Gloricesa is a hard woman... perhaps she has become this way living away from society and commonly safeguarding fugitives. Who knows what people she has let into her home.

Her cottage is a simple wood shack with two rooms, a cooking area, a tiny hall and a little porch. It sits at the edge of a forest, next to a stream that leads to the ocean, the same one that divides Libistine from the Canthan province.

She awakes at the break of dawn, and expects me too. While I live in her household, I am made part guard part fisherman. As a sign of gratitude, Gloricesa has taught me tricks to the trade of fish-catching - one of them being to capture them as the sun is rising for the fish are the friskiest at that magic hour. I have also been taught the use of a fish net, bait, and hook (for the larger fish). When the fish have been caught, Gloricesa keeps some for our own consumption, and the rest will have their bones removed and dried (a tideous process that spans a week to properly preserve the meat) then be sold off to traders who will then in turn sell them to Canthan merchants on the next ship there.

It is a trade that I do not forsee continue using after I am gone from here, but one that I shall gladly learn nonetheless for our survival here. And yet Gloricesa has made it somewhat a burden with her constant badgering over how I will never make a real fisherman, how I have tossed my nets wrongly, how my baits are not threaded right, how I have performed the preservation with little skill... indeed, fishing has become quite the chore.

Orianka stays in her room in the cottage most of the day. It is our good fortune that Gloricesa was a former mid-wife, thus she would understand best how to treat a pregnant Orianka. Five months into the pregnancy, she had advised the princess to consume several herbal brews per day to make the baby grow strong and healthy. Herbs that I am sent to collect weekly, some almost as elusive as a yeti in Troi. It wears me out, and I find myself falling asleep even while sitting or standing. I am afraid to be too tired, for if there were to be an attack, I am Orianka's only defense. I pray to the gods to deliver me additional strength, and for safety for the princess. I intend to return her to Libistine after her baby has been born, and for her to return without a hair touched.

The brews often smell repulsive, with an equally distasteful shade of dark green, and a thick bitter taste to boot. The princess had given me a spoonful once, and it was the only moment I felt my duties in the woods with Gloricesa was a blessing rather than a curse. But if it is as the old woman says, if it is meant to help the child, then perhaps the sacrifice is not in vain. Orianka does not complain, she remains strong and determined till the end. And I'm often tempted to tap on her great energy and optimism... even though I am the one she ought to be tapping upon.

We have not told Gloricesa who the father is, or that Orianka is indeed of royal blood. It would be my guess that she believes the child is mine and that we are eloping unhappy parents. For that she handles us as puppy-lovers who are not responsible with our emotions, remaining firm that we are not to see each other other than meal times when she is able to watch us keenly. The rest of the day is spent with me working hard in the woods.

I have begun to miss Orianka's companionship. My mind once again drifts to that one tender moment we shared in Libistine... perhaps this is for the best. It is the only way that I am able to maintain a straight mind, and direct my thoughts back to Cath and Gwes.

Just three more months now...

~ The poet in the Angora

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Drowning... I feel that I am drowning in a neverending stream of time. Every minute strangling, sipping at the existence I call life. My fingers tremble as I write these words. Incoherent. Cacographical. My heart is heavy... like it's never been before.

Perhaps it was my naive belief that I could protect her... I could protect her forever. But who am I? I am but a man. Powerless. I am powerless...

The princess had gone into labour... I know not the length of time, it seems that it has been for an eternity. There had been complications upon her entry, none that I understood for I am neither mesmer nor monk. But I know she was in pain, and Gloricesa's change of demeanour has caused me concern. I had played for her the Zimmer to calm her nerves, it's the least I could think of to do. But me and my Zimmer... we are no opponents to a hurting body.

She had grasped my hand, drew my ear to her lips and whispered that she loves me. They were the words I had dreamt of for months... no, years. The same words I had so longed to hear... But in that hour I could not reply, in fear that if I did, her soul would be satisfied and loosen its hold on the land of the living. I cannot bear the thought of losing her.

"Why..." came her voice... weak and quivery, for I had turned from her. It resounded within me, every tonation tearing at my essence. I could not bear the sight of her, I could not let her see me at my weakest state, my failings, my inability to save her. I could not let her see me cry.

With strangled silence, she was brought into the privacy of the shack that had temporarily been converted to a birthing room. Her cries from within filling its walls, and stinging my ears as cyrlic venom upon raw skin. I did not tell her that I love her, that I can't live without her... that the fragrance of her haunts my sleeping... my waking, that it takes the strength of every fiber in my being not to rush into her arms, gaze deep into her eyes, and share a kiss as tender as the one we had back in Libistine. How could I not tell her... How have I kept up the charade? I am a liar.

I am not to remain in the room with her, even though my heart lingers within. And as I remain at the exterior of the shack... I am a mere shell, and nothing more.

~ The poet, a shell of a man...
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Days drag on... drifting... somehow breath still fills my lungs. Images past by, so quickly. They mean nothing.

The sound of crying fills my ears. I think of her cries... fading, fading. I didn't tell her... Why did I have to leave her like this? I could not say goodbye. She left thinking I never felt anything for her... she left thinking she was alone.

But I realise then the crying is not from a distant memory - the child remains in my arms. The child that is not yet named. The child of Orianka's... the one who has caused her death. The cursed child of an ill-conception, a mockery by the gods... damnation incarnate. The very sight of him is repulsive. Cruel thoughts have graced my waking... to retrieve a rock and lash at his skull. But I had promised to protect Orianka. And as long as the child has her blood running through his veins, I know I must be his guardian.

He cries... do babies always cry? The child has been crying since his mother slipped into the afterlife... the moment I arrived in the birthing room only to realise I was too late... and while I gently laid her frame in the ground, moving dirt with my bare hands till they bled. Perhaps he knew his mother deserves the burial of a royalty, but instead there in the woods... away from mankind, away from all consciousness... she lies. All because of the cursed child. They would surely know she had conceived - how does one hide the weight of such a secret?

He is bound to me as I am to him.

Scents of animal waste fills our nostrils, the plodding of iron-cladded hooves take us one step closer to home... I am a traitor to both nations. I let the princess die. The only home I have left is with Cath and Gwes... if they will receive this prodigal son. How far have I strayed... how their faces have faded from my mind. I am a shame... and the child cries. He knows. He knows what a fool I am. He knows he has no home, just as I do not.

It's then I realise I'm as cursed as he is. Perhaps we were meant for each other.

~ The poet... drifting...
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Dear journal, every moment that I scribe words on these pages, I wonder if it shall be my last entry. Perhaps I had lost my zest for life days ago, but now I know, I must live. I must live to tell the tale, to prove the identity of this child... this chosen one; The very blood of Libistinian and Troican royalty.

I have only learnt about this very recently:

During the final days we had spent with Gloricesa, the woman had been contacted by Troican guards in search for the princess. Prince Macsen must have sent spies to watch that the princess might never attempt to escape her duties in Troi, or perhaps he had worried his secret be exposed. One who cloaks himself in secrets will surely fear the slightest possibility that his deep seated lies be exposed and attempt to smoulder it. The prince had heard of Orianka's pregnancy through that devious woman who intended to sell knowledge for gold. The prince had promised her ten thousand pieces... a sum that was never intended to be given.

I had been so overwhelmed with grief that day that Orianka slipped into early labour and passed on, I could not bear to stay a day longer. I had followed a travelling cart headed for my hometown after burying the princess, unknowingly removing both myself and the child from harms way.

On my arrival in Troi, I was met by Grandar and Baldour... both of whom I owe my life to now. They had been among those sent by royal decree to the Angora to destroy every living soul in that shack at the edge of the woods on the bounds of traitorship. I know not how they had escaped their duty, or what fate will befall these men. But I am moved beyond words towards their sacrifice, and know not what this unworthy man has done to deserve such aid. Perhaps the gods have been merciful... on a damnable soul as mine.

I have seen my home... it is surrounded by four guards, preventing my return. It is my fault that Cath and Gwes are now endangered. I must rescue them from this prison... even if it takes my very last breath.

So we wait... we wait till twilight arrives before we shall strike. As every moment passes, my heart races... wrought with perplexity. I just want to know that Cath and Gwes are safe.

I must not fail again.

~ The poet awaits to embrace his family once more
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It was at the turn of evening when the sun sets over the hills, and the last glimmer of its rays cut their way over the city of Troi, temporarily blinding the guards who stood between me and my wife, that with two faithful men by my side, I struck.

Strange how years of the training at the academy never prepares one for the actual slaying of a man... it is something I know will stay with me for the rest of my life. It haunts me in my waking, even while Troi remains days away, lost in the recesses of the life that I must endeavour to shed.

We ended the lives of the men swiftly, a quick slit of the dagger across their throats - men who reminded me of my youth... men who might well be innocent of Prince Macsen's true intentions.

Cath and Gwes were within my home, awake and huddled in a corner with fright. My return was met with much elation... although I could see that Gwes had remained apprehensive. He does not remember his father. And I do not blame the boy. I had been away longer than I had hoped to.

I had not the time to explain to Cath what had happened those months that I was away... why I barely wrote to her, why I had returned with a child. But perhaps she understood the urgency of the situation and went about to clothe us heavily in rags, knowing it would be the last time we were to see our home in Troy.

Grandar and Baldour would have to leave our side. I know not what will happen to these two fine gentlemen, only that both myself and my wife would not be alive if it were not for them.

With our last parting words, we hurried our way to the gate - Gwes, holding on to his mother's hand, and myself with the child under my robes. We were not noticed, as we had hoped, until the last moment when the baby began to cry. I had my head lowered to avoid detection, so I could see was a spear lowered to prevent my exit.

"Remove your robes sir," commanded the soldier. I knew then if I did it would most surely be the end of myself and the child, and thus I hesistated. The crying came stronger, louder then, and there was no way to hide the young one.

"Sir, identify yourself!" came the soldier's voice, loud and authoritative. I remained in a dilemna till the guard lifted my chin with the tip of his spear and gazed into my eyes.

It was in that moment that both he and I were dumbfounded. Nerthach... Nerthach Rickter. The man who taught me the use of the Zimmer. He had remained a guard at the gate all this time, and I had not spoken to him for years. And yet he did not look a day older, and it would seem that he had recognized me too.

The other guard called to him, curious by the lengthened silence, but he commanded the man to leave his post, even while there were protests. I realised then he intended to allow me path out of Troi, regardless of what I had done to anger the prince, regardless of the commands he had been given.

With a sign of acknowledgement within his eyes, we continued on through the massive gates of a city we had called home to for as long as we have had known. There was no time to say our goodbyes... home was gone in a blink of an eye.

From then we have wandered through many a meadow, forest and mountain - our only hope for shelter is the distant kingdom of Ascalon. I have heard that the guild wars had ended a year before, and our hope is that peace has settled upon the nation. If we can make our way to the distant land then perhaps we would stand a better chance at survival.

On the first day on the path to Ascalon, Cath inquired about the child that she had now taken into her arms to care for. I related the story of the princess, of her ill-fated life and the scheming of Prince Macsen. Cath was astounded, commenting that she had not guessed so much had gone on without her knowledge. I apologised for not confiding in her for they were deadly matters that would most surely burden the listener... although we are now far from Troi and out of their reach.

She asked me for his name, and I admitted he was given none, for Princess Orianka had passed away without having named the boy.

There was a strange keen look in Cath's eye then as she gazed at the child, and it gazed back at her curiously.

"This is the chosen one, Rheged," expressed Cath simply, and went on when I knew not what she meant. "He is the child who shall someday bring peace to Troi and Libistine - to take the throne from the dictatorship of a prince who is rising to power and shall someday take the place of Emperor Ghalin. It is why Prince Macsen fears him so."

Without a doubt the woman was right. Katsune had said similar words, but they had not dawned on me as much as it did at that moment when Cath said it, and the child lay in front of my eyes. The words sunk into my consciousness as I realised his name had already been set out for him, "We shall name him Waljan, the chosen one... Waljan Sayre till he is able to reclaim his birthright."

There are things I have done in my life that I am less than proud of. I know I shall never please the gods. But I must have done something right to deserve a loving wife and two beautiful sons, regardless of my failings.

I must be strong now. When we get to Ascalon, I vow I shall never depart from their side again. My family shall be first and foremost in my life, from now till the end of my life.

~ The poet receives a second chance
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"Where shall we stay?" asked Cath. I know not the answer to her query, although I am inclined to feel responsible to reply her. We are nothing more than fugitives... scavengers as I often find myself reduced to stealing from nearby farmlands. I have lost many assumptions about the simple ways of right and wrong - we must survive... that is all I know.

If my father knew where I was, I know he would die of shame. I dare not go back to his presence - I doubt he would ever understand the predicament I was placed in. We were wronged, our lives threatened. But how do we expose the vicious poison underlying the nation of Troi without risking our very existence?

The forest is not a place for a newborn child, but there is little option... For the last few months, we have hid in the woods, sheltered from the rain by makeshift tents built out of the materials available. I would like to carry on our journey to Ascalon as quickly as possible, but it is a long distance, and too much of a risk for the young one. We shall have to make our progress slowly... staying near enough to farmland where milk is available for the child because Cath cannot produce.

Staying in one place for an extended amount of time proves often to pose too much of a danger for the farmers would begin to hunt us down, and we would have to move quickly before we are found.

I still carry my Zimmer with me, it's our source of comfort while things remain so uncertain. I know Gwes suspects that not all is well... even though we try to attempt to portray calmness, lest the young one be cursed with the worry that we bear daily. But he is no fool, I must not underestimate my son. He knows more than he speaks of, I can see it when I look into his eyes.

He has begun to trust me more as the days have gone by, and have proved himself a helpful hand in wood gathering, as well as the watching of his brother. I see much of Cath in him... sturdy, calm and dependable.

Perhaps the recent events are blessings in disguise. Only through the recent trials we have faced that I have come to know and appreciate both my wife and my son... two of whom I had almost given up in Libistine. If they ever knew what I had transpired there... they must never know. I want them to trust me, I want to protect them, it is the least I can do now.

~ The poet discovers his home