This is an experiment for 2024. Twelve monthly vignettes, to tell a long story briefly (as I don't have the time or energy to flesh it out into the fan-novel it could become). Perhaps it will work better this way, as each reader can fill in the blanks with their own imagination. Join me for the journey!
After hours of work, Taran finally managed to free himself from his bonds. Ellidyr turned and groaned feebly as Taran rubbed some life back into his own wrists and ankles.
"I can't accept Morgant's offer, and we're too heavily guarded to escape . . . but I think I know what to do." He glanced carefully out of the tent flap.
"Whatever you do better begin with getting the rest of us out of these ropes!" Eilonwy said impatiently.
Taran looked back at her with a heartbreaking expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Eilonwy. But it needs to be done." He opened his mouth, as if to say something else, then turned and dashed through the tent flaps.
"Taran?! TARAN!" Eilonwy threw herself to the front of the tent and what she saw haunted her dreams forever.
"Slay him!" Morgant commanded. "Slay him! Keep him from the cauldron!"
Taran took a sword slice across the chest as he barreled past one guard, then he took another stab to the thigh as reached the cauldron itself. A cry of pain burst from his lips, but he never stopped moving. He grabbed the rim of the cauldron, hauled himself up, and teetered on the brink for an eternal moment before finally toppling over the edge.
The Crochan trembled like a leaf in an autumn wind, then a metallic thunderclap rang out through the camp and the Crochan fell apart in sharp chunks of metal that revealed the limp and unmoving form of Taran.