Work Text
I knew I really loved her
when I missed her
and she was still in my arms.
~Atticus"It'll be a hard thing for Taran."The voice was muffled behind a closed door, but not hard to identify: Coll, speaking a name that made the owner thereof pause on his way across the cottage."You told him?" Dallben's voice, a curt grunt."Aye, just a bit ago, while we worked together in the garden. He took it well, on the surface, but I could tell it shook him.""He'll manage." Dallben again. "And all the better for her absence. She's a distraction he can ill afford, just now. At his age he's all hot blood and little brain.""He's a good lad," Coll murmured, "and she's no fool, whatever. There's been nothing untoward…""I am well aware of what is and is not going on between them," Dallben broke in testily. "It's gone on far too long, in fact, despite whatever restraint they've managed. I ought to have sent her away sooner, when it would have been less painful for them both, but I wanted to keep an eye on her, after what I saw when they came home from the business with the cauldron. It may have been a mistake. But the journey couldn't have been made any earlier this year, what with one thing and another. There has never been a good time, but the situation grows more urgent daily. "Taran, standing outside the door, felt the heaviness already upon him thicken further, dragging all his limbs down with weight. It was true then, what Coll had told him. Not that he had known Coll ever to mislead him. But he hadn’t wanted to believe it.He took a furtive step closer, holding his breath."Are you sure it must be done?" Coll's voice again, full of regret. "She's happy here — so changed. Such a poor, unhappy creature, then, always snapping. Now she's bloomed like a garden. Can she not just settle in for good? Let things take their course? What else can she learn from those high-born relations?""You know quite well what is at stake," Dallben said, "and we both know which way the wind is blowing — I don't object to it, you know, only to the timing of it. Their bond is auspicious, in fact. If all does come to pass as I hope, there is value in one of them having direct experience at court. And to anyone who might be watching, it looks far less suspicious to have it be…"The voice halted in the midst of this incomprehensible speech. There was a scraping noise of furniture being dragged across the floor, and Taran jumped back as the door flew open, revealing the stares of both his mentors. Coll, at the door, looked foreboding; Dallben, sitting at his table, irascible but not surprised."Listening at doors," the old man grumbled, "is the work of spies and cowards, and you are neither. If you have questions, come in and ask them directly."Taran stepped shamefaced into the doorway. "I…forgive me, Dallben," he stammered. "I should not have…only I heard my name, and…" He glanced sideways at Coll, an instinctive search for sympathy, but the old farmer, having resumed his seat, only sighed.Dallben looked at him steadily, and drummed his bony fingertips on the tabletop before motioning to the bench. "Sit down, boy."Taran lowered himself slowly next to Coll. His chest felt full of wet sand, obstructing every breath."It is hard for you, I know," Dallben began, and the sand rose up, choking him, pushing out a single word before it."Why?"
It hung in the air, both lament and accusation. Dallben stared into space as though he could see the word itself, examine it like one of the specimens of rock and root sitting upon his dusty shelves. "I have reasons," he said finally, "some of which you would not understand, and none of which will satisfy you, under the circumstances, even if you did acknowledge their soundness." His eyes lost their faraway gaze, landing like flint upon Taran's anguished face. "For what it is worth to you now, I am sorry that it must come to this, my lad. I will miss her as well, you know, and hope for her return to us just as…well, perhaps not quite as ardently as you do, but nearly."Taran gripped the edge of the table, unable to appreciate the slightest hint of humor, and outraged that it should be attempted. He knew well enough that nothing could challenge a decree once Dallben had made it. Arguing was a waste of breath. But he wanted nothing so much as to lift the table off its feet, turn it over and watch every implement on it crash to the floor, a shattering chaos that might siphon off a little of what he felt.Coll reached out and touched his arm. "You mind that, lad? It's not forever. She can come back, after a bit of…well, whenever Dallben agrees to it." He regarded the old enchanter a little doubtfully, also dissatisfied at the vagueness of the arrangement.Taran squirmed within and without, confused and embarrassed that both Coll and Dallben seemed to know more than he did about his own feelings — at least, more than he had yet admitted to himself, let alone anyone else. "I don't care," he burst out defiantly. "What is it to me if she goes? It's just…for her sake. I fear for her, away from your protection. She'll go and do some foolish thing and put herself in danger."Coll and Dallben exchanged knowing glances. "That is always a possibility," Dallben admitted, "one with which you have abundant experience yourself. Your noble concern is noted. Nevertheless, the princess must have her chance to make better choices. Not that I believe she'll have too many opportunities for trouble on Mona," he added. "It is a dull court without much intrigue, as far as I know, which makes it the safest place I can send her; moreover, the connections she has to the place may help her…well, steady herself a bit."He hesitated for a moment, gazing thoughtfully at Taran, then offered slowly, "But if it will ease your mind, you may travel there with her —assuming Coll can spare you from your work for a fortnight or so. That way,"—with a touch of sarcasm—"you may personally investigate all potential threats until you are satisfied about her safety."Coll looked surprised, and glanced from Dallben to Taran and back again, finally nodding. "Aye, it's all right. Planting will be done by then, and I can mind the rest until he returns."Dallben folded his hands as if the matter was settled —as indeed, Taran knew, despairingly, it was. “Very well, then," the enchanter said briskly, "you shall leave together as soon as I have word that the ship has arrived in Avren harbor. It will be another few weeks at least. I shall have to inform the princess." His words and manner were matter-of-fact, but Taran heard an unenthusiastic note in his voice at the prospect. "Be a good lad and go track her down. Tell her I must speak with her."The sand rose up again, suffocating; Tar-an cast an agonized glance at Coll, who returned him a helpless frown and a nod. Despairing of assistance from that quarter, the boy stood slowly, his hands trembling a little on the tabletop, turned, and left the room.He was halfway across the yard before he even knew where he was, having walked blindly through the cottage without any idea which direction to go. He stumbled to a halt, staring at the ground, wishing he could forget the nature of his errand. Suppose he found her and told her to hide? To run off into the woods, so that…No. Mad idea. No, the thing must be done: he would send her inside and Dallben would tell her she must leave. She was going away, to be with her kin and there was absolutely nothing he can do to keep her.Taran grit his teeth. To keep her here. That's what he'd meant. Of course.The illicitly-overheard phrases swam in his mind. All hot blood and little brain…what is and is not going on between them…whatever restraint they've managed. His face heated with self-conscious shame, then with anger that he should feel such. He'd done nothing to be ashamed of—hadn’t he deliberately put agonizing distance between them lately, just to make sure he wouldn't? It was hard enough, trying to make sense of his own bewildering reactions to Eilonwy, without being plagued by the mortifying awareness that his elders apparently knew all about it. Now he would feel as though their every interaction were being spied on and evaluated for indiscretion.Not that they would have much opportunity for either interaction or indiscretion, shortly.Meandering past the gate into the orchard, Taran seized a dead branch from the ground and slammed it hard into a stone wall, smashing it into scattered bits and flinging down the remaining pieces, crunching them into the damp earth under his boots. What would it be like without her? She'd only been here three years or so…how was it that he found it so difficult to remember how it was, before?Various scenes of her everyday presence played though his unwilling mind. Her cheery morning greeting as she tumbled down the loft ladder, a rising she often seemed to time perfectly with his own. Accompanying him to the scullery, where he would spend an inordinate amount of time at his morning ablutions so that he could watch her unbraid her hair, comb it out, and braid it again, her nimble fingers weaving it into tight patterns in a spellbinding rhythm.If she caught him staring, she was wont to deliberately splash him with cold water from the basin, laughing at his protest, snapping towels at him and ordering him out of the scullery so she could start breakfast without his hanging about underfoot and getting in her way. He would cross the doorway with a grin and a lightness of step, full of the sense of the rightness of all things, of a buoyant happiness whose origins he'd never thought to examine.She moved through the little farm throughout the day, picking up various odd jobs in a predictable pattern —weeding beside him in the garden, scrubbing and hanging the washing, feeding stock, hunting eggs, gathering kindling, grinding grain. They were the mundane, ordinary tasks she'd been so clumsy and ignorant about when she'd come, now done without a second thought, and somehow in ways that had begun to capture his rapt attention. One wouldn't think anyone could make sweeping the hearth a particularly attractive task, and yet just yesterday he had found his eyes following her, noting the graceful, firm strength in her hands, the curve in the back of her neck as she bent forward, the delicate twin crescents of her bare feet peeking out from beneath her skirts as he knelt…the ashes smeared across her freckled nose and cheek, and his impulse, ruthlessly buried, to brush them away.Taran leaned against the stone wall with a low groan, unable to stem the flood of images, of strange and undefinable yearnings. Why did his own mind insist on making this more difficult? Why was she so…overwhelming?
A distraction he can ill afford.
Perhaps Dallben was right. Dallben was always right, of course — why did he have to be so right all the blasted time? And if Dallben was right, then why was it all so unthinkable?
But he made himself think it anyway. Imagined rising without her there to greet him, working in the garden alone. As often as he had bemoaned her tendency toward constant chatter, the silence smote him with its bleakness. In his mind's eye the world was less colorful, somehow, dim without the sparkling contrast her ever-changing moods threw upon everything. Less interesting, his own place in it less necessary, when she wouldn’t be coming to him to talk over some new experience or perplexing problem, to find comfort in his steadiness, to listen, in her turn, to his thoughts and dreams and fears, to understand, in ways that their elders just didn’t.Unable to bear imagining her absence, his mind turned inevitably to memories of her presence. He thought of their afternoons spent in training, Coll teaching them both the proper use of various weapons despite Dallben's grumbling reluctance. Eilonwy was, naturally, no match for him in muscle or endurance, but she was nimble and strong and quick-witted, and their sparring sessions had ended with Taran on the ground a respectable number of times. Though this was doubtless due to his never bringing his full effort to bear for fear of hurting her, the triumphant look and saucy remarks she pelted him with in such moments suggested she didn’t know that. He had never cared to divulge the whole truth. Let her think what she liked! Even Coll had said she was as capable as many youths tossed into a war band, and cleverer than most, and between the two of them they could survive a long time in a skirmish, if they kept each other's backs. Not that he had any expectation of seeing her in such a situation...but, as Coll said, it was best to be prepared, whether one was a pig-keeper or a princess.But there wouldn’t be any more of such preparations. No facing off with her, flushed and eager and full of cheek, eyes sparking cheerful insolence, or flashing within a determined frown when she encountered a challenge. Soon he would train alone.How would it be, without her? None of her witty or tart observations. No one making barbed remarks about table manners and then laughing self-depracatingly when she violated a rule herself. No one to exchange silent, amused glances with when the conversation referenced a private shared joke. No chance to brush hands with her when she passed him a bowl or filled his cup at dinner. Not that he did such things on purpose. They were accidents. Of course.He thought of evenings spent in content companionship, perched on the old stone wall with Gurgi gamboling at their feet, the sunset light burnishing her hair until it shone like a torch against the lavender shadows behind her, while she sang softly into the twilight. Or on cold nights when darkness fell early, sitting at the hearth wrapped in furs and blankets and the low voices of Coll and Dallben—a cozy, comfortable peace.It had been just such a night when he had first noticed her watching him last winter. Dallben had been reading aloud from The Book of Three, an old romance Taran knew well enough thanks to a rendition of it he'd heard one evening at Caer Dathyl. Its more provocative implications had been lost on him those years ago. Now Dallben was skimming certain passages he apparently deemed inappropriate for his audience. Once, he paused so long Taran had glanced up to see the old man frowning, running his finger down the page and muttering to himself. Amused, Taran had glanced toward Eilonwy, and found her gaze already upon him.In the darkness of the cottage the clarity of her eyes mirrored the flickering firelight. It had seemed to him that those flames came not from the reflected hearth but from something manifested in her, transforming her gaze into something new. The moment they locked eyes she blinked and looked away with a self-conscious cough, and attended with intense precision to the sewing-on of a patch to the shirt in her lap. She did not look up again.But the damage had been done. Taran had wondered if his pounding heart had been audible across the room, and if the heat that flushed through him was detectable by anyone else. Suddenly every word Dallben read…or didn't read…screamed a significance that made him want to draw the blanket over his head and disappear. Or perhaps throw it off entirely, leap up, catch Eilonwy in his arms and twirl her around the room in a burst of euphoria. He had gulped as the contradictory impulses tussled with one another like wolves within him. Finally he had thrown the blanket off and risen, not to dance about the room but to stumble out into the frigid night, leaving everyone to assume he had sudden need of the privy. In actuality he had circled the cottage in a daze until the cold had driven him back inside.It had not been the last time he had caught her fastening that burning stare upon him. It had happened repeatedly since then, with similar effect. She usually found some excuse to flounce away after being discovered at it, her face scarlet, as though even she were confused and not quite aware of her own actions. Somehow her consternation reassured him. He might not know quite what to do with these strange new occurrences, but at least she didn’t seem to have any expectations of him —perhaps had no notion at all of the effect she had upon him.But now?—he remembered his errand with dread, harsh reality yanking his mind from the strange fascination of recent events. There would be no more such moments. Distractions. It pained him, to hear such a dismissive word applied to emotions and sensations that felt so momentous. Eilonwy was more than a distraction; she was…was…His thoughts failed him, afraid to say what she was or what she could be, perhaps for fear of being wrong.At that moment he was truly distracted by a shower of white apple petals falling like snow before his face — more than could be explained given the gentleness of the breeze. Taran looked up into the white-cloaked glory of the old apple tree he stood beneath, and beheld the subject of his thoughts, high above him in its topmost branches. She appeared to be in the midst of an attempt to remove herself permanently from not only Caer Dallben but the entire mortal realm, for she stood upon a slim branch that bent ominously beneath her weight.His breath caught, hung upon that precarious curve beneath her feet, then gathered itself in a shout. "Eilonwy!"No answer, except that a bare foot sliding along the branch suddenly went still. "Eilonwy!" he shouted again, in desperation, "come down! You're far too high!"Her voice drifted down between the apple petals, as sweet and tart as the fruit heralded there. "Don't be silly. You know I do this every year.""You get heavier every year!" he retorted, without thinking."What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded huffily, and he bit his lip, berating himself for a fool. If he made her angry she would go even higher just to spite him."I just mean you've grown!" he protested, "and the branches up there are thin!""You sound like a wet rooster." Her taunting voice floated down. "Fussing like that. You could join me up here, you know."The branch was bending, bending like a drawn bow, and he danced beneath her frantically, his heart in his throat. "Eilonwy, would you please just—,"And then…oh, then a loud crack seemed to split his soul, like a log riven by the iron head of an axe. Taran heard her shriek, saw the sudden jerk of movement and cried aloud as she fell. Faster than thought, he threw himself into her path, instinctively turning his face up, twisting himself so that that the force of her impact slammed against his chest. The crash flung him backwards, stunned.He blinked, lying on his back, staring up into a blur of light. Everything hurt. He tried to take a breath, found it almost impossible, and in a sudden panic gasped hard. His aching ribs forced themselves open against a heavy resistance, but they did fill, slowly and with effort.His arms moved, an instinctive attempt to rid himself of this strange weight. They encountered a warm and solid form draped limp across his upper body, pinning him down from hip to shoulder. He pushed at it weakly, but it didn't move. Why was he lying down? What had—The form beneath his hands shifted slightly, expanded like something breathing. He blinked his eyes to make sense of the pale blur before them, and tried to raise his head to look around. Softness slid across his face, and the blur moved, light filtering through something glittering gold…He inhaled again, a scent he knew quite well, though never from such close quarters: Eilonwy, her hair, her clothes, her indefinable essence, all mixed with apple blossom and crushed grass. His heartbeat raced in sudden realization. She had fallen, just as he feared! And he caught her — or tried to, and now…now she lay over his heart, weighing him into the grass, and the soft mass over his face was her hair. She might be hurt, or knocked unconscious, and he was too stunned and weak to move.But she was breathing, and in his relief he let his hands rest boldly at her back, pressed in the hollow between her shoulder blades. At the very least he had been there, to keep her from crashing to the merciless ground. Thank goodness he had been sent to find her! And yet the irony of it galled him.Her ribs moved again and he heard her gasp, felt her limp frame slowly tense as she trickled toward lucidity. He was sharply conscious of how his hands rose and fell as her ribs expanded, concurrent with the press and release of her body against his battered chest as she breathed. Neither his anxiousness for her well-being, nor his physical discomfort could quite blot out a certain sense of bliss, and he swallowed hard, fighting down a wave of guilty pleasure."Taran?" her voice wavered from beneath his left ear. "Are…are you all right?"He considered this, and answered honestly, with a groan, "I'm not sure yet."Another moment of her cradled beneath his chin, and then her whole body tensed and she scrambled off, pushing until she could holding herself up on trembling arms. His hands fell away reluctantly, but he gripped her wrist to help steady her. She still pinned him down, his right hip pressed to the ground from the weight of her torso, a thing he found profoundly diverting even in the midst of his aching anxiety, but at least he could breathe easier. Her weight shifted as she moved her arm, her hair slid from his face, and there she was, blinking at him from a few inches away.Eilonwy looked as shocked as he felt, dizzy and disbelieving, her eyes wide. The sunlight, glowing behind her head through the apple boughs, kindled the edges of her hair into a golden crown. Torn petals nestled in its tangled waves, caught like gems in a fine lady's hair net. Her silver pendant dangled above his chin. Silver and gold, he thought, dazedly. She's silver and gold. Not distraction. Treasure."…you?" he whispered, since she had made no further move; perhaps she really was hurt worse than he feared. The tremor in her arm increased and he grasped it harder. She looked at his hand as though she was not sure what it was."I…" she stammered. "I…I'm…""You scared me," he said quietly.It wasn’t what he'd usually have said. Even now, he felt the urge to let the fear inside him stoke itself into anger, to scold her roundly for her stubborn idiocy and her disregard for all who desired her safety. But the angry words would not come, for before them stalked the stark grief of imminent loss, and it would not let them pass his lips.Eilonwy looked momentarily more confused. Her face was turning rosier by the second, her eyes glittering with that fire he seemed to surprise out of her in moments where close proximity was unavoidable. She bit her lower lip, and held his gaze with the steadiness of one who had been dared to look anywhere else."If you say you told me so," she murmured, "I will never speak to you again."Something in the clear challenge of it made his gut churn; she was baiting him; why? Why, when he had just saved her? Can't you see, he thought, in wondering anguish, who I am?
Who was he? An open book, at this moment, its story as accessible to her as it was to him, if only either of them knew how to read it."I wasn't," he answered simply, and the glint in her eye softened a little. "But I do wish you'd be more c—"Her hand covered his mouth before he coild finish, that rebel gleam back in her gaze, and her mouth twitched up at one corner in a tiny wry smile. She leaned toward him, strands of her hair dangling about his face, the smell of her surrounding him…or was that apple blossom? Did it matter?"You just can't help it, can you?" she purred, sounding oddly triumphant. "It's like an itch you've got to scratch."She was close, close, close… close enough for her breath to flutter over his face and stir his hair. Close enough and yet… so immeasurably far away, holding him off with words like armor, a silencing hand that would not let him say what he wants to say. Would she ever let him…?He sighed, and gave up any notion of speaking. If only he could hold her in his mind, just like this, perhaps he could bear it when she was gone away.A cluster of leaves and an apple bud tangled in one long ribbon of hair near her temple. On impulse he reached up and grasped the sprig, pulled it carefully down the length of the strand, untangled it until it slid free. Her eyes followed the movement, stared at the bud in his fingertips, and her face changed; the defiance drained away, leaving her wide-eyed again, wry smile fading as her lips parted in a heavy breath. She looked, all of a sudden, as vulnerable as he felt, as soft and fragile as the fallen flowers scattered around them, as the unfulfilled promise of sweetness, still clasped in his hand.Taran stared, transfixed and shattered by the truth. She was unspeakably lovely, and his heart was as captive to her as that flower bud had been tangled in her hair. Only he had no desire to be pulled free.How had he not known it all this time? When had it begun? Last week, when the attention paid her by the young men in the Rover camp had made him so furiously jealous? In early spring, when he had become achingly aware of how she'd grown to a young woman in both body and mind? Last winter, in that swift exchange of heated firelight glances? The year before, when she'd clasped his hands, forced him to look her in the face, and assured him that he was worthy, with or without a magic brooch? Or perhaps the moment those crystalline eyes had peered through the rusty bars of a prison grate and into his soul? Had it been happening gradually, all along?And why had he refused to admit it until now—now that she would be lost to him? For lose her he would, and he had been sent …sent to tell her so, when he had so much else to tell her instead!That wet sand settled once more in his chest, a burden much heavier than the continued press of her body upon him, but their combined weight was too much, and his heart thudded with the effort of every inhale. He did not want to move, but his head was beginning to swim. In another moment…"I can't breathe," he pleaded, but it was muffled into her hand, unintelligible. She blinked in surprise, and set his mouth free."What was that?"He repeated it earnestly, and she gasped and pushed away from him, sitting back, breaking the spell that still held him down. Taran picked himself up, painfully aware of every bit of him that would be bruised and sore tomorrow, yet nothing hurt as much as the aching wound at his heart, the terrible injury of self-knowledge gained too late.He rose to his feet and extended his hand to her. Eilonwy took it after a moment's hesitation; he helped her up, and then found he was unable to move, unable to let go of her. He stared at their clasped hands, feeling that to release her would only be the first severing in a series of bonds, as one thread after was is cut.You mind that, lad? It's not forever. But it might be years…interminable years without her, alone here. And how could anyone know what might happen? Suppose she decided she wanted to stay with her kinsmen and never came back? Suppose…"Is there something else?" she asked, breaking the long silence, startling him; Taran gulped, and forced his hand open, releasing her. She looked at him, her eyes wide with emotions he could not identify.There was so much else. Where even to begin? How to tell her what he had not even known himself until this moment? What words could express a whole world's worth of yearning? The sand in his chest seemed to loom into his mouth. His tongue felt thick, his mind slow and stupid. He could blurt out a babbling flood of utter rubbish that would not begin to tell her what he felt…or he could tell her…"Dallben wants to see you," he said, forcing it past the choking in his chest.Eilonwy stared at him, and that burning light in her eyes slowly died. He could not bear to see it, and looked away, eyes and throat hot with suppressed grief."Oh," she said, after a long silence. He sensed her turn away from him. "Is that all."And she left him, standing alone beneath the tree, filled up with more than he could tell her in days, in weeks, in whatever years lay ahead in which he would be able to tell her nothing at all…He looked down, at where he had unconsciously clutched that stray, broken apple bud to his heart."No," he whispered, to no one.