Heart Strings Snap, Too

It's all Lloyd Alexander's.

His heart clenches as the delirious young man thrashes on the straw pallet. At times, the bard has to help Gurgi pinion the flailing arms and keep the youth from flinging himself onto the floor. Despite his high fever, Taran is still strong, and several times almost wrests himself free of them both.

Both awake and asleep, Taran cries out ceaselessly—gouts of anguished, mostly unintelligible words. At one point, the bard starts on hearing his own name. "Fflewddur," Taran calls, scrabbling at empty air. The bard tries to still the frantic hand in his own, to assure his friend he really is there, but the young man will have none of it. Crying "Fflewddur" even louder, he swats aside the actual Fflewddur, and tears stream down the bard's face, splashing his worn clothing and soaking strands of his ragged yellow hair.

But soon afterward, blessedly, Taran sinks into a healing slumber. His forehead no longer burns so hot, and Gurgi and the bard allow themselves to hope he will survive.

In the suddenly-quiet chamber, in the darkness of the night, Fflewddur can finally think about the tears he shed earlier. Being a normally buoyant sort, he rarely cried, but, he tells himself, it is no surprise he did when his friend was deathly ill.

For the second time that night he starts. A faint, silvery pop issues from the corner where his harp leans against the wall.

Fflewddur is indignant. He had not even spoken aloud! And what he said was true—he had wept in fear for Taran's life.

True, replied an inner voice, that was one reason for your tears. Probably the weightiest. But not the only one.

And Fflewddur admits it's true. It was not only that he realized, as Taran flailed and cried, the depth of his affection for his friend, and the grief he would feel if he died. No, Fflewddur can conceal it from himself no longer: it hurt when Taran did not recognize him. Though they saw each other all too seldom, the two had been through so much together, that Fflewddur thought of Taran as a sometimes exasperating, but still always loveable, younger brother. And Fflewddur wanted to be part of Taran's life. He, who was happiest wandering free of responsibility and encumbrance—who was the sole survivor of his immediate family—still had a tie that bound him fast to another being. When Taran did not know him, he wept. And would, Fflewddur thought, weep again, this time for joy, when Taran woke and saw his friend was there, that the bard had indeed survived cold and starvation to return as he had promised.

Ah, thought Fflewddur, how long it took me to discover the truth of it. It is not just the strings of my harp that can break, but those of my heart. I can only hope to keep both as well-mended as may be.