Sunrise

Chapter Thirteen: Midnight

They traveled only a little way further before making camp for the night; though the urgency of the mission had not abated, at least they were no longer running for their lives, and could settle in with a sense of relative peace. Sustained by a few handfuls of hickory nuts they found on the way, physically exhausted and emotionally spent, Eilonwy threw herself to the ground without noticing the roots and pebbles beneath, and instantly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She was awakened in the star-strewn midnight by Fflewddur's shaking her gently, and rose, yawning, to take her turn at watch. The rolling hills of the landscape glowed under the waxing moon, and she settled against an oak trunk with a sigh of appreciation at how the watery silver light softened and muted all the rough edges of the landscape. It wrapped peace like a balm upon her spirit.

The woods had changed in their two-day course; fewer oaks and elms and more evergreens as the land rose and began to buckle upon itself. The air was cooler, and flavored with the sharp, fresh scent of pine and fir, a novelty of which she breathed deeply. She had never been in the hills before, and that seemed to be where they were headed. Caer Dathyl, she understood from Fflewddur's rough sketches, nestled upon the brink of the Eagle Mountains, and she wondered eagerly what the great fortress, mentioned in several of her books, actually looked like. Achren's insane railings against the Sons of Don had not wholly hidden her envy of their wealth and power; even without these attractions, Eilonwy could not help but be curious about anyone Achren so vehemently despised.

Well, with luck, she'd find out soon enough. Her resolve to request sanctuary there had not abated, and she'd begun to imagine her life there with rosy anticipation, entertaining vague images of herself -attired as befitted her rank, of course - strolling through lush gardens, riding on hunts, competing in archery tournaments, sitting at feasts while minstrels played in the background...all the scenes that appeared in tapestries and in her books. Books! Caer Dathyl housed the Halls of Lore...did you have to be a bard to gain entry to them? She'd ask Fflewddur tomorrow. Oh, wouldn't it be exquisite!

On the other hand, the Sons of Don might just pack her back to her kin...whoever they were. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Achren had made it all too clear that Eilonwy was the last remnant of Llyr, and insinuated that the relations responsible for sending her to Spiral Castle had done so out of a desire not to be bothered with her. Of course, knowing Achren, both the assertion and the implication could be outright false...but she had had no way of finding out. That would change when she got to Caer Dathyl. If anyone knew the truth of her people and her history, the Sons of Don would.

A new thought broke upon her like an incoming tide. Suppose it was all Achren's lies - suppose she still had a family; parents even; suppose she got to Caer Dathyl to find that they'd been searching for her for years, and, reunited, they'd take her off to her ancestral home by the sea. She felt her heartbeat quicken, lips part breathless, and silently mouthed the strange, alien word mother.

Daughter of Angharad, daughter of Regat. What did it even mean?

She was lost in a waking dream for a long while before the practical side of her mind poked at her, pricking at the fantasy future she'd begun to construct until it deflated. After all, if her parents, or any of her immediate family were alive, surely they would have found her. The enchantresses of Llyr had been a power to rival the Sons of Don - even Achren admitted that, with obvious disgust at their lack of interest in doing so - so there would have been rumors of them, and no power of Achren, who'd been neither unknown nor ignored, could have kept her hidden from them, had they been searching for her. She was certain of that.

No, it must be true - at least the part about her immediate family being dead. As far as the rest, who knew? But if she did have kin stupid enough to send her to Achren, she'd run away for good, alone if need be, before being sent back to them. If she paid attention on the way to Caer Dathyl, she ought to learn enough woodcraft and foraging skills to survive on her own in the wilderness by the time they got there. Just in case King Math turned out to be an unreasonable man, unsympathetic to the plight of homeless princesses.