The Great Hall of Caer Dathyl was aptly named; it was cavernous and splendid, and managed to be grand even when it was full of the noise and mess of a hundred feasting warriors - which it was, just now. Torches blazed along the walls and in the sconces of great hanging braziers. Tapestries three times taller than a man covered the walls, between swords and shields hung in crisscrossed patterns. Banners embroidered with the emblems of every cantrev in Prydain swung lazily from enormous rafters far above. Golden rushes covered the floor.
Gwydion escorted Eilonwy toward a long table, where a familiar spiky yellow head bobbed, over a body whose long arms were gesticulating wildly to accompany the tale their owner was telling. She got there in time to hear the men around him erupt into roars of laughter, which was quickly hushed when Gwydion appeared at the table's head. As one, every man leaped to his feet, bowed to the prince, and remained standing. Fflewddur scrambled out of the crowd, beaming, and Eilonwy ran to the lanky bard and threw her arms around him.
"Well, well!" He was laughing, squeezing her in an answering embrace. "So, it seems we're all in one piece, eh?" He laid his hands on her shoulders and held her out at arm's length to look her over. He was clean and shaved; his patchwork threadbare garments had been replaced with the sturdy and unpretentious garb of a warrior. "Some of us in better-turned-out pieces than others. How does it feel to be dressed like a princess again?"
"Again?" She laughed. "I never was before. And to be quite honest..." she hesitated, glanced around, and leaned toward him to whisper, "I feel like a pudding poured into its skin. It's dreadful."
Fflewddur's head rocked back in a peal of laughter, and just as she registered his use of her title, there were excited yelps behind her. She whirled around. Gurgi was capering toward her, his head wrapped in a bandage, his forward progress impeded slightly by his tendency to pause and turn in excited circles the closer he got. Laughing, she opened her arms to him and he leaped into them. "Oh, joyful morning!" he cried. "Gurgi thought he would never see his friends again! And here is the noble lady well and whole! And see what feastings and heapings are laid on the tables. Gurgi has never known such crunchings and munchings. He has had his fill at last!"
Over his curly, coarsely-furred head Eilonwy saw the tip of a red cap. She straightened up as Doli stepped into view, his red eyes twinkling over something that just might pass for a rusty, long-disused smile. Then, to her utter shock, he swept his cap off and bowed to her, rose and held out a very square, stubby hand. She took it, blushing in embarrassment. "A good morning to you, my Lady," the dwarf said gruffly, "and a salute." He winked. "I hope you can forgive an old fellow his foolishness."
"Of course," she stammered, growing increasingly conscious of being the center of attention. Even the assembled warriors, all of them still standing, were watching the reunion with interest and amusement, and she felt the curious gaze of many, many pairs of eyes. Memories of men's faces, leering from the tables in the Great Hall of Spiral Castle, pushed themselves into her mind and she leaned unconsciously into Fflewddur, who laid a protective arm about her shoulders.
"Courage, dearest," he whispered. "These are all friends. They are standing for you, you know."
She blinked, and looked again through the faces. She saw-and felt-curiosity, yes, but also respect, reverence, wonderment...even a wistful sense of paternal affection, as though some were thinking of their daughters. There was no ugliness, no hint of the nameless dark threat she had sensed from most of Achren's guards. Eilonwy relaxed, and stood up straight. Gwydion, returning from a conference with another page, appeared at her other side.
"Taran is resting in the north hall," he informed her, with what could only be described as a grin, his sharp canines flashing. "If you are satisfied with our care of these-" he nodded at her trio of beaming companions -"perhaps you'd like to examine his progress now."
"Oh, yes!" She hugged Fflewddur again and kissed his smooth cheek, gratified to see it turn bright pink; patted Gurgi on the head and nodded hastily to Doli as Gwydion once again held out his arm. As they left the Hall, she heard a tremendous noise of scraping and thumping as all the men resumed their seats.
They passed through a maze of corridors and towers, up and down stone staircases and in and out of archways and courtyards. It was enormous, more of a village than just a castle. Everywhere they went, men and women, even children they passed paused in their work and bowed automatically. Gwydion nodded in return but otherwise barely acknowledged them. Eilonwy wondered how long it took before you got so used to that sort of thing, and whether anyone thought it rude to be so overlooked.
Finally they entered a long, low hall lined with doors on one side and large windows on the other, their shutters thrown open to let in a warm draft of sweet, fresh air. Gwydion led her to one of the doors, opened it, and ushered her inside.
The chamber within was small, but bright and airy thanks to the long window on the opposite wall. Clean yellow rushes covered the floor. Against the wall next to the window stood a couch draped with snowy white linen. Next to it, a bearded man in a long robe was kneeling, his hand at the wrist of the boy lying there. The man looked up, but Eilonwy barely noticed him; she broke away and hurried to the couch.
"Hsh!" the bearded man held up a large, fine-boned hand. "He still sleeps, and must awaken on his own. Even then he is not to be disturbed in any way, and should not rise for at least a day. After that...we shall see."
Taran's eyes were shut; his face looked thin and a little sallow against the clean white linen of his shirt and the bedclothes. He'd obviously been bathed; all the grime and blood was gone; his dark hair was clean and combed. His right sleeve was split and rolled to the shoulder, and his arm, lying limp next to him, was bandaged from palm to elbow.
He still looked so pale and ill that the familiar lump formed in her throat; she wanted to take his bandaged hand, but Gwydion and the healer were still standing there watching. She gulped. "Is he...he will be all right, won't he? Truly?"
Gwydion's eyes were kind as he indicated the other man with a nod. "No fear. If Emrys says he will recover, he will."
From somewhere outside, a loud squeal and a chorus of several alarmed voices erupted. Feet scuffled. Moments later, a large white pig hurtled through the door, trailing a rope and three red-faced stable boys.
Emrys scrambled in front of the couch, his arms spread protectively. Eilonwy, laughing, called the pig's name to distract her from her obvious intention of sharing Taran's couch. The stable boys, horrified at appearing thus before Gwydion, were all bowing and stammering out apologies. The prince, who looked stern and disapproving but who, she felt, was actually fighting back laughter, ordered them all outside and turned to the scene within.
"Hen Wen!" he barked, and the pig instantly halted her struggle and turned to look at him, beaming all over her wide face. Gwydion knelt, his face at her level, and she trotted over until they were nearly nose-to-nose. Eilonwy watched them curiously as a strange, thick silence fell, broken only by the occasional grunt or snuffle from the pig. Then Hen Wen turned, trotted to a corner of the room, and lay her bulky body down with a contented sigh. Gwydion rose and announced, "She will stay with him until he awakens."
Emrys looked startled. "The...the pig, my lord? Or the girl?"
"Both," Gwydion answered, and winked at Eilonwy. "The oracle, and the princess. You will have no trouble from either, and I daresay you could not find more attentive nurses."
"I..." Emrys looked from Gwydion to Hen Wen and back again. "This is most unusual. Are you certain that-"
Gwydion gave one level, decided nod. Emrys sighed. "Very well." He nodded to Eilonwy. "I shall leave him to you, then. Let no one disturb him, and let me know when he awakens." He left silently, and Gwydion, with a final nod and grin at her, followed him out and shut the door.
Eilonwy looked around the rest of the room; it was unadorned save with a lampstand on the wall and an osier stool in one corner. She crossed to it and sat; then she frowned, rose, gathered up her skirts in her hands, and sat again, depositing into her lap the excess fabric that had been bunching underneath her. Belin. What a nuisance.
A serene quiet fell, made up of the small, indistinct sounds that drifted in through the window; birds twittering, the occasional neigh of a horse and clip-clop of hooves on cobblestone, the bark of a hound, the faint, far-off chatter of men and women going about their business.
She wondered how many people lived within the castle and its guardian walls. It seemed to be teeming with them, a situation quite outside her experience. Spiral Castle had been sparsely-run; besides a few dozen guards and a handful of stablehands and gardeners, Achren had employed only a cook and two surly serving maids. Yet Gwydion had led her past dozens of individuals, and now that her anxiety about Taran had been assuaged, she thought over what she'd seen.
Boys and girls no older than she scurried through the hallways carrying firewood or baskets of laundry. In the courtyards, men and women haggled with the owners of large wagons, piled with the fruits of the surrounding fields. In one yard a small group of boys was sparring with wooden swords, while a master-at-arms shouted instruction over the clatter of their weapons. They had passed a building from which came the din of hammers on metal, and the entrance to what had to be the kitchens, for scullery maids were popping up and down its sunken stairway, bearing trays and baskets that wafted heavenly smells in all directions. Through one archway she had glimpsed a group of young ladies, slightly older than herself and richly attired in every color of the rainbow, sitting in a circle around a fountain, needlework in their hands. Despite her instantaneous assessment of the dullness of this activity, she found herself harkening to their laughter, which had chased behind her, filling her with a strange sense of longing and loneliness.
It was exciting, the crowding and the bustle. She'd hardly believed so many people existed – though of course she'd read of such things. This place must never be dull, never dreary and silent like Spiral Castle. If it was this busy and lively on an ordinary day, what must it be like during a celebratory event? Fflewddur had said the nobility loved ceremony. She hoped it would not be long before they got to see some.
Of course, she'd have plenty of opportunity to see some, if she stayed here. But…
Eilonwy sighed, and tugged at her pendant, crooking her fingertip into the curve between the crescent's horns. Would she stay?
"Of course I will," she said aloud, without meaning to. Hen Wen snorted, and opened her eyes, blinking at her sleepily. "It's all right for you," Eilonwy told her crossly. "You know exactly where you belong, don't you? What is it like, to know you're going home?"
The pig shut her eyes again, twitching an ear. As with the gwythaint, Eilonwy felt any ear would do. "I wonder if you do know. Whatever part of you knows about...about things a pig shouldn't...it doesn't seem to talk to the rest of you. So maybe you're happy so long as you're safe and comfortable and fed, and not picky about where it happens. Though you do seem happiest when you're with him." Eilonwy nodded toward Taran's couch, and sat silent for a long moment.
"But then no one expects a pig to be anything but a pig," she continued presently, "so no matter where you go it'll be table scraps and straw beds. Nobody dressing you up in awful scratchy things. Or telling you what a pig should or shouldn't do. Or probably expecting you to sit with a bunch of girls and poke about with needles and thread."
Hen Wen had opened her eyes again, and was surveying her from beneath long white lashes. "I suppose I could get used to it after a while," Eilonwy sighed. "And maybe I haven't much choice. If I don't stay here...I suppose, if Gwydion is right, I'd go to my kinsmen." She tugged at her pendant again. "I always thought they must be fools for sending me to Achren. But it seems no one actually knew I was with Achren at all. And I'd be on an island, near where my family came from. If I have to be dressed up like a goose and made to be uncomfortable I'd rather be there. I think."
She leaned her head back against the cool stone wall, carefully avoiding the tender lump it had acquired the day before. "It's like choosing whether you want to be drowned or hanged. I thought Caer Dathyl would be lovely – and it is. But if the way I've begun is the way I'm meant to go on, I...I don't think I..."
Eilonwy fell silent. Medwyn's words had slipped unbidden into her mind. Few wild birds enjoy a cage. You have escaped an iron one. Take care that you do not fly into another one, though it be golden.
Was this what he'd meant? How had he known?
Young ladies should not talk so much.
Mercy on us, child! Search among the men? What an idea! You'll stay right here like a good girl and when there is any news of your friends, you'll be told.
Stop talking and hold your breath so I can lace you up. What do you mean? Why would you need to run? Young ladies have no need to run about shouting like vulgar little boys.
A book? So, you can read, can you? Hmph. I shall inquire for something from the Halls. Something...appropriate.
Eilonwy groaned aloud. Of course, it might not always be so. She could appeal to Gwydion, who at least treated her like she had a mind of her own, and he might command that she be allowed a bit more freedom. But then again, he might not. Perhaps he was making allowances for her because he knew her history. Perhaps this was just How It Was and she'd be expected to live up to it. And there was no reason to expect it to be different with her kin on...Mona, was it?
It was intolerable. "I won't do it," she said aloud, to counteract any twist of fate she might have set spinning by her previous declaration. "I don't care. They can't make me stay at either place." But could they?
She could go with Fflewddur, she thought, brightening. She loved him, and she suspected he'd be glad to have her along. He needed someone sensible about to help him, and nobody could say it was unsuitable for a princess to travel with a king. How jolly it would be, traipsing across the country, singing for their supper. Perhaps she could learn to play the whistle and accompany him on the harp. They'd go exactly where they pleased, and the four of them could-
Wait, no. She frowned, realizing she'd automatically included Taran and Gurgi in her imaginings. But no, of course not. Taran was going home with Hen Wen, and he'd invited Gurgi to go with him. Eilonwy wound the silver chain tight around her finger and swallowed hard, feeling strangely hollow.
He was leaving. In all likelihood she'd never see him again, not if she were barding about with Fflewddur. Not even if she stayed at Caer Dathyl. What reason would he have to return? Of course she'd had moments of wishing him away, but...but that was ages ago, and now that it was a tangible possibility...
A hundred different impressions crowded upon her memory; mostly the quiet moments between all the crises and emergencies. How he had bantered Fflewddur in delight at making her laugh, and comforted her after her nightmares. The skill in his hands while he built a fire, and handled the wounded bird. The gleam in his eyes and quirked, crooked grin when he teased her. How he'd tried to protect her in those last terrible moments with the Horned King.
How she'd felt when she thought he would die.
Eilonwy tugged at her pendant so hard the chain bit into the back of her neck, but it hurt less than the thought of not seeing Taran again. She told herself not to be silly, tried to fight off the knowledge that she cared too much, to push it down and pretend it didn't matter. She tried to think about something else - anything else.
But it didn't work. There were no distractions here, nothing but the room and the window and the white pig and the boy, both sleeping on and on while she fretted. All at once she was vexed. How could he lie there sleeping when she was so upset? Perhaps there were beautiful dreams going on behind that peaceful expression of his. He could be dreaming of Caer Dallben, contentedly looking forward to going back to his old life; of getting further and further from their whole adventure until it was, itself, as hazy as a dream. And finally, nearly forgotten.
Would he forget her, too?
In a twinkling Eilonwy made up her mind. She'd just go with him, that's all. It seemed a rebellious, defiant idea somehow, and she sat up and poked her chin out, although there was no one there to see. She hadn't been invited, and she had no blood tie or claim on it, but...well, he'd almost invited her, hadn't he? Anyway it was a natural enough thing to want to see a place she'd heard so much about. Nobody would refuse her a look at Taran's home, not if she put her foot down, and what good was it being a princess if you couldn't insist on something once in a while? She'd travel back to Caer Dallben with him for a visit and after that...
Well, never mind after that. The main thing was to get there.
She sighed, curled up on the osier stool, laid her cheek against the low curl of wicker that served as its back, and shut her eyes.