[b]Monavdu, Aylsfyn[/b]

The castle smelled like the cool night. The darkening skies had beckoned a moment of cool darkness. Strengthened by the sea. A sweat refreshing breeze blew through the high vaulted and iron-barred windows of the keep's higher towers. Laid out before it, stretching out over the landscape over some several miles was the city of Monavdu itself, shining in content in itself. The shops and homes and mansions of the merchants shone with a warm light. The towers of guard houses and the walls shimmered with torch light as they wrapped around the city, double thick as they crawled across the land, coming to hug the sea before crawling along the coast with the port. Out on the water was a large artificial bay, rising from the dark waters the lights that marched along the walls and the blazing fires on the towers marked the large lighthouses, guiding ships in by day and night and warning them of the walls should they be too blind.

The sights and the relaxing sound of the night-time sea would have been a show of bliss to the regular man, especially so high above it all. But to the young Bern Enywyr it was too regular a sight. And for the youth, anger and infuriating was too strong a fire to allow even the slightest feeling of wonder take root. The insult of being denied his very request tore through him, putting whatever to the flame in a violent forest fire. And the choking smoke filled his chest, and brought him to bitter anger tears as he lay mopping.

The bed that dominated his room looked something out of place for such a small youth. Deep red and orange blankets lay messily strewn across the feather-fluffed mattress he laid on. He glared angrily passed the bars that closed his window, looking into the deep dark skies and the bright stars that shone in that dark vault that was the heavens. Rage burning in him.

Bern wanted them all dead. He wanted his father gone! The bard! Mother! His brothers to be gutted and strewn across the court like in the stories he was not allowed to hear. He'd be the boy king! The boy king of the world and every day would be as violent and as awesome as the songs he so wished to hear! But he would be doing more than listening to the songs. He'd be the song. The terrible paragon of manhood that Refir the Red was. He was old enough! By the Gods in the Afterhalls, he was!

Theodocis was out there somewhere in that world. If there was a man who could ever teach a person to kill anyone it was him. Bern knew he wasn't in the castle, he was not present for dinner. That means his father had asked him to go out and do some lame chore. Probably to keep him from being there when Bern begged to his father to change his mind about a guardian.

As the young Bern lay sobbing on his bed, a thought came to him. One of desperation, to fill his destiny maybe...

If Theodocis was out of the castle, then he was in the kingdom still. And all Bern had to do was go out to look for him.

The kingdom wasn't that big. It looked small in comparison to the rest of the world. And surely everyone else had to know of the great Theodocis! Maybe he was still in the city.

Bern climbed up on his arms and knees. The fires of rage and anger that churned through him changing in its course. It didn't burn inwardly, but marched outwardly with purpose know. He had inspiration. Great, dangerous, exciting inspiration! Maybe this would be the beginning of his songs. The great first verse in a might saga.

Bern rolled out of his bed. He had what he wanted to do in his head. The whole process laid out before him like a map. He would escape the keep and creep out into the night. And while out seek out Theodocis. He could not be far yet. There was a chance he could convince the prince to abandon the court of Malius and take him abroad to go on epic adventures.

Creeping across the stone floor he moved to the large hardwood door on the far side of his chambers. The heavy door hung on six great iron hinges, supported by long iron struts. The great monstrosity that it was hung guarded behind a large heavy woven curtain that ran down the frame, hiding the hinges. With luck, these guarded hinges would not make a sound as he pressed himself against the heavy, warm wood and pushed his weight into it.

With a low groan it opened and Bern peeked out into the long vaulted hall that marched around the edge of the outer tower where he slept. Looking one way, and turning around the other he scanned down the hall. No guards or servants patrolled the darkened silent hallway. It was Bern's escape. With a careful step he walked out into the dark corridor and made off for the open world.

The young prince ran down through the vaulted concourse, his feet echoing in the deadened silence as he came down to a winding stairwell. He quickly staggered to a stop, taking softer steps as he cautiously walked down. The steps were narrow, and with his two hands braced on the cold, worn marble railing he crept down into the lower belly of the keep, where he would make a break for the gate. It was too perfect.

But, there was still an issue with the stairs... Even though he tackled them every day the young boy had a strong fear of them. A primal disdain that he would slip. And like a sack of fruits, he would go spinning and tumbling down the winding well into the darkness of its bottom. Or perhaps he would never stop the fall. 

The steps themselves were narrow and steep, and it was known that one ill-placed foot could send a man breaking down to the very bottom floor. He had once observed a drunk guard do the same. A man to full of mead attempted the climb, and in his stupor slipped and tumbled down the steps the full five stories to the bottom floor where he cracked his head. Even through his armor when he was pulled off the floor he was blooded and broken, his body hanging in the most gruesome of manners.

Maybe this was the reason for his nightmares about it. They had shut him up in his room for a month, refusing to come downstairs for dinner, having to have his meals delivered to him. He'd conquered that though! He had gotten older!

But they were still so long... and so deep. And so hard.

He carefully measured his steps as to not spill himself, clutching tight to the side for safety.

Maybe the day he got out he would have no need for stairs. He'd send all the people he didn't like to live at the top of the castle. He'd sleep in the throne toom! No reclining on the higher balconies like his father. No standing guard over the city at the top of the highest tower like Caerl. His whole family had their heads in the clouds, and he had his feet firmly planted on the soil! With the rocks and normal people, with no fear of falling. He'd be the king of the Earth! He'll send his family to Morhall where they can rule over the sky for all he cares, they couldn't smash him down dead, the priests always lied about that.

When he's king, he's going to outlaw stairs.

Like all voyages on the stairs, Bern came to solid foot on the ground floor. With satisfied feet, he stepped out into the lower halls. The ceilings were much higher here. Their large eloquent arches reaching up to crossed points where they lowered again. From bronze chain dangled large braziers that cast down warm fire-light onto the marble and red-stone walls below.

He felt filled with confidence, a warm comfort fueled by that outward burning, purposeful fire that filled his belly. The boy made it with profound purpose out into the main hall, running for the door. Victory was close in hand as he saw the massive carved portcullis with the heavy gold and wood door.

“My lord prince!” a voice boomed out, freezing Bern in his tracks as his heart skipped a beat, “I am sure it is well passed you bed time. What are you doing down here?”

Bern turned stiffly around to come to face with a castle guard. He stood tall over the young prince, and the chain mail armor that hung draped over his shoulders gave him an even wider build. His sword was sheathed, but by the way his arms hung crossed at his chest he was not the happiest man to meet the prince.

Bern had no words as he staggered his feet and his tongue looking for an excuse or an escape.

“My lord,” the guard began, “your lord-father would much rather see you in bed, my prince. Let's go.” he ordered, holding out a hand.

Feeling defeated, Bern reached out and put his own in his. The guards warm gloved hand wrapped around his fingers and he gave a gentle tug as he lead him over to the stairs.

It'd be best if he had a guide to lead him up a fourth time anyways...