The bard leaned back, watching the celebrations erupt around him. There was much dancing and merriment to be had, now that the two sons of the High King and Queen had been returned, with a legendary (though ruined) blade in hand.

He hummed out the bars to a tune that had been floundering around in his head for a while.

The broken blade/ let the memory not fade…

He cringed at himself. But such was the way of any good writing. One had to stumble through the first draft with as little pride as possible. He was so focused on the little ditty that he nearly jumped out of his chair when the young prince sank down next to him.

'You know, we haven't been properly introduced,' the golden haired boy said.

'Indeed not, young prince. The name is Myrddin, son of Wyllt. But folk in the Free Commots call me Merlin.'

'Owain,' the prince said, nodding his head. 'And where to next?'

Merlin smiled, sipping his mead. 'I was thinking further north. See what the northmen are hiding up in their mountains.'

'May I come with you?' the boy asked.

Merlin nearly spit his drink back into his cup. He, squire the son of a king? He laughed. 'Oh I would be honoured your grace. But I have a rough education and a rougher sense of travel. My accommodations are hardly fit for a prince.'

Owain simply shrugged. 'My father has offered me a place at court in the south,' the young prince sighed. 'But I have a hunger to learn more of this country and its history, especially after…'

Merlin only nodded his head.

'Besides,' the boy reached under his tunic and pulled out a pendant. 'There is more to be learned here, and I do think there is another point on this wayfinder…'

Merlin leaned over, admiring the ancient piece of handiwork. 'Now where did you find this little trinket?'

'Now that,' Owain said, flashing him a grin. 'Is certainly a story worthy of a bard.'

Iola knocked on her mother's chamber door. Queen Teleria answered.

'Oh, are you alright child?' the woman's hand went instinctively to her forehead.

Iola smiled, pressing her head against the woman's hand. 'See? Right as rain. How long is it going to take you to stop doing that?'

The queen only laughed. 'Spitfire. Come in, and see your mother.'

The High Queen sat in a chair in front of a mirror. She was putting the finishing touches on her morning toilette, brushing the golden strands away from her face. 'When we invited our countrymen for feasting,' she murmured, a pin between her teeth. 'I did not expect them to stay for nearly a fortnight.'

Iola caught the nervous edge in her mother's voice. Owain had just announced his intention to apprentice himself to the bard, Merlin, and father was sending Rhys out on an expedition to conduct a census report of the southern lands. Though both Owain and Rhys would not set out for another month, Iola sensed her mother was not so keen to let her sons slip out of her hands again.

And now…

Iola came to stand behind her, twisting the lock of her mother's hair that she was having so much trouble with.

'Thank you dearest,' the queen said with a sigh.

'Here,' Iola said, taking the pin out of her hand.

'Thank you. You are feeling well?'

Iola bit the inside of her cheek to avoid responding in annoyance. 'Very well.'

The High Queen smiled. 'You might as well come out with it,' she said. 'You have that look in your eye. The same one your father gets before he wants to ask me something.'

The princess steeled herself. 'Mother, why have you not spoken to me before about the magic of Llyr?'

The High Queen stiffened beneath her daughter's ministrations. 'I have told you.'

Iola shook her head. 'No. You have told me of the castle falling into the sea. But nothing beyond that.'

The High Queen brought her hand up to squeeze her daughter's. She turned around. 'Iola… I had a very… indifferent education in the magical arts. It was… well it was similar to sticking your hand in a bees nest and wondering why they are stinging you. It was not something to be trifled with. I was relieved to give it up.'

Iola sank down on the window well next to her mother's cosmetics table.

'But, I want to know,' she said.

'All magic has left Prydain,' the High Queen said. 'I have told you that countless times.'

'I wish to learn more of the House of Llyr, of our history,' she said. Clearing her throat, she added: 'I want to travel to Mona, to the royal archives there and do some study for myself.'

For a moment the Queen said nothing, only staring at her reflection in the mirror. Iola came behind her. She buried her face into her mother hair, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. 'Will it placate you to know that I promise to be very careful?'

She felt the High Queen's hand cover her own. 'Do not placate me with promises you cannot keep,' he mother said with a sigh. 'Very well. As long as Gareth accompanies you.'

'And me,' Queen Teleria said, her voice indignant. 'Someone will have to maintain propriety!'

At that, both the High Queen and her daughter burst into peals of laughter. Leaning back, the High Queen wiped away a tear that had formed at the corner of her eye. 'Very well, my lady, very well.'

Matilda leaned against the balustrade at the top of one of the towers, the fresh air pinching her cheeks and calming her heart. For the past few weeks there had been celebrations and much jollity to welcome home the wayward princes. After living with a small scouting party for what felt like ages, it was a bit of a shock to be back in crowded banqueting halls and throne rooms.

The sunset was brilliant, a warm wind blew over the spires of Caer Dathyl, finally heralding the arrival of spring. The sun winked at her as it began to sink behind the Eagle Mountains.

'I thought you would have been in the Queen's rooms with the other court ladies.' Rhys came to stand beside her. He also looked over the stunning countryside, the wind tousling his dark hair. Matilda felt herself blushing, wondering if he'd any right to look so handsome.

'Oh, I'm sure it was no loss for them, my lord,' she replied.

'I haven't had a moment to myself since… I've tried a few times to seek you out, but I've always been caught out, or you have…'

Matilda had not heard him so tongue tied. Her heart leapt into her throat. Was he about to deliver bad news?

'What is it?' she whispered, reaching for his arm.

He blue eyes flashed to hers. To her surprise, a red flush crept up his neck. He reached under his cape to his sword belt. There he produced a small dagger. The finely wrought hilt had two stylized swans at the handle. In the centre was a fine yellow diamond that sparkled in the evening sun.

Her breath was taken away. 'Oh,' she murmured. 'Oh, Rhys, it's beautiful.'

'I chose to have the sword melted down,' Rhys said. 'After we returned to Caer Dathyl. It produced one long sword and a short sword. And two daggers. You… Well, all of you helped lift the sword out of the ground. It was only right that you also got a piece of it.'

Matilda felt a few tears roll down her cheek as she placed the dagger in the belt at her waist. 'Rhys, it's the best gift anyone has ever given me.'

He snatched up both her hands in his. 'That gladdens me, Matilda. Deeply.'

His brow was furrowed. 'I was worried you…' he shook his head, taking in a deep breath. 'I was worried you wouldn't be able to forgive me for what happened to your uncle.'

Matilda's jaw dropped open. He heart squeezed at the thought. 'Rhys,' she began, finding the right words, 'his demise was his own doing. It is I who owe you my life. If you hadn't found the sword…'

She shuddered to think of the life that would have been awaiting her back home had her uncle succeeded. Rhys' shoulders visibly fell. He brushed a tendril of hair away from her cheek. 'I would heap pain on myself before allowing any harm to come to you,' he said.

Matilda looked down at their still entwined hands, her heart pounding. 'If anyone sees us…' she whispered.

Rhys' mouth kicked up into a smile. 'Then I'll have to tell them about the kiss you gave me before I entered the trials.'

Matilda scowled at him. 'That was not a kiss! That was simply a protective measure to ensure your survival!'

'Oh really?' he teased. 'If it was so protective why did it leave me with a bloody lip?'

Matilda felt her guile rise, but had spent enough time with Rhys recently to know how to respond effectively. She stuck her nose in the air, stepping back. 'Well, no one can expect to be an expert on their first try. I shall have to find an obliging lordling to practise with. And last time I saw, Lord Iwan's son-'

She hardly had a chance before he grabbed her elbow and pulled her in close to him. Matilda found her hands pressed against his chest while Rhys wound an arm around her waist and one through her hair at the back of her head. She opened her mouth to say something, but his lips came down on hers before she could speak.

Eilonwy found Taran standing beside a small, arched window, arms folded across his chest. She raised an inquiring eyebrow at him. 'What are you doing?'

He simply shrugged. The same shrug that used to drive her mad when they were children at Caer Dallben. She'd not come to the tower in search of him. Rather, she knew this was a quiet spot where she could spend a lonely moment sulking over her children leaving her. Clearly, Taran had wanted to do the same.

She stopped beside him, then peered out the window. Rhys and Matilda had their hands clasped together and were talking in low tones. She shrank back immediately.

'Really, someone should stop them,' she said, summoning her best impression of Queen Teleria. But it was a half-hearted attempt at propriety.

'Oh, tarry here a moment,' Taran said.

'If anyone were to see, we'd be planning a wedding. And I have had enough celebrations to last me five years.'

'Would it be so bad?' her husband asked, a wistful twinkle in his green eyes. 'A few more babies around?'

Eilonwy's stomach flipped at that. 'Do not joke,' she admonished. 'Before our children got themselves lost you were trying your very best to add to their number.'

'I rather remember you enjoying it.'

Eilonwy laughed. How was it possible, after all these years, to still blush in the presence of her husband? 'Oh I've had enough of all of them for now. All they do is get into trouble and gripe about eating vegetables. Then they all cannot wait to leave, besides.'

'And what will you do then?'

'Taran of Caer Dallben, I intend to rule by your side, mind my ladies, try my best to tame our little Angharad. And catch up on my sleep.'

A ringing slap and a few choice words echoed from the balcony. Eilonwy buried her mouth into the sleeve of her dress and coughed out a laugh. Holding a finger to his lips, Taran pulled her behind an obliging pillar.

The wooden door swung open on creaking hinges and Matilda was rushing down the stairs in a fit of purple dress and blonde hair. After a few moments, she heard her son laugh, and started to trot down the winding stone staircase. He whistled out a tune, which promptly stopped when he caught sight of his two parents.

'Mother, father,' he said rather casually, as though he did not have a huge red splotch on one cheek.

'What were you doing up there?' Eilonwy asked.

'Admiring the sunset,' he replied with a cheeky grin.

'We just ran into Matilda making a rather hasty dash to the banquet,' Taran added.

Rhys shrugged his shoulders. Eilonwy had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from scolding him. How like his father he was.

'I will open the dancing then,' he said. 'I'll see you down there.'

Eilonwy waved him off. As soon as he was out of ear shot, it was Taran's turn to laugh. 'He,' her husband said, offering her his arm as they managed the last few stairs, 'is exactly like you.'

Eilonwy reeled back for a moment. 'Like me? Me?'

'Oh yes,' Taran shook his head, smiling so wide Eilonwy's heart caught and she forgot to be annoyed. 'That smile when you've been caught doing something you shouldn't. Exactly like you.'

'Well, I shall try to find the compliment somewhere in there.'

Taran murmured something else, something of love and happiness, but Eilonwy was admiring the sunset. She did not often think of her mother, but her fingers came up to the crescent moon pendant around her neck.

Thank you, she said to herself, sending the sentiment over the reaching mountains and toward the vast sea.

A warm breeze caressed her skin in reply.