symphony.

1

One could say that the sing of a bard is comparable to that of a songbird's cry.  though, may i say that the melody of the bard bypasses the colourful creature? these thoughts churn through my head as gunpowder's dispersal. like a musket's shot, sense was brought back into my train of thought. i'd made up my mind already. i'd see the bard once again today. i gathered a bag of coins upon my desk, carefully placing them onto a cloth and moving my wrist in a circular motion to tie a delicate knot with the old, frizzed string. i planted my right foot down as i stepped to look through the mirror bestowed to me. i carefully brushed my hair back and to my shoulder, seemlessly tugging each knot out and starting a braid into the thick, lucious pink locks. i didnt even notice the arrival of footsteps and the smallest creak to to wooden flooring as i focused on the task of prettying myself for the day. i was adorned in a customized blouse, it's sleeves widened of that of a poet's to be more opened to the elegant motion of a bard; waist high trousers and high boots. the prince entered with little to no noise.
spoken from behind me, "why are you fancying youself, sir?"
i turned to face the young prince, offering a reassuring smile.

"i'll be going to the town today, your majesty."

"don't be silly. you don't have to be so formal with me, guard or naught."

earning a small chuckle from me, he crossed his arms.

"and where might you be going to dress in such a way?"

"bards' tavern." i answered without hesitation, sighing from his questioning glance.

"you were there yesterday though sir.. father wanted to speak to you."

"ah?" i cocked a brow. "how come?"

he shrugged, the brit holding a smug look.

"fine. i'll go attend to the matter, wilbur." i couldn't hold back the smile turning my lips at the sight of the younger's look of accomplishment.
i walked slowly by wilbur and to the door, gesturing a goodbye with a flick of my left wrist. with a brisk pace, i walked down the hall and to the southern corridor. my steps made a pitter of thumps as i walked down the empty dining room and now to the furthest west bedroom; the king and queen's. they had saught it unfit, even as a lad, to meet in the throne's halls as it was improper to meet with a child that they thought of as their firstborn; as their prince born to them through blood had passed the year prior.
upon entering the room, i heard a faint shushing followed by a gurgle. i tilted my head to the king who sat upon his bedside chair and to his wed, pausing after spotting a wrapped bundle in the queen's arms.

"phil?"

he held a surprisingly sad smile.

"whats happening?"

he shook his head, standing and grabbing the small child, walking to be and placing the newborn prince into my hands.

"take thomas to wilbur, kiddo."

i nodded to his request.

"and-?"

"she's sick is all." i was reassured by the shorter. speaking up, "just a cold?" i'd ask, receiving a nod. weight was immediately lifted from upon my shoulders from the reassurance. "why might you be so sad then, father?" i tilted my head, watching as he hesitated to speak.

"bad news from the allying empire." is all he said, and i nodded; though my lack of understanding swirled a curiousity upon my head.

"wilbur said you needed to speak to me, though?" i mentioned his intelligent second-born calmly, and he paused with a sudden smile.
"oh! i need you to protect thomas now too is all." he politely chirped.
i paused, "i owe you my livelyhood phil."
he chuckled. "dont mention it, mate."