"There it is! Land, ho!"
Rhun's glad cry rang out in the early morning from the helm. Eilonwy looked up to see him waving wildly. "Come up!" he cried. "Come up here and see!"
Taran met her there at the foot of the steps, and moved aside for her without a word, his face unreadable. They ascended, and followed Rhun's excited point --there, rising from the water like some great sea-beast, a rolling grey mass broke the blue line on the horizon.
Eilonwy gazed upon it, ambivalent and anxious. She feared nothing awaiting her on those shores…only the way every league closer to them made her feel further from all she knew and loved. Taran came to stand beside her, silent and alert. Had he been Coll she would have thrown herself into his arms for comfort without a second thought. Why could she not do so now? When a friend's embrace, or even clasped hand, might serve to hold this aching loneliness away a little longer? And yet she made no move toward him, though he stood close enough that a mere twitch of her hand would have closed the gap between them.
Rhun was beaming next to them. "We're almost home, at last! As soon as the watchmen see our flag they'll raise the alert, and there'll be a welcoming party waiting for us. I say, it'll be good to be back! We'll have a feast, and sleep in proper beds tonight! I must go round up the men below deck."
He scampered off, and after a few more moments they followed, climbing back down to the main deck. "I don't know how a proper bed makes any difference," Taran muttered as he left the stairs. "He can't possibly sleep any sounder than he does on deck, if his snoring is anything to go by."
Eilonwy chuckled and then sighed. "Don't be mean. For all you know, you might snore and nobody's ever told you. I've slept well enough, but a feast does sound nice, after all the hardtack we've been eating."
They made their way to the prow, and watched the grey mass in silence. It did not seem to be getting closer at all, though she knew it was an illusion; the wind in her face and the cut of the spray told her they were racing over the water.
"It's so much faster, traveling like this," Taran said at last. "We're as far from home as I've ever been. Further even than Caer Dathyl, I think, and that took much longer than three days."
"It ought to have taken even longer," Eilonwy pointed out, avoiding the uncomfortable thought of the distance. "We were weeks coming back—do you remember? I've always wondered how we managed to get there so quickly."
"I've thought about that." His voice dropped a little, as though he were speaking of secret things. "I think it may be due to our time in the Fair Folk realm. You know how the stories always make out that time works differently there."
"That's true," she said, "though you're usually there a longer time than you think, not shorter. But perhaps Eiddileg really did put us on a quicker path, despite all his bluster. Certainly we avoided having to cross the mountains. I believe you're right."
He cast her an amused sideways glance. "I think my ears are playing tricks. Did you really just say I was right about something?"
Eilonwy huffed, turned her face away to hide a sheepish half-smile, and gazed steadfastly out at the water. But she was troubled. He was only teasing, of course…but did she really cut him down so often that he must remark upon it? Did he have no notion of her real esteem? Even a jest could spring from a real hurt, and it was intolerable that he would leave her on Mona believing she thought so little of him.
"Taran," she blurted out, as much to her surprise as to his, "I know I've never flattered you. I should think less of you if I thought it was what you wanted. I've always told you straight out when I thought you were wrong, and goodness knows that's been often enough."
He snorted quietly and she hurried on. "But I've also told you when you'd done well, and I've stood ground with you and defended your decisions when everyone else was against you. I hope you notice those moments just as much as the others."
Taran was silent for several breaths, the silence of surprise at an unexpected and serious shift. "I do," he said finally, low and a little rough. "I do notice them…all the more because such commendation from you is hardly won, and thus worth far more than it would be from anyone else."
Both words and tone made her breath catch, but Eilonwy tossed her head lightly. "That makes me sound like Dallben. Do I snipe at you too much? Tell me plainly." She turned to face him, to prove that she could, that it was not awkward and overwhelming, this square meeting of eyes.
He paused, looking befuddled. "I don't know how to answer that. I suppose…I suppose if we are generous, we could say you mostly criticize me when I earn it fairly, and in that case, it's definitely far too much." He laughed, and then his smile faded, and his eyes became earnest. "But I hope…I hope you've found fewer and fewer reasons to do it, and more to commend. Because you're right." His sun-kissed cheeks went suddenly darker. "I don't want flattery from you. Only the truth, always."
The truth? Eilonwy flushed hot, thinking of all the truths she had not yet told him, some she had only begun to suspect, but had no words to give them shape. He stood, waiting for her to say something, and the silence stretched out, full of questions.
"I've always told you the truth," she said at last, breaking his gaze and looking out again upon the water, her heart pounding in her throat, "and I always will. But if I've sometimes been upset, and harsher about it than I ought, then I'm sorry. I don't mean to cut you down. I think…" She hesitated, took a breath. "I think very highly of you, you know."
It felt inadequate — a thing any one of dozens of their acquaintance might say. She berated herself inwardly for not being bolder, yet even these mild words seemed like helpless, exposed things, and in a sudden defensive feint she added, "Even when you're being impossible."
Taran bent over, leaning his elbows on the bulwark, and looked out on the horizon. His long hair, escaped from its thongs, wrestled with the wind, now revealing, now obscuring his profile. Eilonwy hammered down a series of dangerous impulses: to reach out, to lace her fingers through its dark strands, to stroke it back out of his face. Instead she crossed her arms and leaned forward, trapping her hands against her chest lest they betray her. Llyr, why didn't he say something?
When he did speak, it was halting, like someone crossing a frozen river, testing every step. "Eilonwy. When…when you first came to Caer Dallben, back with me after…after everything, it was…I remember…" he hesitated, and regrouped from a different direction. "What made you decide to stay?"
Thrown a little off-balance, she thought for a moment, anxiety quelled beneath the distraction. "I think I just…well, besides it being such a homey, lovely sort of place, I…I felt…wanted there." She smiled at the memory of that first day, of its sense of sweet discovery, its open-armed serenity. "I'd never felt really wanted anywhere before."
Taran glanced back at her in surprise. "Surely at Caer Dathyl…?"
Eilonwy shrugged. "Oh, of course, Caer Dathyl was lovely, but we were guests, there; it was different, somehow. Coming to Caer Dallben was like…like putting on clothes that were made just for me. I don't know how, since no word was sent, but..."
Taran smiled and shook his head, before turning his face back toward the sea. "Dallben knew."
"Yes, I suppose he did." She laughed lightly. "Anyhow I had nowhere else to go, and…and you were there." Was that what he really wanted?…assurance that she had stayed because of him? "After all we'd been through together, I…wanted to stay with you."
There. It was out—that much, at least—and how simple and obvious it sounded; nothing that should make her so breathless for the saying, nor so achingly aware of how, when he straightened up and turned to her, his presence at her side should feel so weighty. He seemed about to speak several times, and she waited, holding her breath, staring at his hand on the ship railing, where it rested an inch from hers.
"Why?" he asked.
An unsatisfying response, after such a build, and she felt vaguely that he was deflecting a responsibility to her that should have been his. Her retort held a slightly sharpened edge. "To keep you out of trouble, naturally."
It was though they were passing a bundled, secret object back and forth, each hoping the other would unwrap it. He let out a huff of amused tension, and seemed to collect himself, becoming earnest again. "Everything was…so different after you came. So much more…" A breath. "More interesting, and full, and…happier. I wasn't unhappy before, but there was something missing, and none of us even knew it, until you were there. I can't imagine…" His voice trailed off. His fingertips brushed the edge of her hand, a touch so fleeting and light it might have been accidental. She sucked in her breath, eyes darting to his face, and found his gaze already waiting for her.
"I can't imagine you not…" he tried again, but any other words he had intended were lost, swallowed by his expression, a hungry intensity that devoured anything she might have thought of in answer.
It erased her mind in an instant, releasing a burst of feeling that overthrew thought and enthroned itself instead, casting an inexorable decree over the rest of her. How was it possible, when she stood so still, for everything around and within her to feel so dizzyingly in motion? A rush of fluid sensation swept her, cold and tingling at its edges, hot at its core. Her legs went as unsteady as the sweeping waves that carried them, swaying her toward him—or had he stepped even nearer, to be so close? Close enough to hear his breath, huffed between his parted lips; close enough to know the moment his gaze released her eyes, and dropped, a flash of living green between dark lashes, to fasten on her mouth.
For a frozen, eternal moment she stood waiting. Her breath paused at her lips like a floating leaf trembling upon the edge of a cataract, anxious and anticipatory of an unknown plunge. Her pulse surged loud, as roaring as the rhythmic sea but faster, urgent, compelling. One breath, and his hand was warm over hers at the railing. Another, and his face hovered, close, close…
"I see it! I see the castle!" A whoop rose up behind them, crashing across her consciousness, so incongruous that she gasped aloud as the moment shattered like ice and dropped her into frigid shock. Immediately, they sprang apart, their hands sundered as though stung by the contact; the space between them yawned empty for an agonizing instant before it was filled by a third eager figure: Rhun, bouncing joyfully against the bulwark and waving toward the horizon. "Look!" he crowed. "There's Dinas Rhydnant!"
Eilonwy stared helplessly over his shoulder, seeing nothing but Taran's expression; for a terrifying second she thought he really would pitch the hapless prince overboard, and for an even more terrifying second she welcomed the prospect. No, no, no…gods…it was all too ridiculous; was it some game, with her the unwitting pawn? She heard an indecipherable sound come from her own mouth; a strangled, hysterical laugh, or an angry sob…which was it?
Somehow her eyes broke away and followed Rhun's enthusiastic gesture; the grey mass on the horizon had developed colors and faint features. At the apex of its highest point, a shape broke its smooth edge: the multi-towered silhouette of a castle, low and broad in design, a fortress built to withstand onslaught from human and nature alike.
At any other moment she might have found it an impressive view; now, through the rubble of punctured happiness and collapsed possibilities she saw only barriers and closed doors, an abrupt end to a story that had had no chance to begin. "Oh," she gasped out; Llyr, she was going to burst into tears and humiliate herself even further; why, why, why must this be how she responded to everything lately? "We're almost there. I must…" she stammered, backing away, "must go…get ready…"
She turned and fled, across the deck and into the solitude of the cabin, slamming the door and falling back against it, wrapping her arms across her chest as though to hold herself in, keep her raging heart from bursting free. The sob she'd held back tore itself out, a single cry of frustration and wounded pride. But it was a relief to release it, and she stood there, listening to her own breath, until she felt herself relax a little into the rocking of the ship, and pulled herself away from the door to pace the room.
What had happened? Everything. And nothing. And what now? Dared she bring it up with Taran later, if she could get him alone? What if she had misunderstood his intent? No, that couldn't be…his intent had been unmistakable; even she could see that. But had he just been carried away by the thrill of the moment? Oh, why was this so complicated, what was wrong with her? Hadn't she dreamed of his saying and doing such things? Why could she not simply enjoy this...this giddy euphoria, this sensation of heady sweetness suffusing her? No, instead she must overthink and second-guess, even while the press of his palm still burned on the back of her hand.
With a groan she flopped onto the berth and buried her burning face in the blankets.
And now he's leaving.
It came to her again, a painful reminder from the previous evening.
He's leaving, and I'm staying.
In a matter of days, Taran would be sailing these same waters back home without her. And it might be years before she saw him again—years! Who knew what could happen in the meantime? It was bad enough being made to leave Caer Dallben, like a weed pulled from the garden, all her roots exposed and raw. How much worse, to entwine herself into an even more complicated binding, only to be ripped away from her very heart?
It was, perhaps, already too late to avoid it. And she was not at all certain she would want to avoid it if she could.
Some time later, she became aware of the urgency of sailors' shouts and the changed rhythm of the water pounding against the sides of the ship, things she had learned to associate with imminent landing. Well, here they were, the inevitable finally come. Nervously, she rose and washed her face, took stock of herself rather grimly. There was nothing to be done about the salty, windblown state of her hair and clothes, and she elected against checking her reflection in the little mirror, certain it would show her nothing worth seeing. She bundled up her belongings, and donned her shoes with great reluctance. Pocketing her bauble, she left the cabin for the last time.
The transformation outdoors startled her as she looked around. Mona's distant grey silhouette had not conveyed the island's size or ruggedness. Its sides now rose before them in towering cliffs, their fissured, glistening surfaces thrust up from the water to jab at the grey clouds. At their feet, the sea moved in a sinuous, roaring dance. White-webbed swells heaved like giant lungs, collapsing into breakers. Each collision spawned explosions of foaming spray, shattered water shooting skyward like a volley of liquid arrows. Gulls swirled, white specks against the dark stone, their wild cries a high and haunting countermelody to the thunder of the surf.
It was loud, and violent, and terrifying, and glorious, pushing all else from her mind with its sense-saturating majesty. Eilonwy ran to the side, heedless of the sailors' activity as they whirled around her, scrambling in response to the shouted commands of the shipmaster. The ship pitched and dove like a wild horse as they neared the cliffs. Beyond the towers of stone she saw the glimmering of a calm harbor. Around her, men shouted, pulled at ropes, strained at oars. They glided between the towers, past jutting stones stacked in jetties, across a broad stretch of calmer water speckled with clusters of smaller craft at anchor. At the far side, a seawall snaked up from the water's edge and up the hill toward the castle. Ruby-red pennants snapped from its towers.
Their movement slowed. Eilonwy looked around nervously for her companions, saw Gurgi scampering among the fish barrels, and then a swift flash of black: Kaw swooped overhead, banked and dropped. There was Taran, working among the sailors. In three days he had become comfortable enough with a few simple tasks that he no longer was distinguishable by his clumsiness. She watched him move among the men; strong, agile, confident...
The familiar flush of warmth rose to her face and she swallowed. Kaw settled upon Taran's shoulder, and Taran paused to stroke the feathered head before shooing him away with a smile. Theirs was an easy relationship, free of awkwardness; each knew exactly what he was to the other. Eilonwy frowned at herself, annoyed at the realization that she could be envious of a crow.
Taran straightened up and caught her watching. Her heart leapt to her throat, but they were too separated, the commotion on the ship too frenzied; there would be no chance to speak with him any time soon. He held her gaze for a few seconds and then turned back to work, helping the sailors throw out the mooring lines as they glided up to the longest pier.
Rhun hurried from the helm, all smiles. "Princess! Ready to land? Come, let's gather your friends –I see the Captain already waiting!" He waved enthusiastically to someone on land, and strode ahead, calling to Taran and Gurgi.
In a few moments they were stepping from the ship, onto a long wooden pier. A cluster of armed guards in crimson regalia were waiting there; the Captain stepped forward, drawing his sword to salute the prince. Rhun, clearly puffed-up over his successful first mission from home, drew his own sword with an elaborate flourish to return the salute. Taran, standing near him, flinched backward to avoid his haphazard sweep; the blade caught in his cloak and tangled. There was a ripping sound, and both boys exclaimed in dismay.
Taran shook his cloak free and held it up; a long gash marred the fabric. Rhun bent forward to examine it. "Oh, I say. I'm sorry about that."
His sincerity was obvious, and Eilonwy cringed inwardly for him no less than for Taran, who murmured an entirely unnecessary apology and shut his lips, his face scarlet. He was already self-conscious, she knew, about his plain homespun clothing and faded cloak—always overly touchy and concerned for appearances as he was, it pained her to see his embarrassment. The Captain remained stone-faced, closing in behind them as Rhun shook off the incident and took the lead, offering her his arm and then marching importantly toward the castle.
The climbed innumerable steps, hewn into the stone cliffs, the guards following, banners snapping overhead. Rhun called cheerfully to folk gathered here and there along the way, who paused to bow or curtsy, welcoming him home with what appeared to be genuine affection. Whatever his weaknesses as a king's son, Eilonwy thought, as an individual he did seem to have the goodwill of his people, which was probably more than could be said for many a prince.
The castle gates were thrown open at their approach, and they entered a wide courtyard, where folks were gathered amidst a general air of expectancy. In the center stood a middle-aged couple, richly garmented. Rhun let go of her arm, bursting out with a hearty, "Hullo, hullo!" as he ran to them.
The king and queen embraced their son, with many affirmations of their pride in his accomplishments, then turned to welcome their guests, Rhuddlum inclining his head cordially over the hand Eilonwy gave him. He had a round, pleasant face like Rhun's, obscured on its bottom half by a short beard. His sand-colored hair, shoulder-length and streaked with silver, was bound at his temples with a band of beaten gold.
Queen Teleria stood just behind the king's shoulder, almost as tall as he was. She was full in figure and robed in fluttering white. Her hair, the same wheat-straw blonde as Rhun's, was braided in complicated figures around her head, studded in pearls and held in place by a golden circlet. Her eyes were pale blue, but sharp, without the guilelessness of her son's; there was sweetness and warmth in her smile, and a stubborn firmness in her dimpled chin.
"Welcome, Princess Eilonwy of the House of Llyr," Rhuddlum said, looking her over with a reverence that could not quite mask his curiosity. "Your presence does us great honor. A great honor. Long has it been since a Daughter of Llyr has graced the shores of Mona, and never did we hope to see it again! Your coming has been greatly anticipated by all. And who are these companions?" He turned, smiling, to Taran and Gurgi.
"Thank you," Eilonwy said, adding, "your Majesty," in a quick gasp as she remembered. "These are my friends and companions from Caer Dallben, sent to...er...to keep me company on the journey. Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper, and Gurgi, the, um..." She paused, looking at Gurgi rather bemusedly. "The bold and clever," she finished, with a grin, and watched his ears perk up with pleasure. "And Kaw," she added, as the crow bobbed on Taran's shoulder.
"Quite so," the king answered; if he thought they were an odd collection of ragtag individuals he did not say so, only opening his arms to encompass them all in a single gesture. "You are all welcome. Dallben did mention there would be friends accompanying you, now that I think on it. All are welcome! It is an honor. I hope your journey was pleasant, and that the Prince attended you, and saw to your comfort with all courtesy?"
Rhun stood beaming next to his father, and Eilonwy suddenly wanted to laugh hysterically—the only possible reaction to how the prince's incessant, innocent attendance had almost driven her mad. "Yes," she choked out, forcing it down, "he was...excessively attentive. Thank you."
"Splendid!" Rhuddlum patted his son on the back. "You've been anticipated, you see. Greatly anticipated. The honor of your presence..." He hesitated, seeming to get lost for a moment in his own words, and the Queen, clearly having been impatiently waiting for such an opportunity, burst forward.
"Yes, yes, my dear, you said all that," she assured him, and seized Eilonwy by both hands. "Come now –oh, look at you! Who would have thought!"
In a dizzying moment Eilonwy found herself yanked into Teleria's warm embrace and squashed against her ample bosom. The queen kissed her on the forehead and both cheeks, exclaiming all the while. "Oh, it's like a miracle! Angharad's daughter! I just knew—oh, poor lamb, no matter what happened, you never deserved—but here you are, at last, where you belong!"
Teleria released her breathlessly and turned her onslaught upon Taran, pulling him into her generous arms and kissing him likewise on both cheeks. "And you, my love! Aren't you a handsome thing! Dallben told me you might be escorting—very kind, so thoughtful! there was no need to take so much trouble, but—how wonderful to know the Princess has had such good friends!"
Taran's face was scarlet as she released him and turned to Gurgi. "And...and...well..." Teleria said, rather amazedly, squeezed the furry hands he offered her, and pulled him into a quick embrace, though she omitted the kisses. "You are also welcome, dear, of course—all of you, how delightful!"
She turned back to Eilonwy, becoming suddenly formal, clearing her throat. "Now, then. Welcome, Daughter of Angharad. As the King has spoken—your presence honors—oh, don't fidget, child, and stand straight—our Royal House." She took Eilonwy by the shoulders and looked her over, her pleasant face hardening in horror. "Good Llyr, where did you get these frightful clothes? Yes, I can see it's high time Dallben let you out of that hole-and-corner in the middle of the woods."
The sudden shift stung. Eilonwy flushed with embarrassment, recalling her disheveled state. "Hole-and-corner, indeed!" she exclaimed, forgetting courtesy in her indignation. "I love Caer Dallben. And Dallben is a great enchanter."
Teleria sniffed, though her sharp eyes twinkled. "Exactly. He's so busy casting spells and all such that he's let you grow like a weed!" She turned her face slightly to Rhuddlum. "Wouldn't you say so, my dear?"
The question seemed to hold some sort of strange significance, but Rhuddlum, who had offered his arm to Kaw, only murmured distractedly, "Yes, my dear. Very much like a weed."
Kaw hopped from Taran's elbow to the new one offered, hunched himself up, and loudly croaked, "Rhuddlum!"
The king burst into a hearty laugh. "Did you hear that! It talks! The bird talks! What else can he say?"
Rhun pulled eagerly at his father's sleeve. "Isn't it amazing! Almost anything. The cleverest crow you've ever seen."
They were a pair, Eilonwy saw at once; it was obvious where Rhun had gotten his eagerness to be delighted at every novelty. Their interaction was charming, but she felt a twinge of unease as she watched Rhuddlum continue to exclaim over the crow. This lack of guile that spoke of innocence and inexperience in a young prince was mildly off-putting in a grown man and a king.
But she had no time to consider it. Teleria had made authoritative observations on all, and was taking the situation in hand. "Look at that disgracefully torn cloak! You must both have new raiment. New gown, new jacket, sandals—everything! Luckily we have a perfectly wonderful shoemaker at the castle now. He was just—don't pout that way, my child, you'll give yourself a blister—passing through, but we've kept him busy and he's still cobbling away. Our Chief Steward shall see to it. Magg? Magg? Where is he?"
She turned this way and that, her garments floating about her in white streaks. A man standing just at her elbow murmured, "At your command."
Eilonwy examined him—shorter in stature than the queen, and standing so absolutely still in her shadow during her flurry of welcome that he had effectively made himself almost invisible. He was thin, pale, and beardless, his dark hair worn long and rather lank. He was dressed in raiment as fine as his monarchs'; a silver chain spilled to his chest, and a ring of keys hung at his side. He had silently watched all the proceedings with a pair of keen grey eyes, and when he spoke it was with a slight, sibilant lisp.
"All has been ordered," he said to the queen. "Your decisions have been foreseen. The shoemaker, the tailors and weavers stand ready."
"Excellent!" Teleria clapped her hands. "The Princess and I shall go first to the weaving rooms. Magg shall show the rest of you to your chambers."
She took Eilonwy's arm and steered her away, with barely time for a single backward glance at her friends.
They strode briskly through the courtyard, and several women who had been hovering in the background fell in behind them at a wave of the queen's hand.
Teleria led them on, never ceasing to talk all the while, hesitating only briefly to hear the murmured answers of her ladies. "Beddan, dear, do run ahead to the solar and see if that embroidery is finished--it ought to be trimmed to her first gown straightaway, no matter what we decide on for the rest of her wardrobe. It'll be a mercy if anything's done in time for tonight, but we shall hope--oh, gracious child, don't slouch like that while you walk. Hold your head up like your foremothers. Llyr's Daughters stand tall and proud always--for good speed. Was her chamber properly aired last night? And the fire laid? Good. Do you have the gifting?"
It took Eilonwy a breathless moment, and the queen's pausing to look pointedly at her, to realize that this last question was directed at her. "I...which one?" she stammered, overwhelmed and at a loss.
"To light your own fire, love," Teleria explained, with a briskness that seemed to hold no actual impatience. "If so I shan't bother having it kindled and banked ahead of time."
"Oh!" Eilonwy relaxed a little, relieved to understand something. "Yes. I can do that much."
A sense of shared, curious awe emanated from the handful of ladies behind them, and Teleria nodded approvingly. "Good. From the little Dallben told me, it wasn't clear if you had the usual abilities, or any at all. The time I had trying to get that man to answer simple questions in a message! You would think he couldn't read, he ignored so many of them." She bustled on, shaking her head. "But I'm glad to hear you've retained the skills. It would be a shame if they were allowed to die out; your family valued them so highly. I'm surprised Dallben didn't...well, never mind."
They bustled on through twisting corridors and up and down stairs, the queen issuing orders and opinions like a farmer scattering seed. She leapt from one topic to the next with a rapidity only matched by her long strides. Eilonwy, unaccustomed to conversation whose speed rivaled her own, and hopelessly lost both in the maze of the castle and in the transitions between subjects, puffed to keep up, more overwhelmed all the time.
She was pulled into the weavers' chamber and introduced; everyone rose and curtseyed to her, and she wanted to squirm away at the gaze of so many curious eyes. The mistress there measured her with knotted cords and laid out lengths of various fabrics before the queen's critical opinions. Eilonwy looked about while they conferred, reminded vaguely of the goods at the Rover camp. Raw wool was piled in bins against the wall, waiting to be carded; hanks of yarn in every possible color hung from hooks on the walls and from the beams of the ceiling. Women of varying ages, from younger than she up to grey-headed elders, sat at spinning wheels and looms, none idle. The room was filled with the whirring of wheels, the clacking of shuttles, and the chatter of women's voices.
There was something not unpleasant about it; she sensed a camaraderie among them, a cheerful industriousness as they worked, the room warm and sunlit from the windows in one side. But it was alien to her, and she stood back, uncertain and uncharacteristically quiet as Teleria made judgements upon her planned attire.
"That blue silk I planned will suit her perfectly," the queen declared. "With her complexion! It's ideal. Neckline modest but open, none of that smothering nonsense they've adopted on the mainland lately; what can they be thinking, wrapping women up like swaddled infants! Yes, keep it fitted through the waist --dear me, I remember what it was to have such a figure!--make the most of that while you can, my dear; gracious, look how this horrid thing just swallows her like a turnip sack. Dallben might as well have dressed her like any farmboy. Though I suppose it was practical enough, out in that wilderness! We'll have you looking like a princess by tonight. Gladys, go and find something we can put on her just for the time being. Borrow it from one of the girls in the south wing. She ought to be presentable at least until her gown is ready. Tell the tailors I expect it done by sunset."
"Master Gavin won't like that," someone piped up amusedly, to a round of giggles among several others, and several nudges in the ribs of one particular young woman.
"Master Gavin will do as he's told," Teleria retorted, "if he expects to remain Master Tailor. He's got enough spare hands, between all those assistants he asked for; more than Madox ever needed, but you don't find a crafter like Madox twice in a lifetime, that's certain. Go on, Delyth, you can run down with the fabric, and tell that man of yours if he doesn't get it done in time I'll have you assigned as overnight handmaid for the Princess."
There was a round of hoots as the flushing young lady sprang up with a self-conscious laugh, gathered up a bolt of something wrapped in protective linen, and disappeared from the chamber. Eilonwy, only vaguely deciphering the implications of the conversation, registered the final words with an unpleasant jolt. "I don't need an overnight handmaid," she blurted out, breaking her long silence. "I don't need a handmaid at all. I'm perfectly able to take care of myself."
Teleria tutted, fluttering around her. "Oh, child, of course you are; it's what you've always done, poor lamb; who else was available to do it? What a travesty. But we'll see to it that you're properly attended here. A princess should always have a handmaid, even several—you see that I myself have my ladies."
She gestured around at the women who had followed them like shadows. "They are indispensable! Confidantes and companions, all, and they help me keep this place in order and running ship-shape. That is a queen's duty, you know—one of several. Don't scowl like that, it's unbecoming—you'll find out soon enough how necessary a good handmaid is, and once you're settled in you'll have your pick as your ladies-in-waiting. Now. On we go—I'll show you to your chambers and you can get cleaned up a bit. A long sea voyage leaves one so unkempt! What you truly need is a bath and a hair-washing. Seren, Aerona, you two can help her with that; Cerys, run down and order a tub brought to her room."
Eilonwy was bundled out the door and down another corridor. A quick glance out of windows as they passed showed her successive towers, walls, and rooftops marching down a long slope; Dinas Rhydnant, she realized, was more of a clustered community of residences than a single castle, its scope closer to Caer Dathyl as she remembered it. Far off, at the foot of the slope, she caught sight of a gleam of blue: a river, snaking its way out to sea.
The Queen led her up and down and finally stopped outside another door halfway up a tower, opening it and drawing her inside. Between one order and another, her ladies had dissipated until only two were left, and when they entered the chamber and shut the door Eilonwy drew a sigh of some relief at the relative peace, and looked about her.
The room was a comfortable size, not cramped, but not as large as her chamber at Caer Dathyl had been, nor so opulent, though it was very fine in its way. Its rounded walls bore two casements almost opposite each other, with windows that stood open. The salty sea air blew in, cool and tingling on her frayed nerves. A pillared bed, covered in embroidered cushions and hung with green draperies, stood against the wall between them, flanked by tapestries; opposite it were the fireplace and a low couch, strewn with more cushions. The wooden floor was covered in woven-rush rugs. A mirror hung upon one wall, brighter than the copper one she carried; a large chest squatted at the foot of the bed. Another door led to a smaller chamber, outfitted with one narrow window and a slim but well-upholstered bed: the sleeping quarters, she realized, of the threatened overnight handmaid.
Teleria was looking at her expectantly, and Eilonwy knew she must say something. The room was quite nice, but as she laid her small bundle upon the low couch she thought only of her loft in Caer Dallben, and the sense of homesickness that washed over her rendered her unable to say a word—at least, not without the danger of accompanying it with uncontrollable sobbing, in which case it seemed better to say nothing at all.
Fortunately, perhaps, at that moment there was commotion at the door, and servants appeared, hoisting a large wooden tub between them. Her bath was arriving, and while Teleria spent the next few minutes busily issuing commands, Eilonwy moved uncertainly to the open casement.
She caught her breath. The swinging frame with its diamond glass panes pushed aside to show her a sheer drop, the stone of the castle tumbling down to the glistening blue of the sea. She could hear its distant thunder over the chattering women in the room. A gull, standing upon a crenellation on a wall nearby, looked at her curiously, hopped off and soared in an updraft. She cast her thoughts toward it for a moment, felt a brief and ephemeral thrill of wild kinship.
The breeze lifted her hair and her spirits, and she sank to the bench that filled the space next to the window, and sat there for several minutes, breathing in deep, settling herself before she turned back to the inside of the chamber, in response to Teleria's approach.
"Come, child, all is ready." The queen touched her shoulder and a little of her briskness subsided. "Are you happy with your room?"
Eilonwy attempted a smile, though she sensed it was weak. "Oh, yes. It's quite lovely—and it must have been a great deal of work getting things ready. I do appreciate it. It was…" she hesitated, choking a little on her own propriety. "It was very kind of you to invite me here."
Blast it! There came the tears, anyway, despite all her efforts; they welled hot behind her eyes, and although she did not let them fall, she knew they were obvious. Teleria, exclaiming in concern, plopped down on the bench beside her and gathered her up in her arms. "Dear girl," she crooned, "dear, dear girl, it was nothing at all, nothing. When I found out you were...well, even that you existed at all! You've no idea how we've wanted you here. It was all Rhuddlum could do, to stop me from boarding a ship myself and sailing down to talk some sense into all those meddling men. Your poor mother would have wanted you—there, there, it's all right, you can cry, no one will think less of you for it here!--to be as near your own place and people as you could be. I only wish we could resurrect her—all of them!"
It was a strange feeling, so strange, to be embraced with such warmth and softness; never in her living memory had any woman held her, rocked her back and forth this way, spoken to her with such honest emotion. Certainly Achren had not. Achren had slapped her when she cried, threatened her with worse if she did not stop. She had learned to hate her own tears, to hate herself when she could not hold them back, even when they were warranted. And now here was this oddity, this plump, motherly creature, assuring her that they were all right.
It would, indeed, have been an unutterable relief to give full vent to her feelings. Yet Eilonwy felt so uncomfortable at such smothering affection that she only gasped a few times, dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief Teleria handed her, and swallowed back the rest, embarrassed at such attention from one who was little more than a stranger as yet.
Teleria patted her back gently. "Poor dear, you're overwrought and exhausted, and no wonder. A good bath will do wonders – always the thing after you've had a long journey! You settle in and let Seren and Aerona take care of you and you'll feel better in no time. I shall go see to your friends. You have more here, as well, you know—we've a bard who showed up just after the ship left, who claims he is well-known to you."
"Fflewddur?" Eilonwy gasped, sitting up, as a burst of joy broke upon her like sunrays from an overcast sky. Fflewddur, here! How, and why?! Oh, that was something she could be uncritically glad about!
"I see he was telling the truth," the Queen said, a little dryly, "at least on one point. Don't worry, you'll see him this evening at the feast. Now, a good washing and then down to the Great Hall." She rose and gestured to the two handmaids. "Nothing too elaborate with her hair; just get it cleaned and combed and in order. Save the real effort for this evening. Spare clothes should be up soon; I'll see what's keeping Gladys." And she was gone, bustling from the room like a departing storm, leaving silence in her wake.