that is to be expected with them having separate lodgings beyond the castle. All are getting on well for the most part."
Taran nodded, satisfied. "That is well. Iscawin will be returning in two months, and I would prefer that he not have reason to stay long. Keep me informed if you notice anything amiss. Oh, speaking of cantrev kings, have you and Cadfan had much opportunity yet to speak with Rhodri since his return? I believe he had some recommendations to share with you both about—"
Suddenly, they heard a muffled, urgent conversation beyond the chamber doors between the guards and whomever sought entry. An instant later, the doors swung open and Medyr entered briskly. The Chief Steward was never one to fully lose his calm, but the tense lines around his eyes and mouth heralded misfortune.
"Pardon the interruption, Your Majesties, but there is a messenger here who wishes to see you about a rather urgent matter. It appears trouble has sprung up in Cantrev Talgarth."
Taran's stomach dropped and Eilonwy paled slightly. Llassar glanced from them to Medyr and back again.
"What sort of trouble?" Taran asked, dreading the answer. Given Medyr's tendency toward understatement, 'trouble' was likely quite serious indeed.
"It appears King Cedrych of Buellt has launched an attack on the stronghold of King Tegwyn, sire. I will leave it to the messenger to provide you with details, unless you prefer that he relay his news through me."
"No, we will speak with him directly—better to hear it first-hand. Please see him in," Eilonwy instructed.
Medyr briefly left the chamber and returned with the messenger behind him. From the begrimed state of the man's clothes and the dark circles under his eyes, he looked to have ridden without a halt from Talgarth. With some hesitation, he approached Taran and Eilonwy and dropped humbly to one knee.
"My thanks to you, Your Majesties, for granting me an audience," he said, touching hand to heart.
"Of course," Taran answered. "If you bear such urgent news, we must hear it. Please, rise." The man struggled back to his feet as though every bone and muscle ached. "Your name is…?" Taran asked.
"Elgar Son of Elis, a farmer by trade," he answered somewhat nervously.
"Well-met Elgar. I hope your harvest this year has been plentiful," Taran replied with an encouraging smile, hoping it would dispel some of the messenger's unease and simultaneously mask his own. "But what brings you here?" he asked. "Our Chief Steward said there has been attack on King Tegwyn?"
"Yes, sire, a siege. The bulk of King Cedrych's warriors have surrounded King Tegwyn's stronghold and cut off all travel in and out. They forbade anyone from leaving the cantrev on pain of death, but I managed to sneak out in the night. I rode as swiftly as I could. We cottagers are strong, and loyal to our king, but too few and too poorly armed to drive back an army without aid from King Tegwyn's own guard. He does not seem to be making a counterattack as of yet." He took a deep breath, distress plain in his eyes. "We… We need help, Your Majesties…"
"What sparked this blaze?" Eilonwy asked. "We know well enough that Cedrych is on poor terms with Tegwyn, but what spurred him to attack now?"
"I… I know not," the messenger stammered, wringing his hands in agitation. "Forgive me, but it was all I could do to escape. The warriors of Buellt said little, other than warning us not to interfere."
"Has blood already been spilled?" Taran questioned.
"Not yet. Not as far as I know," replied Elgar. "It appears King Cedrych hopes starvation or thirst will do some of the work for him, if not force a surrender outright. But it took me nearly a week to travel here; things may have turned foul in the meantime. From what I have heard, he is not the most patient of men."
"No, he is not—nor one to bear an insult, whether spoken or implied," Taran responded drily. He paused briefly, thinking. "How many men would you say are with him?"
"Nearly two hundred, if I had to guess—a fair number mounted and the rest on foot. I believe I spotted a battering ram among them, too."
Eilonwy exchanged a worried glance with Taran, then looked back to the messenger. "Is there anything else we ought to know? Anything we might not think to ask?"
Elgar thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No, You Majesty. Would that I had more information to give but, alas, that is all I can recall. As I said, I was compelled to leave hastily."
"It will be enough," Taran assured him. "Our thanks for making the difficult journey to bring us this news. You may leave us now, but you are welcome to rest here at Caer Dathyl for a few days until your strength returns. Wait for Medyr outside and he will speak with you about that shortly."
"I am most grateful, sire, most grateful," he replied, rather wide-eyed at the extension of such hospitality. He bowed low, then hurriedly backed out of the Council Chamber.
Once more, Eilonwy glanced over at Taran. "Well? It seems a journey to Cantrev Talgarth is in order, isn't it? Oh, I just knew Tegwyn and Cedrych would end up being trouble. It's sure to be over something foolish, too."
Llassar spoke up. "Shall I raise the guard, then? How many would you like to accompany you?"
"Summon two-thirds of the garrison and the swiftest horses for them to ride," Taran instructed. "Tell the men to arm themselves moderately but effectively, with an eye toward looking imposing. We must make as great a show of force as possible without slowing our travel—too few warriors and Cedrych might not stand down; too many, and we many not reach Cantrev Talgarth in time to prevent serious bloodshed. I would like you to accompany me as well, Llassar, as a war leader."
"Me, sire?" Llassar asked. Surprise and delighted pride mingled in the young guard's expression.
"Yes. I would like Cadfan to remain here with a defensive force, but I shall also need a trustworthy leader in the field. You are familiar with travel through hill country, and you know the other guards well by now—even better than I. They will trust your direction. It will be good training for you, besides. Fflewddur will come along to serve likewise, and can give you additional guidance." Eagerly, Llassar nodded his assent.
"Medyr," Taran continued, turning to the Chief Steward, "in addition to arranging for Elgar's lodgings, please see to it that the necessary provisions for our journey are assembled, and quickly. I would like to set out this afternoon, if possible."
"Of course, Your Majesty. I will attend to that immediately," Medyr replied with a nod.
As he and Llassar departed, Eilonwy turned to Taran with surprise. "This afternoon? I will have to go notify the builders that I will not be meeting with them tomorrow. Oh, and inform Telyn and Gurgi of our journey as well. They will be accompanying us, no?"
Taran swallowed hard before answering. "Eilonwy… I need you to remain here."
Eilonwy halted, mouth slightly agape. "What? Oh, if you spout some nonsense about me staying behind for my safety, I'll—"
"No, it is not that at all," Taran interjected quickly, hoping to curtail her irritation before it swelled into outrage. "One of us must stay behind for Caer Dathyl's protection. It would be too vulnerable with both of us absent. Even with Cadfan to direct the remaining guard, we must maintain a royal presence to—"
"Hmph. So, of course I am the one who must stay behind," she interrupted.
"Well, yes," Taran countered, feeling his own ire building. Must she protest such things at every turn? "Even a warrior-queen would not lead a distant venture in place of her king, were he able to go. That is simply not the way of it," he argued. "Besides," he added, "I have experience commanding warriors and you have none."
"Only because you've been given the opportunity to command," Eilonwy argued, her voice beginning to rise. "I'm never given a chance because I don't have experience, and I never gain experience because I'm not given a chance! It's like a dog being made to chase its own tail!"
Through his frustration, Taran felt a slight pang of guilt. No, she had not been given a chance, and he himself was partially to blame. At every turn, he had dissuaded or outright prevented her from accompanying him into situations that might turn to battles. Even when rallying the Commot warriors against Arawn—a task she easily could have joined in—he'd prevented her from riding with him. Above her protests, he'd charged her with tending the pack animals and loading gear, knowing full well that the chore would leave time for nothing else. It had been an important task, true, and not without danger, but she'd chafed at it just the same.
"You will have a chance someday, if you truly wish it," he assured her, "just… not yet. Not this time. Our position is not secure enough for us both to leave Caer Dathyl, and between the two of us, right now, it makes more sense for me to go." Inwardly, he cringed; however sound his reasons were, he was resigning her to the background yet again, and she was sure to resent it.
"I know. I know full well that it makes sense," Eilonwy replied, exasperated. "I just don't like that it makes sense. I want to be of real use; I want to do things, not stand by and watch them be done. It is not even that I wish to be some mighty warrior-queen, leading vast armies into battle; I simply want to be with you. I want skills enough that I can be with you."
The plaintive waver at the edges of her adamance tugged at Taran's heart and he strove to reassure her. "You have already done many things, Eilonwy, of great purpose: joining in the Council, helping me examine the current laws, overseeing much of the rebuilding effort…" He tried to catch her gaze, but she evaded it, looking sideways, down, away. "And you know I prefer to have you by my side, always," he continued, more softly. "But that will not always be possible—and even when distant, you are always with me at heart."
Eilonwy huffed out a sigh. "Hmn. So you say."
The skepticism radiating from her sent another twinge through Taran; she did not fully believe him. Stung, he cast his eyes to the floor. "Gurgi and Telyn will remain here as well; you are not the only one," he noted. "My hope is that it will be an entirely uneventful journey, with a diplomatic resolution, so you will not be missing any grand adventure." He glanced back up and saw her pout skew sideways in resignation, an acknowledgement of his attempt to mollify her, if not quite confirmation of success. He leaned in to give her a quick peck on the cheek, then hurried off without another word to prepare for his journey to Talgarth.
Taran, Llassar, Fflewddur, and the company of warriors set out that very afternoon, hoping to cover a fair distance before nightfall. The first leg of their journey was easy enough as they followed River Ystrad, reaching the Hill Cantrevs within a few days. Their progress then slowed as they crossed out of the valley and into higher, rougher terrain. Llassar guided the group as swiftly as possible, but the delay still heightened Taran's already frayed nerves.
"Worried about this venture, are you?" Fflewddur asked him as he rode up alongside. "I can nearly see the storm cloud hovering over your head, old friend."
Taran laughed mirthlessly. "I almost wish it would rain already and have done with it. At least I could gain a measure of peace afterward."
"Ah, you've faced far worse before," the bard said encouragingly. "Besides, these sieges nearly always end with the tip of a quill rather than the tip of a spear. Why, I've negotiated scores of—" He caught himself mid-exaggeration and changed course. "Ah, that is to say, I've heard accounts of several lengthy sieges in my time and only a few of them broke into armed conflict. In my experience, these cantrev kings merely have an itch to rattle their weapons at times; it keeps their troops from getting restive and their blades from rusting. They'd rather win by intimidation, though. Warriors are difficult to come by, as you well know."
"I hope you are right. I certainly don't want any men killed over this—whatever 'this' may be. I only wish I knew more about what provoked Cedrych. If I did, I could think through possible solutions while we travel and thus be more prepared."
"From what we saw of Cedrych and Tegwyn at the Council, it could be something as trivial as an errant sheep wandering across their shared border," Fflewddur replied. "But whatever it may be, you will think of some way to resolve it—I have no doubt of that. If it does come to full-fledged battle, though, so be it!" he vowed, shaking a fist emphatically. "Anyone who disturbs the peace will know the fury of a Fflam! We fought hard for a bit of quiet, and I'll fight even harder to keep it! Although…" he added, "I do hope we can make Cedrych and Tegwyn see reason instead. A Fflam never shuns a fight, but I'd rather be wrestling with harp strings and complicated lore, given the choice. I've rather had my fill of smiting and bloodshed after the past few years."
"As have I," Taran agreed. "I would have thought I could claim 'as have we all', but that seems not to be the case with these two hot-heads."
"Eh. Love is a complicated thing—and when it turns awry, it can be as sour as wine that has run to vinegar."
"Wait—you knew about them, too?" Taran exclaimed. "Am I the only one in all of Prydain who did not?"
Fflewddur chuckled lightly. "Oh, I'm certain there are at least a handful of others. But yes, their history is fairly well known to any who've had dealings with them, and you can be sure those people spread it to every sibling, cousin, and companion within reach of a letter, who would have passed it on likewise. The rumors didn't reach quite as far as my realm, but I heard enough during my occasional travels through these parts to get the rough outline of things."
Taran heaved a sigh, shaking his head at both the loose tongues of courtiers and his own rather sheltered upbringing. Dallben and Coll had taught him much, but none of it had prepared him for the matters he'd been contending with of late.
"Never fear—you'll grow accustomed to dealing with court gossip soon enough," Fflewddur said, as if reading his mind. "Personally, I've found it often tells you as much about those spreading it as about whomever it describes, which does have its uses…"
Onward they rode, deeper and deeper into the dour, flinty Hill Cantrevs. On a clear and sunny afternoon, Taran could imagine the land would hold a stark sort of beauty, all chiseled rock and windswept slopes, thinly blanketed by short turf grasses in all shades of green and earth. Not so that day; the sun's bright face hung shrouded and, all around, grey land rose up to meet grey sky, mingling with the heavy clouds on the horizon until one blurred into the other. Yes, on a day like that, he could see why the Hill Cantrev lords were inclined toward irritability and gloom.
As soon as the band of warriors crested the ridge around Tegwyn's stronghold, a handful of Cedrych's warriors spotted them and rode up. Although they appeared rather stunned by the High King's arrival, they did not question it—merely escorted the new arrivals into the heart of their main encampment, which was set up just beyond the range of a defensive strike from the castle. Taran saw additional clusters of warriors stationed at strategic points around the stronghold, quiescent but threatening. The men were unhurriedly going about the daily tasks of camp, biding time. He sensed an impatience in their movements, but could not discern whether that was impatience to give battle or simply to return home.
Taran commanded the bulk of his warriors to hold back while he, Fflewddur, and Llassar went to Cedrych's own pavilion. When they ducked inside, they found Cedrych scowling over a roughly sketched plan of Tegwyn's stronghold, discussing potential weak points with his war leader. The two men looked up abruptly as Taran and his companions entered, their jaws going a bit slack with surprise at the unexpected arrival.
"Your Highness! This is… ah… quite unexpected," Cedrych stammered at first, flustered. He recovered quickly, though, and launched into a verbal attack against his foe. "Caught word of Tegwyn's trouble-making, have you? Come to oust him from the throne he never deserved in the first place?"
"Well, I have come because of the siege you are waging against him, but I have not yet taken a side in the matter," Taran replied. "Tell me, what sparked this feud?"
Cedrych's scowl returned. "Tegwyn is at fault; know that from the outset," he said, jabbing a finger down on the roughly assembled table in front of him. "But that is not where the mess began. No, it commenced with a messenger from my wife's kin, bearing word that her sister was deathly ill. Naturally, Morwen wanted to go to her immediately. It is easily a week's ride to their stronghold and there wasn't a moment to lose, so she set out that very afternoon. Then, not two full days later, I received this." He snatched a parchment from the table and thrust it toward Taran. "Have yourself a look at that. A preposterous demand and a grievous insult—sealed by Tegwyn's own hand!"
Taran scanned the document quickly, scarcely believing what he read. "A demand for ransom? She was captured on the road and is being held prisoner?" Beside him, he heard Fflewddur give a low hiss of disapproval.
"That's sharp practice, indeed," he remarked. "Particularly from a past comrade."
Cedrych's broad face flushed anew with anger. His burly hands clenched so tightly into fists that his knuckles turned white. "He's a conniving weasel! The son of stinking gwythaint! Thinks he can wring a few coffers of gold and silver out of me? A fistful of steel and a rain of fire is what he'll get! No one harms a member of my family and lives to tell the tale! Least of all a petty pushover like him!"
"Do you not fear he will harm Morwen if you fail to answer his demands?" Taran asked.
"He hasn't the nerve!" Cedrych scoffed. "If I thought for an instant that he did, I'd be coughing up the ransom in an instant—no amount of wealth is worth her life. But he wouldn't dare, the milksop. He's too cowardly to look at a blind sheep sideways!"
Given the atypical arrangement the king had with his wife, Taran was a bit surprised by Cedrych's vehemence. Cedrych himself noticed. "You question my devotion? My sense of duty?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "You wonder why I am going to such lengths to win her back?"
"Not at all," Taran replied, hands raised in a placating gesture. "It is very chivalrous of you and that is to be commended. I simply did not know where you stood with her; it is a sad fact that many men are not so fond of their wives, and would not be so devoted."
Cedrych snorted. "We are on good terms, Morwen and I—quite good, however unusual those terms may seem to others," he asserted. "Whatever you have heard about me has naught to do with my regard for her. She is a good woman. Always stood by me." He drew himself up tall, and his sturdy chin tilted upward with pride. "Family is family, and honor is honor, whatever the circumstances. Any man who won't fight for those is no man at all."
"Indeed," Taran concurred. "Only, I wonder if your campaign might be more effective if it did not come to actual blows. Let us meet with Tegwyn first and see if we cannot resolve this peaceably."
"A meeting?! There is nothing to discuss!" Cedrych boomed. "He'll release Morwen or I'll raze his stronghold to the ground! It's as simple as that! He's fortunate I haven't done so already—that I have the wits to try starving him into submission first, before I waste good warriors in an assault. He's scrawny enough that he shan't last long."
"But are you not starving your own wife in the meantime?" Taran questioned. "The longer this siege continues, the more she will suffer, even if Tegwyn himself does not lift a hand against her."
Cedrych froze, startled by a fact that apparently had not occurred to him in the heat of his fury. Nevertheless, his expression quickly turned resolute once more. "Well, I shall have to attack sooner rather than later, then. I have waited too long already!"
"Then Morwen might be in even greater danger," Taran interjected hastily. "You cannot know where in the fortress she is prisoned. What if you set fire to the tower she is in, or batter down the very wall that surrounds her cell?" Seeing that Cedrych was yet unpersuaded, Taran adopted a more authoritative tone. "Cedrych, you must speak with Tegwyn. Whether you do so of your own free will or by my command, you will speak with him before continuing this attack."
That gave Cedrych pause. By his furrowed brow and set jaw, Taran could see he felt caught between his indignation and his obligation to the higher crown.
"All right, all right," he grudgingly acquiesced. "You know all too well that I will not bring shame upon myself by defying the command of my high king. Mind you, I make no promises that I will not resume the attack once the meeting is over, but I will speak with him."
Taran began to breathe a sigh of tentative relief and heard his companions do likewise.
"But not within his castle," Cedrych continued. "I will not set one toe past those blasted gates. If Tegwyn wants a diplomatic solution to this, he can bring his craven, bony backside out here."
Halfway through his exhalation, Taran's relieved sigh turned to one of frustration. Fflewddur shot him a sympathetic glance and gave a faint shrug. 'Better than nothing,' it seemed to say.
"I will go speak with him," Taran grumbled, then strode from the pavilion before his irritation got the better of him. Somewhat grimly, his companions followed suit.
Not long afterward, nervousness roiled in Taran's gut as he went with Fflewddur and Llassar up to the gates of Tegwyn's stronghold. This was not the most difficult situation he had ever faced, not by far, but neither did he have much experience negotiating truces—none, really, aside from the spat between Lord Gast and Lord Goryon a few years back, and that had only been a matter of stolen cattle, not a stolen queen.
The gatehouse guards immediately recognized Taran's ensign and sent an honor guard of spearmen out to greet them. With a steady, heavy clomp of boots, they then escorted Taran and his companions into the small Council Chamber in the heart of the fortress. Tegwyn himself arrived momentarily. His slim face was drawn, wearing an amalgam of both worry and frustration.
"Your Majesty," he began with a polite bow. "I can only assume you are here on account of Cedrych's utterly irrational and entirely unprovoked attack."
"I am here on account of the conflict, yes. But from what I have heard so far, the attack was very much provoked," Taran replied.
"What do you mean?" asked Tegwyn, taken aback. "I have done nothing wrong. I've had no dealings of any kind with Cedrych since the Council—and, to be frank, that bit of interaction was enough to last the rest of my lifetime."
"Oh, don't feign ignorance. We're onto your game," Fflewddur cut in. "Abducting Queen Morwen? I'd hardly call that 'nothing wrong' even if it's not dealing with Cedrych himself, strictly speaking. Where is she? We know she's here."
Tegwyn looked genuinely puzzled—aghast even. "What? Morwen? Is that what this nonsense is about? Why in the world would I abduct her?"
"For ransom, no?" Taran asked. "Do you deny your own stated demands?"
Tegwyn laughed incredulously. "Ransom? Hardly worth the trouble, that. Cedrych has no more resources than I, and that's paltry enough after the last few years, let me tell you. I would do better to go demand gold from an angry bear."
"Why send that ransom letter, then, sire?" Llassar put in. "King Cedrych showed it to us; it unmistakably bore your seal."
The cantrev king's posture stiffened and his already pale face blanched even further. "A letter? With my seal?" he exclaimed. "I never sent such a thing. Moreover, my wife and I are the only two who possess signet rings bearing that mark. What you claim is impossible."
Seeing how rattled Tegwyn was, Taran's suspicion of him began to dissipate, but confusion moved in to fill the void. If the king's shocked reaction was a ruse, he was one of the best dissemblers Taran had ever encountered—a trait that did not seem consistent with his behavior in Council. Whether he wanted to or not, Tegwyn wore his emotions like a cloak and spoke his mind to a fault. No, something even more sinister and complicated than a ransom plot was playing out.
"The letter could be a forgery," Taran suggested. "Might a copy of your ring have been made somehow? While you were at Caer Dathyl for the Council, perhaps?"
"I suppose…" Tegwyn pondered that for a moment, then his brow suddenly drew tight. "Come to think of it, Carys' ring did go missing for a while there… We thought it might have slipped off her finger without her noticing. But she found it the very next day among her other belongings, so we didn't think much more of it. We just assumed she'd been distracted when she took it off and didn't recall having done so."
"Hmm. It would take a clever pickpocket to pull off that trick," Fflewddur thought aloud. "Stealing the ring right off her finger, making some sort of stamp or copy, then putting it back where it belongs within a day? It could be done, though. One thief in my realm managed to steal a horseshoe from my war leader's steed while he was sitting astride it, all for the sake of a bet. He would have gotten away with it, too, had he not seen fit to brag about it afterwards."
Quickly, Taran shot the bard a glance, implying that he would do best to simply listen without interjection.
"Did Carys spend much time in the company of anyone unfamiliar to you?" Taran continued. "Someone who might have carried out such a theft? Someone who might attempt to cause trouble for you by manipulating her? We noticed she was particularly, ah, sociable at the Council…"
He'd touched a nerve. Tegwyn flushed and his hackles rose. "She keeps company with many people," he asserted. "She is not a dog on a leash, tied to my side. Her business is hers, and my business is mine, and neither of us meddles with the other. We have an understanding. Nor is she a fool, to be so easily deceived."
"I meant no offense," Taran continued quickly. "I am only trying to explore all possibilities of what might have transpired. If she spoke with strangers at the Council, one of them might have gotten ahold of her ring for a time—with or without her knowledge."
"Without her knowledge, perhaps," Tegwyn agreed defensively. "But that seems like quite a bit of planning on the villain's part, to copy the ring then and only be using it now. And to what end? Simply to stir up conflict between Cedrych and myself? There is enough bad blood between us already."
"Bad blood, perhaps, but not actual bloodshed," Taran reminded him. "The former may be a distraction, but the latter actually weakens you and Cedrych. Could someone be making a bid for your lands?"
Tegwyn shook his head ruefully. "What would they gain? Some gloomy hillside and scruffy, underfed sheep? This land might have been worth taking in my forefathers' time, but not anymore. It may yet see better days now that we've regained the knowledge Arawn stole, but it will be years before that time comes."
"Well… I suppose figuring out who ignited this conflict is less important at the moment than extinguishing it and finding Morwen," Taran continued. "And that," he added with a pointed glance, "will require speaking with Cedrych. You must come with us and negotiate."
"What?! Leave my stronghold? Walk right out in the open, so he has an easy target?" Tegwyn crossed his arms obstinately and took a wider stance. "Not a chance. I won't set one foot beyond my gates—not a single pace, I tell you. If that ill-tempered contrarian wishes to speak with me, he can come in here."
"He has already refused to do so," Taran argued. "True, I can command him to come, but that will only make him more obstinate and a resolution less likely."
"Then I shall ride out his pitiful siege and watch him crawl home like the dog that he is, with his tail between his legs," Tegwyn asserted. "This stronghold is well stocked and I am far more patient than he."
Taran frowned and drew in a long breath through his nose, trying to suppress his urge to reach out and shake the recalcitrant king. "But you are willing to speak with him…"
"Of course. How unreasonable do you think I am? Just not out there."
"All right…" Taran said slowly. "We will convey that information to him and see what can be done."
Cedrych shifted rapidly from surprise, to furious disbelief, to worried dismay, then back to anger when Taran explained the situation and suspected plot to him. The suggestion that negotiations take place within Tegwyn's own fortress went over about as well as coaxing an already hissing and spitting cat into a bath.
"What, and open myself up to capture? Absolutely not! I told you already, I refuse to pass through those gates," Cedrych declared.
"And he's refusing to meet you beyond its walls," Taran countered.
"A stalemate it is, then. If he's too stubborn—or frightened—to come out here like a man, then he can rot away in that castle of his. I'll happily sit here and watch." Cedrych sniffed disdainfully. "Back to my original plan. No skin off my nose."
"But Morwen isn't even there to be freed!" Taran cried.
"It's a matter of pride, now. He thinks he's too good to negotiate with me? Then he needs to be taught a lesson in respect."
Taran clenched his fists to keep from shouting. "Cedrych," he said through gritted teeth, "I cannot and will not allow this disruption of the peace. You two must come to terms. We can hold the meeting at the gate itself, for all I care—halfway in the stronghold and halfway out. It matters not, so long as you two speak with each other."
Cedrych considered that for a few tense beats, his jaw set and an unyielding, steely look in his dark eyes. "Fine. At the gatehouse," he finally muttered. "But if he so much as looks at me askance, it is finished."
Taran gave a decisive nod. "Come with us then. We can afford no more delays."
It was an odd sight, to say the least: Tegwyn standing on one side of the gate and Cedrych on the other, with Taran and his companions straddling the line between drawbridge and stone. A few of Tegwyn's guardsmen peered down from above, curiously listening in, until Taran ordered them back. The conversation was not going smoothly, but at least it was progressing. Cedrych had finally been convinced that Tegwyn was not lying about Morwen's absence, and Tegwyn refrained from blatantly insulting Cedrych's sense of reason. Plenty of blame continued to fly, however.
"The letter had your seal upon it!" Cedrych shouted. "Who else would I think sent it?"
"But it was not in my handwriting! You couldn't recognize the difference?" Tegwyn asked, looking oddly offended.
"It's not as if I have examples of your script lying around for comparison, do I?" Cedrych retorted.
"Of all those letters I sent in years past, you didn't keep a single one?"
"Well... no," Cedrych said, suddenly nonplussed. "I... I got angry—years ago—and burned them."
A leaden silence plummeted. Tegwyn looked like he had taken a punch to the gut, and was trying desperately not to show it.
"You... You did keep my letters?" Cedrych asked, with a mixture of incredulity and chagrin.
"Well... yes," Tegwyn replied stiffly. "They were... nicely worded." His brow furrowed. "Reminded me of better times."
Now Cedrych looked stricken, with an equally stony mask thrown up to conceal it. "Oh. I see. Well, then." He gave a tense cough and stared fixedly at the wooden planks beneath his boots.
Taran looked from one cantrev king to the other, perplexed. Clearly, he was missing something. In a heartbeat, the mood of the conversation had shifted from rancor and obstinacy to something else entirely, although he couldn't determine exactly what that 'something' was. It wasn't amicable in the least, but it no longer looked like the two men were about to throttle each other.
"Listen," Tegwyn began again, in a far less acrimonious tone, "I am fond of Morwen. She has always been very gracious to me, well beyond what anyone would expect. Carys likes her too—she has sorely missed her company since we've been at odds." He paused and shifted his weight a bit nervously. "I do not know where Morwen might be, nor who is responsible for her disappearance. But I will gladly do whatever I can to find her and bring her home safely. You have my word."
Cedrych's head snapped up. He looked searchingly at Tegwyn, still frowning but without the fiery animosity of before.
"However," Tegwyn continued, "you must call off your attack. Immediately. I'm not about to pledge warriors to help you while you're threatening to batter down my gates and set my rooftops alight."
"Hmph. No need to get so testy about it," Cedrych grumbled. "Of course, I'll call off the attack. Why would I continue when it's clearly not necessary?"
Tegwyn rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to fire back some caustic remark, but Taran cut him off. "Right then. Good," he interjected, stepping partway between the two men and extending his hands as if to keep them apart. "Cedrych, go notify your troops that they will be acting as search parties rather than a war band. Tegwyn, go make arrangements for whatever men you will pledge to Cedrych's cause. Let there be no more delays in finding Morwen—that includes squabbling—at least until she is found, and hopefully not even then."
"I will cease squabbling if he will," Cedrych muttered petulantly, folding his arms across his chest. Tegwyn threw up his hands in frustration.
Taran shot both of them a warning glance. "So, we have reached an agreement?" he stated. Although he phrased it as a question, his tone brooked no debate. The two kings nodded. At Taran's urging, they shook hands to seal the truce and went their respective ways.
The following day, as preparations for the search continued and the warriors from Caer Dathyl made ready to depart, Taran saw Cedrych approach Tegwyn as the cantrev king was leading his horse from the stable. Fearing renewed discord, Taran surreptitiously moved closer to listen in.
"Ah, may I have a word with you, Tegwyn?" Cedrych asked, somewhat stiffly.
Tegwyn halted mid stride. "You may," he replied, giving his former adversary a wary look.
Cedrych cleared his throat. He stood tall, but was gazing over Tegwyn's shoulder rather than directly at him, as though embarrassed. "Yes… Ah… I meant to say it earlier but things got away from me: thank you for offering to join in the search. You didn't have to. It is very honorable of you. That… That does not escape my notice," he said haltingly.
Tegwyn ran a hand nervously through his hair. "Yes, well… As I said, I am fond of Morwen. I would hate to see her come to any harm." He hesitated, wrestling with some other words perched on his tongue. "And… I am impressed by your devotion to her. It is admirable. I… I judged you too harshly before when I disparaged your sense of loyalty."
The tension in Cedrych's stance eased a little and he met Tegwyn's gaze at last. They stood in silence for a moment. Suddenly, Tegwyn extended his hand. Cedrych clasped it, then pulled Tegwyn closer and gave him a thump on the back. It was a brief gesture and they pulled away abruptly, once again looking everywhere but at each other, but it was heartfelt nonetheless.
Taran, looking on, breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. Even a glimmer of reconciliation between the two kings was promising. The Hill Cantrevs might yet see brighter days.
.
A/N: Fun with a twisted trope. I've seen plenty of stories about a man being willing to wage war for the sake of his lady-love, but have yet to encounter any about a man doing so for the wife with whom he has an entirely platonic relationship. For all that Cedrych and Tegwyn are contentious and troublesome at times, they're both decent guys at heart. I really enjoyed writing for them, so I hope you enjoyed reading their part. As for the unresolved mystery of where Queen Morwen IS if Tegwyn didn't capture her... patience, my friends, patience. ;)
