“I know it was in your quiver yesterday.”

The boy looked sheepish. “I put it… Somewhere else...”

He shook the boy whilst he held his shoulders. “That shit is made of silk! It’s too expensive for my poor arse and you’re saying you lost it?!”

“I, uh… Well… I don’t—” His eyes darted everywhere, fishing for answers. He hid it horribly so, that the moment his squire noticed this, he changed his mannerisms. 

“Do you remember where you left it, your highness?” Chrysostomos asked

“It’s maybe in my, uh…” He looked down, embarrassed. “In my…”

Displaying ignorance on his emotion, Chrysostomos told him “Go on. It is in your what?”

Looking away from Chrysostomos, he said “In my room…”

“That’s too vague. Where part in your room?”

Sighing, he glanced at his feet. Pwyll's hand balled up and opened, feeling the sweat that drenched it. “I don’t know. I— I don’t remember.” 

He looked at Chrysostomos with quick succession afterwards, saying “But I’ll— I’ll try and find it now!” There was fear that overwhelmed his initial shyness.

“I’ll spare you if you do the rest of the other favours I wished from you.”

Nodding slowly, he answered “...Okay.” Standing straight, brushing away the dirt from his trousers, he said “Where do you want to go? It would be best if it was somewhere private.”

Thinking of the safe haven he went to yesterday, he murmured “I don’t want to go there again.”

“No, we’re not going there. Do you know any other place?”

Pwyll thought about it. “The… beach you’re on all the time.”

Chuckling, the man said “That’s not private.” He put out his fingers like he was counting, saying “You know it, your escorts know it, you go there sometimes with your servants, your—”

“I get it, I get it!” Pwyll was embarrassed that he only knew so little places. “If you don’t have another thought on where you wish to be, then why not go to the Penllyn Forest?”

Tilting his head in confusion, the boy asked “Where is that?”

Chrysostomos whispered close to his ear so that the rest wouldn’t know what they’re talking about. “It is near the forest where you saw the largest tree that we both know as our haven.”

"But why there?"

"It's near the castle. Might as well go around and just take a brisk walk, unless you wish for the driver of that carriage we saw."

"Do we even have time for that?"

Chrysostomos shewn him visible confusion. "For what?"

"Walking," the prince said. Chrysostomos looked up at the skies, seeing the sun. "Fair point. Would take us hours to walk over there."

Both of them walked back inside the keep. "I'm going to ask your brother where he found the man, then we'll do the question and answer on the carriage."

"Okay."

"Now, I ask you." He turned to face the boy. "Do you wish to come with or avoid your brother?"

The boy glanced at him back. "I think I'll stay behind…"

"Are you certain, your highness?" Pwyll silently nodded. “Wait here then.” The bard walked forward, going to the court of his majesty. “Your servant needs to be ready for the trip,” he said before he went out of frame from the child’s perspective.

Rather than doing nothing, he went to find out where he put the cloak. He rose to the stairs, going back to his quarters. 

The warm stone walls he touched. The halls that met him shined as the morning sun had fully awoken.

He didn’t care much about them, running to his room. He went immediately down his bed, hitting himself on his shoulder and head. “Why did I do that?” 

He went to move the bed to the other side, nearer the window. He, however, was easily fatigued as he was still small and scrawny.

Pwyll went back to the place he was in, knocking on the wooden flooring. It was where the foot of the bed was where the deepest sound was made. 

He pried it open with his hands at the cost of his fingers being bruised. The space on the floorings and the trapdoor was evidently small.

The prince went inside, going down the ladder that was below. The moment he felt his feet touch the floor, he looked around the small holes on the walls. The holes themselves are shaped like leaves, although thin enough to hide the person who’s inside the walls.

Although the foundation was a square, they put in small arcs beneath and covered up the extra space with rocks and mortar.

It was great that the sun illuminated the place. 'I shoulda brought a candle.'

He roamed around the place, now seeing the patterns fading away. He heard murmurs above yet he could not understand it.

Every moment he was met with 'doors', he became frustrated. 'Where's the stairs?!'

It took him long before he saw it. He cried out "Finally!" under his breath. He took a step before he jogged up.

There were barrels and boxes inside the room. He came to one of them, primarily the only one on the right side. Then, he rummaged around it.

They were empty with dust and webs, however. The prince rushed them all open to find that famed cloak.

And he was in fear as he could not find it. Pwyll rummaged it over again, looking inside and even flipping the barrels over. They were empty and light, but that didn't really help indicate which one of them had it.

"No, God, please no." His breath became shortened and he held on to the hem of his tunic. Before his panicked self overwhelmed him, he retraced his steps. "Where are you…"

It seemed that God felt pity for the boy. The moment he turned over the barrel he got, the red cloth was shewn. It hung along the side, holding on.

He didn't know if he wanted to be in tears of joy or anger. He was only grateful that he had it.

"WHAT?!" He shook at the booming voice of his father. The prince didn't remember that this place was below the court of his father.  He put back the lids after he carefully took the dirty cloak. He stacked the boxes to let him go up to listen to their conversation. 

"It has been years, sir. The southern part of Powys is now threatened and Wenwynwyn is getting swallowed," he heard. Probably an advisor that he hadn’t cared to take notice of, since they’re not familiar to his ears. 

"What do we do then?" Another asked. 

There was a pregnant pause. 

"May I be of assistance, father?" Pwyll’s eyes widened. He then—

"No." Pwyll gasped as he felt the . "You can't take these matters in your hands."

"What do— what do you mean, father?"

"You can't go to battle. We are not allied with Powys Wenwynwyn yet and we cannot fight with England. We had a truce with them up until the 11th of May 1184."

Tapping his foot, the heir asked "But why that date? Why not sooner?"

He heard another, seething as he said "Those vile Englishmen broke the alliance we once had. We settled for five years after the war, your highness."

Thinking that this conversation was out of his league and depth, he went back to the ladder with the cloak. He climbed up and went out of the open hole.

After he did, there was a realisation. 'I didn't close the door?!' He now did it without sound, skipping and rushing to go outside with joy.

At the entrance, there sat Chrysostomos. He ran to him and threw the dirty clothing at him. He tore it off his face, seeing the boy's grin.

The bard examined the cloak. The pattern of four sharp-edged clovers, drenched in gold, were there. The thick threads of the circles on the edge were still there.

What he saw that was now evidently new is the tear. It was on the corner, although small. Underneath his breath, he said "Dammit, I need a seamstress."

Hearing the word "damn" in such a nonchalant voice was shocking.

"Wha—"