Sunrise

Chapter Ten: Outrage

Pulled from her musings by Fflewddur's gesturing to her to sit, Eilonwy realized that Taran was detailing the events that had brought him to Spiral Castle. His face was drawn, turned inward, as he described what he had witnessed of the horrors of Arawn: the dead warriors resurrected to a cruel mockery of life in a magic cauldron, the sight of captives burned alive in wicker cages, the masses of the enemy preparing to march upon the stronghold of Caer Dathyl. This name, at least, she recognized, and it seemed he intended to go there - quite sensible. It would be just the place for her to seek refuge, come to think of it - anyone of prominence there should know her family name and heritage, and grant her sanctuary. Yes, it was a perfect destination.

She was so pleased to have her primary quandary settled that it took her a moment to realize Taran had just asked Fflewddur to "conduct this girl safely to her own people."

She was on her feet in a heartbeat. "Conducted! I shall be conducted where I please!" Taran turned to her in surprise, as though he'd actually forgotten she was there. He started to say something and she cut him off decisively. "I didn't escape from Spiral Castle just so I can be sent some other dreary place. I shall go to Caer Dathyl too."

His brow furrowed, arms crossed; that "little-girl" look was settling, infuriating, on his face. "There is risk enough with having to worry about a girl."

Her hands clutched into fists and she balled them on her hips to keep herself from hitting him. "I don't like being called 'a girl' and 'this girl' as if I didn't have a name. It's like having your head put in a sack." Stepping up to him, she stabbed a finger into his chest. "If you've made your decision, I've made mine. I don't see how you're going to stop me."

He seemed, for a moment, too taken aback to retort, and she turned to Fflewddur, whose twinkling eyes were belying the gravity of his face. "If you try to take me to my stupid kinsmen - and they're hardly related to me in the first place - that harp will be in pieces around your ears."

The bard's hands tightened on the harp case, but his mouth was twitching. Outraged that even he took her fury so lightly, she turned away from both of them and shouted to the trees. "And if a certain assistant pig-keeper, whose name I won't even mention, thinks otherwise, he'll be even more mistaken!"

"See here," Fflewddur began, "there's no need to-"

But she had already whirled back upon Taran, face flaming. "May I remind you of the reason you're out here in the first place instead of buried in the dungeon? How dare you suggest I couldn't-"

Taran clapped his hands upon his ears. He squinted up his eyes and shouted, "Stop, STOP!"

She did, but only because she was out of breath, and so angry that she had begun to lose coherence. By the gods, if she had the slightest idea in which direction Caer Dathyl lay, she'd set off on her own without either of them. "Worry about a girl", indeed...as though, after all she'd done, he expected her to be nothing but a burden. Lovely, yes, that was gratitude...she itched to hex him, and only the thought that it was what Achren would have done stopped her.

Taran was frowning at her loftily, as though at an unruly child. "Very well. You could be tied up and set on Melyngar."

Her thoughts at this were hair-curling, but before she could speak them - perhaps fortunately - he raised an imperious hand. "But that will not be done. Not because of all the commotion you raised, but because I realize now it is best." He glanced at Fflewddur and back to her, with an insufferable air of authority. "There is greater strength in greater numbers. Whatever happens, there will be more chance for one of us to reach Caer Dathyl if we all stay together."

This was sensible, but hardly comforting. She sniffed, feeling betrayed by the tightness in her throat that suggested what she'd really like to do was cry. Very helpful just now, of course, just the thing to prove to them how capable she was. Confound it, the whole mess, and ungrateful disloyal assistant pig-keepers especially. She huffed and turned away from them all, feigning interest in a nearby bush, and blinked hard to hold back the hot tears springing to her eyes.

Gurgi had joined the group some minutes previously; suddenly his shaggy head shoved itself under her hand and she looked down in surprise. He was gazing at her, amber eyes soft under his whiskery, puckered brows, and a hint of a sympathetic smile - if such a thing was possible on such an animal-like face - brightened when she smiled back, weakly, at him. A shudder of joy seemed to pass through his whole body and he wiggled all over.

"Faithful Gurgi will come too!" the creature announced boldly, yet he clutched at her robe as if for support. "He will follow! Too many wicked enemies are smirking and lurking to jab him with pointy spears!"

Eilonwy saw Taran's lips tighten at this; his hard gaze fell upon Gurgi, who shrank behind her. She stepped in front of the creature protectively, scowling at the boy, daring him to refuse. Taran hesitated, looking at her, and seemed to resign himself. "Fine. But I warn you, nothing must hinder our task." He turned to the bard. "I do not know the lay of the land. Will you act as guide?"

Fflewddur stood, slinging his harp case around his back. "Ordinarily, you know, I'd prefer to be in charge of this type of expedition myself." He spoke mildly, but she sensed a hint of rebuke in the words, and was grimly satisfied to see Taran flush and stammer. The bard help up a hand. "No, no, it's all right. Since you are acting for Lord Gwydion, I accept your authority as I would accept his. A Fflam is yours to command." He bowed low and rather theatrically; Taran looked embarrassed, and Eilonwy turned away with a smirk. At least there was someone there who could put the upstart in his place...and if he thought she'd ever bow to him, he had another thing coming. In fact, if he even knew who she was...

"Forward, then!" Fflewddur exclaimed, interrupting her thoughts. He stretched out his long limbs and bounced the balls of his feet on the turf. "And if we must give battle, so be it! Why, I've carved my way through walls of spearmen..."

A muffled but tremendous jangling of broken strings sounded from his back, and he fell silent and coughed, ears reddening. Taran, shaking his head, made off toward Melyngar, and Eilonwy watched as the bard unslung the leather case and peered inside ruefully.

She leaned toward him, amused and curious. "How many?"

He sighed. "Six."