Midnight Musings

They traveled only a little way further before making camp for the night; though the urgency of the mission had not abated, at least they were no longer running for their lives, and could settle in with a sense of relative peace. Sustained by a few handfuls of hickory nuts they found on the way, physically exhausted and emotionally spent, Eilonwy threw herself to the ground without noticing the roots and pebbles beneath, and instantly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She was awakened in the star-strewn midnight by Fflewddur shaking her gently, and rose, yawning, to take her turn at watch. The rolling hills of the landscape glowed under the full moon, and she settled against an oak trunk with a sigh of appreciation at how the watery silver light softened and muted all the rough edges of the landscape. It wrapped peace like a balm upon her spirit.

The woods had changed in their two-day course; fewer oaks and elms and more evergreens as the land rose and began to buckle upon itself. The air was cooler, and flavored with the sharp, fresh scent of pine and fir, a novelty of which she breathed deeply. She had never been in the hills before, and that seemed to be where they were headed. Caer Dathyl, she understood from Fflewddur's rough sketches, nestled upon the brink of the Eagle Mountains, and she wondered eagerly what the great fortress, mentioned in several of her books, actually looked like. Achren's insane railings against the Sons of Don had not wholly hidden her envy of their wealth and power; even without these attractions, Eilonwy could not help but be curious about anyone Achren so vehemently despised.

Well, with luck, she'd find out soon enough. Her resolve to request sanctuary there had taken firm root in her mind, and she'd begun to imagine her life there with rosy anticipation, entertaining vague images of herself -attired as befitted her rank, of course - strolling through lush gardens, riding on hunts, competing in archery tournaments, sitting at feasts while minstrels played in the background...all the scenes that appeared in tapestries and in her books. Books! Caer Dathyl housed the Halls of Lore...did you have to be a bard to gain entry to them? She'd ask Fflewddur tomorrow. Oh, wouldn't it be exquisite!

On the other hand, the Sons of Don might just pack her back to her kin...whoever they were. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Achren had made it all too clear that Eilonwy was the last remnant of Llyr, and insinuated that the relations responsible for sending her to Spiral Castle had done so out of a desire not to be bothered with her. Of course, knowing Achren, both the assertion and the implication could be outright false...but she had had no way of finding out. That would change when she got to Caer Dathyl. If anyone knew the truth of her people and her history, the Sons of Don would.

A new thought broke upon her like an incoming tide. Suppose it was all Achren's lies - suppose she still had a family; parents even; suppose she got to Caer Dathyl to find that they'd been searching for her for years, and, reunited, they'd take her off to her ancestral home by the sea. She felt her heartbeat quicken, lips part breathless, and silently mouthed the strange, alien word mother.

Daughter of Angharad, daughter of Regat. What did it even mean?

She was lost in a waking dream for a long while before the practical side of her mind poked at her, pricking at the fantasy future she'd begun to construct until it deflated. After all, if her parents, or any of her immediate family were alive, surely they would have found her. The enchantresses of Llyr had been a power to rival the Sons of Don - even Achren admitted that, with obvious disgust at their lack of interest in doing so - so there would have been rumors of them, and no power of Achren, who'd been neither unknown nor ignored, could have kept her hidden from them, had they been searching for her. She was certain of that.

No, it must be true - at least the part about her immediate family being dead. As far as the rest, who knew? But if she did have kin stupid enough to send her to Achren, she'd run away for good, alone if need be, before being sent back to them. If she paid attention on the way to Caer Dathyl, she ought to learn enough woodcraft and foraging skills to survive on her own in the wilderness by the time they got there. Just in case King Math turned out to be an unreasonable man, unsympathetic to the plight of homeless princesses.

Or perhaps she'd stay with Fflewddur, if he were agreeable to it. His company was so pleasant. Would a wandering bard even want company? He'd said he was glad she was with them, and his unbroken harp strings confirmed it. Lovely man. She smiled into the darkness, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders like an embrace. If her father were alive, she'd want him to be just like Fflewddur. Strange that in all the rote memorization of her lineage, her father had never been mentioned. She did not even know his name, and it had never seemed terribly important, but she found herself wondering, now, what it was. When she tried to imagine what he might look like, a mental image of Fflewddur with bright red-gold hair was all that came to mind, and she laughed dismissively and let it go.

And Taran. Once his mission was done, he would go back to his home, she supposed - Caer Dallben, was it? Strange name, for she'd gathered, when he'd been telling his story the day before, that it was neither castle nor fortress. He had spoken of it with a longing unlike anything she had known for any place, and it made her intensely curious. What was it like? Who else lived there? He had never mentioned parents or siblings or any family at all, only names, vague and untitled. She'd rather like to see his home, but the thought of accompanying him there wasn't exactly appealing...though the thought of saying a final farewell to him wasn't, either, strangely. By all that was reasonable she should be able to send him packing with no thought but good riddance. Why was he so confusing?

She saw again his face gilt with rosy sunset light, the emerald glint of his black-fringed eyes and the honest admiration in them. Drat him. And drat whatever made all of her warm and tingly at the memory, too.

At this inopportune moment, there was a snapping of twigs at her left, and Taran himself materialized under her tree. Eilonwy started guiltily, realizing she'd been so lost in her own thoughts she would not have noticed much of anything approaching.

"You'd better sleep," he offered. "I'll finish the watch for you."

She flushed, wondering if he'd noticed her surprise at his approach. "I'm perfectly able to do my share."

He sighed, and settled himself against a nearby oak trunk. For a few silent moments she gazed across the moonlit meadow, steadfastly determined not to ask him any of the myriad questions springing to her mind, so inward-focused that she jumped when he cleared his throat. "You know," he said falteringly, "that spiderweb..."

Oh, Llyr, not that. "I don't want to hear any more about it," she snapped, floundering between remorse and wounded pride.

"No, what I meant was-" his voice cracked nervously. "I really was worried about you. But the web surprised me so much I forgot to mention it." She found she was holding her breath, and let it out in a silent sigh, feeling her hunched shoulders loosen and settle like sand in the bottom of an hourglass. She looked straight ahead, too self-conscious to turn to him, and from the corner of her eye saw that he was doing the same.

"It was courageous of you to stand up against the cauldron warriors," he continued hesitantly. "I just wanted to tell you that."

Elation, irrational, bubbled up within her and she barely contained it. "It took you long enough to get around to it," she managed, and then, before she could stop herself, added, "but I imagine assistant pig-keepers tend to be slower than what you might expect. It probably comes from the type of work they do."

He turned to look at her and she took in the sardonic twist of his mouth, the quirk of his eyebrow, felt again the mix of amusement and annoyance he'd emanated back at the foot of the castle ruins, and a new thought struck her. You're as insulting as he is. Why had she said that?

Oh dear. "Don't misunderstand," she stammered. "I'm sure it's awfully important...only it's the sort of thing you don't often need to be quick about." Oh, blast, that wasn't what she meant at all...what did she mean? And was she angry with him or not?

He seemed to overlook this, however, turning his gaze back to the landscape thoughtfully. "At first I thought I would be able to reach Caer Dathyl by myself. But I see now I wouldn't have got even this far without help. It is a good destiny that brings me such brave companions."

Yes, she was angry with him. "There, you've done it again. That's all you care about! Someone to help you carry spears and swords and what-all. It could be anybody and you'd be just as pleased. Taran of Caer Dallben, I'm not speaking to you anymore." Eilonwy flopped to the ground and yanked her cloak over her head. All he wanted was a few warriors so he could play at being war-leader. Fine. Warriors need not speak to each other of anything but the task at hand; they need not try to be friends or make up quarrels or...or care at all.

That inner voice pulled at her, whispering. If you really didn't care, nothing he said would bother you. She snorted. Precisely. So she wouldn't. Didn't.

She heard him sigh, and mutter to himself. "At home nothing ever happened. Now, everything happens, but somehow I can never seem to make it come out right."

Denying an impulse to sit up and say something comforting, Eilonwy screwed her eyes shut, grit her teeth together, and pretended to sleep.