The new lords of Prydain think of Queen Eilonwy exactly as she once used to think of her bauble: a symbol of a royal heritage, an excellent way to start a conversation about golden beauty if you couldn't think of anything else, but, ultimately, rather useless. At night, she fumes, "It's like asking for beeswax and getting honey instead!";her husband, still looking rather overwhelmed from the sums necessary to determine the state of the treasury, only nods in reply.

It's not until Taran goes south to supervise the final stages of rebuilding of Mona, leaving Eilonwy in charge, and a ragged troop of bandits attacks that she is able to show them what's she's truly made of; then, rather enjoying the looks on their faces as she lowers her sword, Eilonwy says, very sweetly, "Please don't worry, my lords; your lives are safe in my hands."