October 28th, 513 CE

Sweat beaded on the back of my neck as I tried to avoid Lleu’s gaze, heart thundering in my ears. Fey? He couldn’t be, there were no fey, no gods; it was all bullshit meant to help people sleep at night and keep children from drowning. At least, that’s what I’d thought before.

Lleu’s spoken words finally hit me and I said softly,“I think I’ll pass,” and slowly rose from where I sat. “I’ll, uh, just go check on Osa.” She was the only person I could talk to about all this, I quietly added in my head.

Gwyn frowned at me, but Lleu just nodded as if he’d expected nothing else. I walked as fast as I could without showing the fear rolling around in my head, and glanced back once to see Gwyn opened mouth, ready to say something. I was out the door and closing it behind me before he could get out the first syllable of whatever objection he had.

The guards outside didn’t even glance at me as I half sprinted away from the room, my head still spinning.

Gods. Fey. They were real. Fucking gods.

I took the stairs two at a time, rushing past an alarmed Cothi who called after me, concern lining her delicate voice. “Is everything alright dear?”

“Fine,” I said back, not so much as turning my head back or slowing in the slightest. I was on the street again before anything else could happen, suddenly finding myself short on breath, Lleu’s voice in my head.

Take care when you speak of the fae. Our kind takes insults far more personally than humans.

Those words felt like a curse, a rough blade that scored my soul and left me reeling. I felt bile rise as I thought of leaving Gwyn with that thing, but… No. Lleu had been King Bronwydd’s advisor for years. If he’d meant harm towards their line he would have done so long ago.

A handful of men walking by gave me a strange look as I bent over clutching at my knees. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, then straightened, smiling at them before hefting my harp, and walking in the direction I hoped was the docks. I really needed to talk with Osa.

It was, however, most definitely not the direction of the docks.

Not fifteen minutes later I was completely lost, staring up at the towering tenements and shops all around me, the pillar of an aqueduct bisecting the road ahead. Not far past it I could make out the point of a tower stretching far past the nearest building, point aimed in a sharp line as if it were a spear threatening the sky itself. Unsure of where else to go, I started off in that direction, wandering through the wide streets, using that spear-point tower as a guidepost.

It wasn’t long before the road opened up to a broad plaza lined with arches and thick columns. An expensive stone and glass palace with a spear-like tower jutting from its side occupied half the plaza, a statue of a regal figure riding horseback atop of a delicately crafted fountain filling the empty space of the other half.

I approached the palace-like building, mingling with a growing crowd of people huddled outside the it's tall iron doors, careful to keep my harp close, and my coin purse closer as. A man stood on the steps of the palace-like building wearing an ankle length white tunic and a broad sheet of purple cloth draped either side of his person, almost like a cloak, but more like a curtain with a hole in its center.

He stood shouting to the crowd, though I was too far to clearly hear all of what he was saying, the general noise of the crowd making it difficult to hear little more than a soft din.

“What’s he saying?” I asked one of the men pushed up beside me.

He frowned, but answered, “that’s the priest. He’s preaching, holding mass.” He spoke as if I must have been simple or something, but I only stared at him in bewilderment. After another moment, the man snorted and rolled his eyes, muttering, “damn pagans,” before pushing further into the crowd.

I blinked after him, confused and bewildered, but unable to follow after him for more details. Instead I simply stood there in the crowd, waiting for whatever was going on to be finished. That, I soon discovered, was a mistake.

By the time the ‘priest’ was finished with his preaching and back behind his iron doors, the sun was hanging low, the sky bathed in warm orange light on one side and clad in blue-black darkness on the other. The square was slowly draining of people, couples, families, single men and women, all chatting indistinctly to one another.

My feet ached as I approached the palace-like building, but I smiled and waved towards one of the guards dressed in the typical padded roman armors, a short spear held in one hand.

“Excuse me,” I began, but the guard cut me off before I could go any farther.

“The father will see no one else on this day. Go, return tomorrow with proper tithe and if the lord deems it so you shall have your audience.”

I stared at the man in bewilderment for a moment. “Actually, I, uh, was looking for the docks.”

The guard stared back at me. We both stared at each other for what proved to be an uncomfortable interval.

Without a word, the guard pointed a hand towards the side of the plaza I’d entered from. I gave him a polite nod, then hurried away, my stiff legs protesting the whole while. I ended up finding a bench to rest on before leaving the plaza itself, a simple thing of lacquered timbers sat beneath the shade of an arch.

As I sat I idly plucked the strings of my harp, tuning the instrument without much thought as I hummed the proper tones, waiting for each string to match me before moving up to the next. People watched me as they passed, none giving me much more than a slight upturn at the corners of their mouths, but it was plenty for me. A bit of my stress ebbed away with the sounds.

I lost myself as the tuning turned to playing, the humming to singing, and the world melted away, leaving me and my harp with nothing between us. What felt like moments passed, then I looked up to find a face pressed close to mine, a none too pleased expression written across the guard’s features. He snorted as I regained my focus and shrank away, the music of my harp trailing away into the air like little wisps of wind.

“Definitely seems like one of yours,” the guard said to someone behind me, and I whirled around to find a tall man in a black tunic and cloak standing there just behind my bench, a soft reassuring smile set along his age-worn features.

“As I said, he just got lost to the tune,” the old man said slowly, as if the guard was hard of hearing or something. “Please, forgive the lad. He’s from Gelliaelwyd. I haven’t informed him of how things are done in Alltlech as of yet.”

The guard eyed both the man and I for a tense moment where I almost forgot to breathe, then snorted again. “Fine, fine. Can’t really be bothered to deal with another idiot as of now anyway. Go on, be about your business then. And don’t forget to inform your boy. I won’t be so lenient next time.”

“Yessir,” the man behind me said. “Come, lad. Let's leave the man to his work.”

“Uh, of course,” I said, rising to my feet as the guard gave me one last tired glare and moved away. I turned to find the older man already several steps away. Tucking my harp close, I jogged to catch up with him, pausing for a moment as I remembered the last time I followed a stranger. The coin burned where it hung on the cord beneath my tunic, but I shook my head. This man did not seem like that sort of person.

“Thank you,” I said, bowing my head slightly towards the man as I caught up.

He waved his hand dismissively towards me. “Twasn’t a thing, lad. Don’t worry about it. Besides, I couldn’t exactly leave a fine young talent like yourself to be locked in the stocks, now could I.”

I frowned at him. “That’s kind of you sir, but I can assure you I’m not as skilled as your praise suggests.”

“Sure you are,” the man said, flashing me a smile. “You had at least a dozen people enthralled back there. Hell, even I got a bit caught up in it all. You must tell me who you apprenticed under. Any bard who can teach a student to play and sing like you is worth meeting.”

I felt my cheeks flush under the onslaught of his praise. “Thank you sir, but, I, um, well, you see, I don’t actually have a master.”

The man froze mid stride and cocked his head, a frown etched across his face so deep even his eyebrows seemed to be frowning. “You're shitting me,” he said in a deep voice. “Then where'd you get that harp?”

“I bought it,” I said with a shrug. “Two gold and three weeks of heavy lifting where all it cost me too, though it was in far worse shape back then.”

“And you fixed it, all on your own?”

I shrugged again, feeling the red in my cheeks worsen. “I had some help. My, uh, friend, she was the wise woman of our town. She helped me find the right strings.”

The older man’s frown deepened, his hand moving up to stroke the long pointed beard on his chin. For a moment I feared I’d erred in some way, at least until he said, “Well, looks as if I’ve found myself a new student.”

He flashed me a lopsided grin as my jaw worked soundlessly for several seconds. “Don’t fret,” he said, laughing slightly. “I will work it out with your guardians, simply lead the way and I will follow.”

“Now?” I said, half shouting out of bewildered shock. “But, I’m too old to apprentice!”

The man laughed again. “You have skill enough to start now, trust me lad. I’m not the master of the bards in Alltlech for nothing you know.”

“Master…” I trailed off, the word and the man swimming through my head like a stormcloud. “The docks,” I said. “I’m trying to find the docks.”

The bard’s grin broadened at my no doubt plaid expression. “Well then, to the docks we go,” he said, then turned down an alley and began marching away.

Without much thought I followed after him, clutching my battered harp close as I went. The man began to whistle as we walked, a simple tune I’d heard at least a hundred times from passing bards in the taverns growing up. It was called ‘The Lore of Places,’ a simple tune used to tell any tale you might want to tell.

I began to hum along as we walked, ducking through alleys and only occasionally passing the busier thoroughfares. It was an odd and widening route, but eventually the seemingly endless rows of buildings gave way to open sky and the blue line of the ocean horizon. The sun was all but consumed by the western sky at that point, taking with it the earlier commotion of the docks.

“So, where now?” The bard asked me.

I glanced across the docks until I found the ship we’d arrived in earlier that day. I could find my way that far at least. “This way,” I say, starting off towards the longship. The bard matched his to mine pace beside me, stroking his chin as he eyed the other ship in port.

“You know some of the sailors?” I ventured as we walked. It wasn’t far to the boat, but I’ve always hated silence.

“I’ve known my fair share, as, I suspect, have you,” the man said with a wicked grin and a wink. I flushed again, but the man just continued. “No, the high king should be here soon. I would be beside myself with grief if I missed his arrival. Though, I doubt I will. I’m too paranoid to let something like that slip past me.”

“Then why worry?” I asked as we neared Llew’s ship.

“Because what else can I do?” The bard asked, still grinning at me. I wasn’t sure what to say to that exactly.

The sailor guarding the ship waved to me as we neared, and I returned the gesture. “Is Osa still here?” I asked.

The sailor nodded. “Yes, she’s still abroad. One of those men suddenly worsened, she says, doesn't want to leave his side.”

I nodded. That sounded like Osa. “I need to speak with her, are we aloud abroad?” I asked.

“Of course,” The sailor said, then eyed the bard. “But your friend will have to stay out here, I’m afraid.”

“Then out here I shall wait,” the bard said. “Just try not to take too long. I do have other things I must do this evening.”

I nodded. “I won’t be long.” I turned to board the ship, then paused and turned back to the man. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I ever asked your name.”

The man smiled again, a glint of something mischievous in his eye. “Of course, lad. You may call me Master Mapon.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. “Mapon? Like the god?”

“Exactly,” Master Mapon said, that broad grin still slashed across his aged face. “My mother had a gift for names. Now, I thought I told you to be quick. Stop chatting and get to it, lad.”

I couldn’t help the slight smile that lit across my face as I bowed my head and turned to find Osa. Mapon, like the god. It was ridiculous. I paused, remembering Lleu. Was it ridiculous? No, of course it was. What kind of god would want me to be his apprentice?