A/N: Breaking a very long bout of writer's block here; I want very much to finish this story so I can move on to others I have in mind, and finally had to just force myself through; if it seems rusty, that's why; it certainly feels that way to me. I promise I will be faithful over the next couple weeks to wrap it up in decent time.
I may have played a little fast-and-loose with my Welsh myth here in Eilonwy's genealogy but I don't think I did anything more extreme than Lloyd himself; I must beg forgiveness of serious scholars in that field.
Revelry
The forced seclusion grew tiresome very quickly, and by the third day Eilonwy was nearly frantic, despite her books she was not only bored with her surroundings but mortified about what her friends would think to have her disappear for days with no explanation...or worse yet, with an explanation, though her militant nursemaid insisted no one spoke of such things to men. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or indignant about this.
Fortunately just when she thought she'd go stark raving mad from being confined, the nurse opined that confinement was no longer necessary. Unfortunately the woman's next opinion was that if Eilonwy left her chamber it should be to join the other young ladies and comport herself in a suitable fashion. This sounded ominous. Tempted to make a scene, Eilonwy thought better of it, feigned cheerfulness at the idea of feminine companionship her age, and asked whether touring the herb gardens was considered an appropriate activity for young ladies.
To her relief, it was, and she was escorted to a pleasant open area, walled in hedges, with lush patches of various herbs growing in neat beds bordered by white stones, and butterflies floating like loose flower petals over all. An elderly gardener was busy with a hoe in one corner, but otherwise there was no one about. Dismissing the page who'd escorted her with a word - and then, when the he hesitated, with a look she'd seen Achren give to troublesome servants - Eilonwy was presently left to her own devices. She wasted no time abandoning the garden, pausing only to pluck a sprig of the yellow-flowered plant Taran had called ninehooks.
She'd explored the castle grounds at some length the afternoon and evening after leaving Taran's bedside three days previous, and now held a general map of the place in her head, which was helpful when you were trying hard to look like you knew where you were going and had business going there. Instinctively she held her head high and stared down anyone who looked at her too closely, daring them to ask what she was doing wandering about alone. No one did, however; those within her path stepped deferentially aside and inclined their heads at respectful angles as she passed, but she read amusement in the mien of many, and breathed a sigh of relief when she came in sight of the hall where Taran's convalescent chamber was located.
Before she could reach it, she heard several voices call her name, and whirled to see her companions gathered together, sitting on the windblown turf near the very window she'd used to exit the building the last time. Her heart leapt; Fflewddur threw up a hand in welcome and shouted a halloo as she gathered up her skirts and raced toward them as fast as all the material would allow.
They'd apparently just finished a picnic breakfast; Hen Wen was turning over its remnants languidly in the grass and Fflewddur had his harp out. Breathlessly she threw herself on the ground in their midst; Gurgi yelped joyously and gamboled around her; even Doli wore the strange, creased expression she had come to recognize as what passed, for the dwarf, for a smile.
Taran was sitting up on the grass, propped against cushions. He was dressed in light linen with a shawl thrown over him; his arm was still bandaged but his face was glowing. "There you are," he exclaimed, over the general cries of welcome of the others. "Where've you been? Nobody would tell us anything but that you were indisposed." A shadow of anxiety crossed his face. "Were you ill?"
Eilonwy flushed and sat back on her heels. "No. Well, not...not to speak of, nothing for anyone to worry about. But enough so they wouldn't let me leave my room, which was awful." She changed the subject hurriedly, looking him over. "You look much better."
"So do you," he said, and then, reddening, added hastily. "I mean...you look nice, all cleaned up, and...those clothes are...you..." he cleared his throat. "I meant to tell you the other day."
Eilonwy blinked, and felt her face warm, though she was still uncertain about what, precisely, he'd meant to tell her. She decided not to ruin the compliment by complaining about clothing he apparently admired. Well, it was very pretty...too bad a thing couldn't seem to be that and comfortable, too. She noticed Fflewddur grinning behind Taran's shoulder, scowled at him, and changed the subject. "How's your arm?"
He raised it and wiggled his free fingers. "Sore. But Emrys says the bandages can come off in a few more days. I feel well otherwise, but they've been making me rest," he added, scowling his disapproval of forced convalescence.
Fflewddur laughed. "He's making the most of it, never fear. Making all the servants hop, and eating as much as Gurgi."
"The food's good here," Taran said, grinning. "Fflewddur convinced them to let me sit outside yesterday and today nobody said anything when I got up. I thought if I couldn't see something other than those four walls I'd go mad."
"Yes, yes!" Gurgi cried, rolling on his back on the turf, his gangly limbs waving ridiculously in the air. "What joy to be out in the breeze and trees! Master will be running and playing with happy Gurgi soon, soon!"
Oh, it was lovely to see them all - to be able to sit in safety for no other reason than mutual enjoyment and talk over all their adventures; no sense of urgency or impending doom, no cloud of worry shadowing them. Eilonwy thought, looking at each of her companions in turn, that they even looked different, and it wasn't just the grooming they'd had since arriving at Caer Dathyl. They were...radiant, almost; if she shut her eyes she thought they'd each be a column of light in her mind. Was this what true happiness felt like?
Morning melted into blissful afternoon in a seamless dream punctuated by snapped harp strings and laughter. Fflewddur taught them several songs; they were hailed by the occasional passerby, and servants brought more food as the day wore on. The noon meal was accompanied by mead, and under the influence of three mugs of it, Doli's creased face turned into a recognizable grin; he told several old Fair Folk legends with a flair that rivaled the bard's and didn't hold his breath once. Taran threw off his shawl in determination and insisted on walking up and down the length of the turf while Gurgi capered around him.
The warm sun, rich food, and general sense of ease had an effect she had never experienced. Eilonwy yawned and curled up on the sweet-smelling grass, folding Taran's cast-off shawl under her head. Her hair slid silky over her face; it still smelled of lavender and she took a long breath of it, and thought she'd just close her eyes for a moment...
When she opened them the shadows had lengthened, and the only sound was the low strum of harp music. She stretched and sat up, and saw that she was alone save for Fflewddur, who sat nearby, plucking at his instrument. He smiled when he saw her awake, and spoke gently. "You looked like you needed that. Trouble sleeping in that stuffy old chamber they put you in?"
Eilonwy stretched again, yawning. "Not really...I don't know," she admitted. "I'd never slept outside before we all got out of Spiral Castle, and that first morning was so lovely I told myself I'd never sleep indoors again, but now here we are. My chamber is beautiful - and it is very nice to sleep in a bed again; it's gloriously comfortable, but - yes, it's a bit stuffy. I won't have my bedcurtains drawn and they all tell me I'll die of night air. It doesn't seem to matter that being right out in the night air for weeks hasn't killed me yet."
Fflewddur laughed. "Oh, yes, the perils of castle living; all the stories never mention that, do they? Nor the battle within us for wanting both comfort and freedom. They're often mutually exclusive that way." He plucked a few discordant notes playfully and winked. "Now you begin to see my dilemma."
She grinned. "But you said you'd return home and try to be a good king. Do you still mean to do it?"
"I expect I'll have a go at it again," he sighed. "What about you? Going to stay here?"
"No. At least, not yet. I'm going to go to Caer Dallben for a bit. Just to see it, you know. Taran's talked so much about it; it's made me curious." She brightened. "You ought to come, too, Fflewddur! It would be jolly for all of us to make the trip back together. If," she added, with a smirk, "you think your people can spare you long enough."
"Cheeky minx," the bard retorted, his eyes twinkling. "I'd already decided on that. It's the least we can all do for Taran; it'll be hard for him in some ways, you know, going home. He's glad to go, and he'll love it all the more for what he's gone through, but there's something that happens after a quest is over, a sort of...letting down. Returning to ordinary life is both comfort and disappointment."
"It wouldn't be comfort for me," Eilonwy muttered, thinking, with a little chill, of Achren. "But I suppose I've never had an ordinary life. Where is everyone?"
"Gwydion came by while you were napping," Fflewddur explained. "He took Taran to tour the castle and grounds, and Gurgi went with them - he won't be separated from the boy. They would have asked you to come, but everyone thought you must need the sleep more. Doli's wandering about; said he had some business with the smiths. Between you and me, I think he's hoping Eidilleg will relax some of the restrictions on diplomatic relations between humans and Fair Folk, including trading. Not that they need anything of ours, but I think our little friend has grown fond enough of us to be concerned about what he called 'a rotten lack of craft' in our weaponry and armor. His ranting and raving appear to be signs that he cares."
"Don't let him know you've figured that out," Eilonwy giggled.
"Oh, no," Fflewddur said, with a grin. "No, that wouldn't do at all. Anyway," he continued, "this evening - quite soon, in fact - we're all to be summoned to a feast and ceremony in the Great Hall. King Math himself intends to bestow upon us his gratitude for our assistance and loyalty."
"Really?" Eilonwy sat up straighter to digest this. "But...why? I mean, I know you all fought in the battle, but so did all the warriors of Caer Dathyl. Our own quest didn't add anything they weren't doing already. It was Gwydion who defeated the Horned King at last."
"Ah, but you're forgetting," Fflewddur returned, "he did it with knowledge gained from Hen Wen, who was there because of Taran...who was there due to sheer determination and an odd series of coincidences." He shook his head. "It's a strange world, my dear, a tangle of threads on a tapestry that somehow all turn into a picture when you step back. The fact remains - our quest may not have been successful in the strictest sense. But as far as the outcome, we were quite crucial to the victory. There's an old proverb - so old even the bards don't know exactly who composed it - listen."
The harp made a background of golden tone against his chanting.
For want of nail, the shoe was lost,
For want of a shoe, the horse was lost,
For want of a horse, the message was lost,
For want of the message, the battle was lost,
For want of the battle, the kingdom was lost,
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
"Do you see it?" he asked, after a moment's silence.
Eilonwy, thoughtful, wound a strand of hair around her finger. She felt the corner of her mouth tug into a half-smile. "Yes. I see it. It all matters, even the little things. We all did something."
She sat silent for a while, listening to the harp spin golden and crystalline strands into the surrounding air. Fflewddur hummed under his breath in the repetitive rhythms that meant he was composing something new and she did not desire to interrupt him. Presently a servant appeared, looking a little harried, to inform her that he must escort her back to her chambers to prepare for the evening's ceremonies. She frowned as she rose, taking note of Fflewddur's mild expression. "Don't let them bully you too much," he suggested, with amusement, "but remember - you'll catch more flies with honey than vinegar."
"What?" she demanded, mystified, but he answered with only a chuckle, which faded from her hearing as she was ushered away.
Apparently it wasn't even necessary that the object of the by-now familiar fuss to be present for it to reach fever pitch, for it was already well underway before she set foot in her chamber. Ladies-in-waiting were all exclaiming over the new gown laid out on the foot of her bed, a breathtaking array of dark blue silk and glittering embroidery. Despite her growing disdain of finery, Eilonwy couldn't help admiring it either; and submitted to the attentions of the staff while the nursemaid informed her grandly that it had been ordered and made especially for her by the tailors of the royal house, her measurements having been sent down on the very night of her arrival. Eilonwy held up one long sleeve and examined the embroidery around its hem, breathless: golden sinuous flaming shapes entwined with watery silver swirls and crescent moons in an intricate, inextricable dance.
You are sun and sea, fire and water. Medwyn. She'd thought he had sensed something about her that others, without magic, could not. How did the tailors at Caer Dathyl know it too?
"This pattern," she said out loud, turning to the nurse. "What does it mean?"
The woman halted in her bustling, looking down at her in surprise. "That is a design worn only by the royal house of Llyr, child, haven't you seen it before?" At her blank look the woman clucked disapproval. "All those books and you don't know. It's your bloodline, lady, the mingling of the Houses of Don and Llyr. Penarddun daughter of Don and Belin, the Sun King, wed Llyr the son of Rhiannon of the Moon, Llyr Half-Speech, King of the Sea..." Her voice had grown sing-song, as though it was an old story told to children. "And of that line was born the Daughters of Llyr, they alone who wield both fire and water, Sun and Sea."
Eilonwy listened, dumfounded, making no protest as her current gown was stripped off, her face and neck scrubbed with a hot towel. The blue silk was thrown over her head, its yards of fine fabric swishing sumptuously to her feet. Penarddun, daughter of Don...she couldn't remember any such name in the ancestral lists Achren had made her recite - though, in fairness, she had balked at such rote memorization, and Achren hadn't pressed the point. Achren, who hated the House of Don...what else had Achren never told her? What did it mean?
Her head spun. Every answer in the last few days had led to more questions as much as explanations. She thought suddenly that she didn't want to go to any ceremony; what she wanted was to be alone and think, which was the one thing nobody was going to allow.
Eilonwy shook herself to awareness of her surroundings, feeling her torso jerked back and forth as busy hands laced the dress tightly to her body on both sides. There were more hands in her hair; brushing and braiding for the hundredth time and someone was approaching with a silver-and-pearl circlet and matching collarpiece. She clapped her hands over her head. "No. I don't want those."
There were horrified gasps from every corner. "But, milady...the High King..."
"No," she repeated, stubbornly. "It's too much. The gown's enough." She saw the nurse's grim line of chin and mouth come into view and remembered Fflewddur's admonition. "I mean...it's lovely. Very beautiful. But I've still got a lump on my head where the Horned King hit me, and it's very sore, and I'm sure it would interfere with the circlet." Eilonwy rubbed the back of her head and winced, for good measure, and the woman brushing her hair confirmed she was telling the truth.
"As for the jewelry," she hesitated, and addressed the nurse directly. "I don't mean to hurt anyone's feelings. But my own necklace belongs to my House," she explained, cradling the crescent at her throat. "So given what you've told me, I believe it's every bit as...appropriate for an audience with King Math. Maybe more. Wouldn't you think?" She smiled hopefully at the older woman, whose mollified expression was accompanied by a sniff of satisfaction, and a declaration that such details could perhaps be compromised - this time.
They were still fluttering over her when her escort arrived to take her to the Great Hall; she found, to her delight, that no impudent page boy awaited her this time but Fflewddur, dressed in finery of his own and beaming when she emerged into the corridor. "Thought perhaps you'd prefer a friend," he explained, holding out his arm. "How'd it go?"
"As you see." Eilonwy spread her arms, letting the bells of the long sleeves trail. "More pudding skin - but this one fits me better. What do you think?"
His gaze was unabashedly admiring. "I'm no judge of ladies' fine feathers, but I'd say you look lovely. And I'm sure," he added, as she crooked her hand into his elbow and they started off, "I won't be the only one to think so."
Eilonwy ignored this, vexed that he seemed to guess she was wondering what...anyone else would think; vexed at herself for wondering. "I talked them out of crowns and jewelry, anyway. I just wish I didn't itch." She squirmed, and jerked at her long skirt where it threatened to trip her. "If I scratch in front of King Math I suppose lightning will strike me on the spot."
Fflewddur patted her hand, laughing. "Just bow - or curtsy, rather - then stand up straight, hold your head high, and try to look interested. He likes an opportunity for a good speech."
The Great Hall was blazing with torches, their smoke making swirly shadows in the beams of light slanting from the high windows in its western wall. At its northern end, a black tapestry emblazoned with the golden sunburst emblem floated over a dais. The long tables that had been filled with assembled warriors the morning after the battle were gone. Only one was set, near the dais, and when its occupants noticed her entering the Hall on Fflewddur's arm they scrambled to their feet and stood respectfully - important-looking men, all, seasoned war-leaders and dignitaries, perhaps. At the far end her companions waited - also standing, though Taran looked confused and off-balance, and Eilonwy suspected, from their respective positions, that Doli had just prodded him up moments before.
Fflewddur led her to an empty chair next to Taran and took the one on the other side; she sat, thinking things not to be uttered in her embarrassment, and was relieved when the men regained their seats and renewed their feast.
"Head up," Fflewddur whispered, nudging her shoulder gently, and she took a breath and sat up straight, raising her head, looking around. Servants in livery scuttled to and fro, carrying platters of roast meats, filling wine goblets, but this scene was not the frenzy she'd seen the last time; all were quiet and sedate, talking in civilized fashion among themselves and using their knives more than their hands.
Taran, next to her, fiddled with his food, saying nothing but casting furtive glances at her, which she saw from the corner of her eye; his awkwardness spilled silently out of every pore, irritating her. Llyr! After all they'd been through - after all their lovely time this very morning! If he thought she looked nice he might come out and say so, not sit there picking at his meat as though he'd forgotten how to swallow as well as speak. Daft boy; she didn't know whether to laugh or shout at him. If this was what happened to them when you dressed up, see if she'd ever do it again!
"How did you like the castle?" she asked presently, convinced he wasn't going to speak on his own. "Fflewddur said Gwydion was taking you 'round."
He stared at her, startled, until he remembered to swallow whatever he'd been chewing. "It's...very grand," he stammered. "I wish you'd have come with us. They have everything here. Armories and stables - such beautiful horses. Melyngar seemed glad to see me." He gulped at his drinking horn as if to gain confidence from it. "You should see the weaving rooms where they make the tapestries. Looms up to the ceiling. And the woodcrafts and leatherworkers and smithies and apothecaries, chandlers and glaziers and..and...I can't even remember it all. It's like the whole world in one fortress." He shook his head. "I can't imagine what it's like to be in charge of all of it. No wonder no one practically ever sees King Math."
Taran looked so dazed Eilonwy began to wonder if his awkwardness was really in response to having seen the grandeur of Caer Dathyl, and had nothing to do with her at all. She felt simultaneously relieved and annoyed by the thought, and even more annoyed at herself for thinking it. "I think no one ever sees him because he's old," she retorted, rather testily, "and has earned a little peace after all this time. You don't suppose he runs every single thing about this place, do you? I'd bet he doesn't know nearly a thing that goes on around here. He has other people manage all that for him so he can concentrate on the rest of the kingdom."
"I guess so," Taran admitted, after a moment's pause. "I'm not sure that's better, though." A shade of his old grin flitted over his face, a sense of relief at ice broken. "I think it'll be nice to go back to pig-keeping."
A shimmering fanfare of stringed instruments cut suddenly through the general noise, and everyone at the table sat up straight, then rose to their feet as rows of splendidly-attired warriors entered the Hall, spears at attention, making two lines from the western door to the dais. Between them, an honor guard bore a gold-draped litter, on which sat a bearded figure upon an ornate wooden seat. Prince Gwydion strode sedately to its right.
Eilonwy tried to curtsy low as the litter passed, lost her balance, tripped on her skirt, and had to grab her chair back to keep from toppling over. Hissing maledictions under her breath, she noticed Taran's shoulders shaking next to her, sensed his suppressed mirth, and elbowed him hard in the arm as they all rose. He made a face at her and Fflewddur laid a hand on each of their shoulders.
King Math rose from the litter slowly but without assistance. Though he had seemed frail while carried, his bearing, when he stood, was tall and only a little bent. His hair and beard were long and white; his eyes, even from the distance Eilonwy could see them, glittered keenly, brighter than the golden crown upon his brow. She shut her eyes, and saw him, glowing in pale flame, a fire in its final heat, upon her mind. At his right hand Gwydion blazed like a furnace.
The Hall was silent as the High King began to speak, addressing the assembled leaders - his warriors, his loyal friends, his beloved kin, his advisors, and those travelers whose assistance had proven so invaluable in certain recent unfortunate events that had transpired to...
He went on and on, and then on some more, using dozens of words to say what could have been said in a moment. Eilonwy glared at Fflewddur sidelong; he noticed it, and his mouth twitched; he gave a barely-perceptible shrug. Next to her she heard Taran take a breath, sensed him bend his head to whisper something, and felt him sway a little as Fflewddur nudged him for silence in turn. Was it her imagination, or did the king's keen gaze flicker sharply at their small group at these tiny improprieties? She thought she remembered a long-standing legend that King Math heard everything that went on in his own castle if not the whole kingdom; some claimed he could read men's thoughts. She was dubious; it was a savvy rumor, for a king, one he might find convenient to perpetuate; but after all, if it were true, the House of Don would never have needed warning about anything.
She was itching in at least five places long before the speech was finished, shifting her weight from foot to foot to keep her knees from locking, and positive the legends were legends only, for if the monarch could have heard her current thoughts she'd be in the dungeons by now. No wonder no one ever saw King Math; probably one speech laid him out for days at a time in recovery.
At last he was finished, there was more bowing, more fanfare, and the litter was borne from the Hall. Eilonwy fancied she heard a collective sigh of relief as it passed through the doors.
The feast was already being cleared away, and through the crowd of men she saw that Gwydion was approaching them, the silver strands in his hair glittering in the torchlight. "Come, friends," he said, spreading his hands to them and offering his rare smile. "I also have gratitude to bestow."
He led the companions to a quiet alcove. "These are small gifts for great valor," Gwydion said, "but they are in my power to bestow, and I do it with a glad heart, and hope you will treasure them not so much for their value as for the sake of their remembrance.
"To Fflewddur Fflam," Gwydion said, slapping the bard on the back, "I give one harp string. Though all his others break, this shall forever hold, regardless of how many gallant extravagances he may put on it, and its tone shall be truest and most beautiful."
From somewhere in his garments he produced a spool, around which was wound a glittering golden thread-like wire, and handed it to Fflewddur, who took it, stammering, his face pink with delight. Gwydion grinned, and turned to Doli.
"To Doli of the Fair Folk shall be granted the power of invisibility, so long as he chooses to retain it."
The dwarf gaped, his red eyes round, and shut his mouth; opened and shut it again in astonishment. Eilonwy sympathized, wondering how on earth Gwydion had the power to bestow such a gift - on a member of the Fair Folk, no less - but shoved the question away to examine later, for Gwydion was going on, pulling a leather pouch from his belt and holding it up.
"To faithful and valiant Gurgi, I give a wallet of food which shall be always full. Guard it well; it is one of the treasures of Prydain."
Gurgi did not need convincing of its value. He clutched the wallet to his hairy breast and gave a little groan of disbelief and delight. Eilonwy giggled and Gwydion turned to her.
"To Eilonwy of the House of Llyr," he said, his eyes turning gentle, "I give a ring of gold, set with a gem carved by the ancient craftsmen of the Fair Folk. It is precious, but to me, her friendship is even more precious."
Eilonwy, wondering, held out her hand. Gwydion took it, and slid the ring onto her finger - a beautiful thing, strands of entwined gold locking around an oval opalescent moonstone. "Oh," she breathed softly, watching the torchlight sink into the crystal, teasing out blue and turquoise sparks. She glanced into Gwydion's face, and once again felt, from him, an overwhelming rush of sadness and regret that pulled at her heart. He gazed upon her once more, wistfully, but his expression was veiled as he turned away from her to Taran.
"To Taran of Caer Dallben..." he paused. "This has been the most difficult choice of all."
Taran was standing straight, his chin out, a little flushed. "I ask no reward," he said flatly. There was a hint in his voice almost of defiance. "I want no friend to repay me for what I did willingly, out of friendship and for my own honor."
Rude. Eilonwy stopped herself, with effort, from kicking him from behind, but Gwydion, gracious as ever, merely smiled. "Taran of Caer Dallben, you are as touchy and headstrong as ever. Believe that I know what you yearn for in your heart. The dreams of heroism, of worth, of achievement are noble ones; but you and not I must make them come true. Ask me whatever else, and I shall grant it."
Taran blinked and looked surprised, and the defiance melted from his face. He hesitated, and then bowed his head. "My lord. In spite of all that's befallen me, I have come to love the valleys and mountains of your lands in the north. But my thoughts return more and more to Caer Dallben. All I want is to be home."
Home, Eilonwy repeated to herself, aching with the unknown of it. She bit her lower lip as Gwydion nodded, feeling left out of their glance of shared understanding.
"So," said Gwydion, "shall it be."
...
The Hall, when they returned, was being transformed. More braziers had been lit; the long table was being moved to the side, and single chairs brought out, one for the center of the room and the others in clusters around its perimeter. Men were grouping themselves about these; a few ladies had even appeared from somewhere and were mingling among the gathering; the crowd was already twice what it had been during supper.
"Ah!" Fflewddur was lit with enthusiasm; he rubbed his hands together and motioned for the others to join him, grabbing chairs for them near the great hearth, where a fire was crackling merrily. "Now the fun starts!," he said. "Watch!"
The general talk and laughter was becoming noisy again; there were calls for wine and ale, and then for a song. This call was taken up with enthusiasm throughout the Hall, until a single robed man, carrying a harp, emerged from somewhere in the shadows and strode to the center of the room. The calls of the crowd turned to shouts and hoots of approval and the man bowed to each corner and then to the empty dais, apparently as a matter of course.
He sat himself in the central chair, touched the harp, and took a breath.
Eilonwy could not remember, later, much of any of the songs sung in the Hall of Caer Dathyl that evening. None were familiar to her, and there were too many, coming in endless succession - as another bard took the place of the first, and another after the second - to hope to recall a verse or a line of one melody without getting it tangled up and confused with another. She recalled it all with hazy delight; remembered the hammering of her heart as a hundred voices around her were raised in a battle chant, remembered sitting chin in hand, enraptured, while the bard crooned of love and longing, remembered confused amusement during one toe-tapping ditty when all the men roared out phrases that meant nothing to her but apparently something to many of the ladies, who pretended to be scandalized and slapped any man who happened to be near them, but were laughing behind their hands. There were lays of adventure, of great deeds, of battles won and lost, of monsters defeated, of fears and hopes and worlds beyond, and the Great Hall was a splendid swirl of colors and sounds and smells and tastes; magic, beyond anything she'd known; this was Magic at its best and most real.
She remembered, later, that it was Fflewddur who noted her yawning, Doli who shook Gurgi awake and pulled Taran up from the bear rug where he'd sprawled near the fire. She was dimly aware of being propelled to a doorway, and that the bard and dwarf were berating each other in good-humored fashion for not clearing the youngsters from the Hall before then, each blaming the other for getting too caught up in revelry to think about the lateness of the hour.
She did not remember being led to her chamber or put to bed, but it must have happened, for she opened her eyes the next morning in it.