Realising his mistake, Chrysostomos shut his mouth. "Don't speak of it. I don't want to get beheaded because I said that shit." The boy nodded, both fear and awe in his eyes. He shut his mouth close, clamping it tight until it was released.
"Now," The bard stood up and said "The guy's somewhere near. Stick with me, alright?"
He slowly nodded as he forced himself to forget what he said from before. "You guide me."
Baffled, the bard said "That's… how it works." And so they walked to the nearest town. A shabby place filled with serfs that were reaping barley and mostly wheat.
The people next to the tilled land were sitting outside their home. There was a smithery that they saw after they went farther in.
"You know, I thought there would be walls here." The bard started. "But it's far from the enemies, so I guess they didn't think of it as something they needed."
The boy hummed. He didn't understand what the man was talking about. It was his only way of confirming that he was listening, at least. "Hey, uh…" he started, gaining attention from the bard. "Why are the farms in front of their house?"
Chrysostomos stopped walking. He put his hand on his head. "You need to get out more, you brat."
"Wha— I just asked, didn't I?!"
"That question is simply answered by this phrase: it's cheap. Also, you own the land since you live in it. Either that or someone lent it." Rather than arguing, Pwyll changed the topic to "Why are the houses small?"
Taking his hand, he dragged him to where he was told. "How many are in your family?"
"Fou—" The memory hit him hard. Solemn face he wore as he said "Three. There's three of us." Glancing at him with concern, Chrysostomos said "Are you alright?"
Nodding, Pwyll replied "Yeah…"
"But yeah, um… That's— that's how many people there are that live there." The bard took a pregnant pause, a stray cough coming out.
Trying to cheer him up, Chrysostomos continued with "But there are some that go into ten people! I mean, how many times are you going to do it?! No one should carry that many children, but God said otherwise, I guess. I don't hate them, by the way. I'm just amazed how they could conceive that many children."
Evidently confused and yet still laughing at the absurdity, he said "What bullshit are you talking about?"
With a proud smile, Chrysostomos said "Ah, there's my influence." They walked faster now, passing by the marketplace. Chrysostomos glared at the items as if he was thinking of their worth.
He was forced to not indulge in his habit. He even tried to hold out his hand, stopping himself from grabbing a sizable apple. He felt the wrinkled skin of it.
Chrysostomos went to the stall as he said "Where did you get these fruits?" The bard took one and gave it a squeeze, feeling the softness of it. He set it down, disappointed.
"I got them from my friend. These things were imported from Germany! They're very wonderful and rare in these parts, although a little bit soft, and you can get one for just twenty farthings! On sale, right now!" the vendor told him
Chrysostomos left after another customer came in as they continued their spiel. "What was that?" the boy asked.
"Cheap apples. Shitty cheap apples."
"That's what they're called?"
"Yep." The moment after they turned, the carriages were there. In fact, there were many sizes and decor that made Chrysostomos' head throb. "This is too fucking much."
"It's not."
"Who would even go to those things?!" the bard asked, pointing at the gold and iron ones. "Look at those ones too." Chrysostomos put the boy's head to the left to see a large casket-like carriage. "That's fucking terrifying to people. It's like you're attending a funeral. Maybe even your own?"
Pwyll felt as if he wasted too much time, so the boy asked "Where's the driver?"
Chrysostomos paused. "Right, right." They marched forward, having a peek at every model design up until they saw the same one from yesterday. The bard made a beeline to the nearest person in the vehicle.
Pwyll didn't want to do much other than wait anyways. He didn't hear what they were saying. It was probably where the driver was, he thinks. What shocked him however was that they ended their exchanges quicker than he thought.
"The driver's being called now. Hope you got your purse." The boy became flustered once more.
"I didn't bring it." Pwyll whispered.
"𝓞𝓱 𝓙𝓮𝓼𝓾𝓼 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽." Pinching the bridge of his nose, the ward took his own purse and said "You owe me." The other just hummed. It was fantastic that he didn't understand what Chrysostomos said, since he might ask the bard too much about his cursing.
They didn't have to wait long, fortunately. The moment they saw the driver, they immediately went there.
There were awkward greetings exchanged with the driver and the prince. The man paid for their ride, opening the door for the noble. "Get on the ride, it's going to be a trip to the eastern side of Gwynedd."
The boy jumped up as it was still too high to him. "I think I am that short." He sulked as he went inside properly now. Chrysostomos went inside and closed the door.
"You haven't gone through puberty yet, don't worry," the bard replied.
"Oh, by the way, um." He tried to remember what he eavesdropped. "Uh…" His brows furrowed.
"Go on. You can do it." Another set of "uh" and "um"s have been uttered, alongside some "what was it again"s that popped up here and there. "Pa— Powys Wen— something something…? Is that what it's called?"
"You mean the Principality of Powys Wenwynwyn? You heard the conversation too?"
"Yeah…" Pwyll fumbled his hands, thinking that he did wrong.
Shrugging, the ward informed him "The moment you're going to your father's court, it will be like that."
"Is it mandatory?"
"Yep." He stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles. "No choice, since you have to do your duty."
Pwyll didn't say anything on that account. He sighs as he knew it was going to be inevitable. "I heard that Powys uh… Whatever it's called, was getting taken over by the English." he spouted out, going back to topic.
"Really?" Chrysostomos tapped his finger on his chin. "Oh, also, they're specifically called Marcher Lords. There'a a chance a fellow Welshman would be a part of that, since the people there are chosen by the English King."
"What are marcher lords?" Chrysostomos opened and closed his mouth. "I actually don't remember. The only thing I know about them is that they were basically a border between Wales and England."
"I see."
Chrysostomos said "Let's continue this by a game. Now, since you're done with your turn, it's time for me to ask—"
"What do you mean?!"
The bard was confused. Then he said, "Ah, right. I didn't tell you. Just pass the turns, five to ten each. Depends on you, of course. Should've prepared you for this, huh?"
Mildly annoyed, the boy shouted "It's a little too late now!"
They heard a muffled "Everything alright over there?!" from the coachman.
"YEAH, THANKS FOR ASKING!" Chrysostomos yelled back before focusing on the boy again. "Now, let me say it once more."
The bard took a deep breath. "Why did you think your brother was the reason why you didn't have proper training?"
The same situation was upfront once again. The panicked look alongside the silence and stuttering. "You can take your time. You can even say anything. Just whisper it if you wish it to be more private."
That did help marginally, but it didn't stop his agitated nature. "I…" He hesitated.
"It's because he's the one who gets the attention and then there's me. And I don't know if it's— it's because of him being the sole heir, but if anything, I feel as if I'm an eyesore, especially to my father."
There was a pregnant pause afterwards. "He— he gets everything, the best teachers and the best stuff. And then I only have you. You, uh, you're the musician of the place and he sent you to teach me.
Pwyll's throat and eyes were marginally swelling up and said "And— and since you're the only one he sent, I don't know much about anything unless it's about what you teach." Pwyll looked forlorn for a moment.
With a blank face, Chrysostomos murmured "Well, I don't know if I should be complimented or offended. I just know that you're wrong."
"Wha— I answered, didn't I?!"
"Yeah, but you didn't think about the cost of it all. He couldn't afford shit, so he basically made me your one and only teacher. There's so many flaws to his solution that I myself am pissed.
"Number one, the schedule of the teachers is so sporadic that it changes the normal schedule of the students, primarily you and Prince Rhodri. Number two, he didn't think about one-to-many type of teaching.
"He chose one-to-one since he, and I quote, "thought that it would make them more focused, especially the teachers since they only have one person to teach."" Chrysostomos took in a deep breath before he continued on.
"In which, I have to say, would do the same when it comes to two students! I've taught before, and it's better than having ten or more!
"They make you repeat the shit you say since either they didn't listen or they were so zoned out that they couldn't understand! It's blatant favouritism, Pwyll." He heard what he said. "Or, well, at least that's what I think it is from what I heard and saw."
After his small rant, he said "Now it's your turn again to ask me."
Tilting his head, he asked "Again?"
"You asked what Powys Wenwynwyn is."
"That's not fair at all!" he whined.
Rolling his eyes, Chrysostomos laughed and said "It's better than me just interrogating you for hours on end."
"I guess."
Pwyll thought of what he was going to say and then immediately, especially if it's close to this topic they had, he asked "How— no, no wait."
He repeated the question over his head to make it comprehensible, at least. "Why did you, uh, accept being the court musician?"
"Oh, that? I just need something to give me money. The merchant thing wasn't doing it for me anymore, and going to the whole known world wasn't worth it after you've done it for a while."
"How did—" Tapping on his knee, Chrysostomos said "Uh-uh. Not your turn yet, Pwyll."
"Oh, right." Pwyll sheepishly laughed as he awaited for his question.
"Why did you want to kill a bird of prey rather than a simple deer or fox like the rest?"
"I want to be seen as cool. I just wanted to at least gain something that my brother hasn't done yet." Glancing on the makeshift gauze that he did, Chrysostomos said "We should probably change that the moment we go home."
He nodded. "Yeah. It kinda itches. Oh, speaking about the wren, what happened to the taxidermy or whatever it is that you said?"
"Still drying. Now, what was—"
"Wait, wait, wait! I haven't asked my question yet!" With a villainous grin, he said "Oh, but you just did."
"Fine! Ask your stupid question then!" Pwyll pouted.
"What was your nightmare?" Squinting his eyes, the boy asked "Is that a trick?" The man shot back "Is that your question?" Noticing his mistake, he muttered "Stupid mouth."
"That's not an answer, Pwyll." He replied to him "I don't remember anymore. It's just a nightmare anyways."
Smiling, he said "Your turn now."
"How did you go through the whole world?"
"Ships and wagons. The horses are quick and the camels are resilient when it comes to the desert, but do I love the galleys and large ships more. I did, however, try riding an elephant."
The boy was in distress as he didn't know what elephants were. "We'll talk about them later." Refreshing the child's head, Chrysostomos added "Ask. Now."
Chuckling, he patted the boy's head. "Little impatient, this one. If you want it so bad, tell me what's your goal?"
Tilting his head, he said "Huh?"
"In life, what is your goal?"
"Oh!" There was an excited smile upon his face. And then there came a halting of motion.
Slowly but surely, the moment he thought more about it, he slouched more and more. He covered his eyes with his arms.
"Promise me you won't laugh or tell, okay?"
With a chuckle that had deflated Pwyll a bit, Chrysostomos said "Why would I?"
Rather than making a comeback, he resumed what he was saying. "I want to make my father proud. At least once.
A stray tear fell before Pwyll felt another. He wiped off his snot with the long sleeves of his tunic. "I don't want to be what he wants me to be, though. I just— I want to— I want to make him proud. Because of me. Not— not because of what he pushes me to do." Chrysostomos wore a grim face.
"Beware of that goal. Do not be disappointed when it happens. It will take years to do, and by then, you will be in the shadows of your brother or he might've died already."
"You were supposed to be cheering me up!"
The man guffawed, thunderous and yet so weak. "Indeed." Opening the window and pushing the curtain, he asked "What will be your final question?"
"Why… Do you still stick with me," He opened his mouth to answer, but the prince added in "When you think of me as a disappointment?"
"I would be seen as manic if I didn't have someone with a child's imagination. The passion of imagination is truly felt by a child."
Pwyll, even with his glossy eyes, saw the sincere smile on the face of the bard. He heard Chrysostomos' words, the softness in his voice crystal clear. "But as your warden, and especially as your teacher, I wish for you to take care of yourself, after I will inevitably be gone. And they may be little demons who create chaos, but you're one of the few who didn't do such a thing."
He giggled. "You stuck with me because I'm good-natured when I was young?"
"More or less, yeah."
The boy mustered up his remaining energy. "Think about your whole entire life,"
Scoffing, Pwyll said "That's not a question." He continued on with "And what do you feel?"
Pwyll thought about the recent moments and went farther.
Before Chrysostomos became his companion.
He thinks of his mother. The negligence after she left.
The moment where only the servants and even the few soldiers he met saw him as a person.
Because he was still a child.
With a single tear, he answered him. Voice shakier than the moment he woke up in the morning moon.
He put his legs to his chest, and he said "I feel alone."