Here is the rest so far continuing from where the last part left off.... if you read it you might want to skim the last paragraph of the first post first
Galhoit had thought he was doing the family a favor, which, Waru understood, in its own ironic way he was. Those looming words did alert his family and allowed them a relatively safe journey, but Waru still repeated his words in his head. They burrowed into Waru’s brain, attacking his nerve and memories with uncanny accuracy. Eventually his hatred was spent. Weary, physically as well as mentally, Waru began to assess the work left for him that day. He noted that he had finished nearly half of the stock of candle his father had produced from earlier that morning. About two hours work lay ahead of him and then he was free to do as he wished. There was much to do in a Ganlo, due largely to its size, but also because it was considered an important stop for traders coming from Portston. Ganlo was located almost directly halfway between Portston, a large fishing village, and Muthe, the central trading hub of the kingdom. As such, minstrels and jesters, storytellers and adventurers, could nearly always be found around the town. At this thought Waru’s spirits began to lift, the storytellers could always capture his attention in their wonderful stories filled with adventure and happy endings.
Hanging another set of candles up to dry, Waru’s face showed a suppressed smile as he remembered the last visiting storyteller. The colorful characters and desperate struggles always caught Waru’s attention, bringing him into the story until he was experiencing the struggles and the lost loves. He delighted in these experiences, the wonderful adventures and even the comedic stories took him into another reality. For those moments while he listened to the intertwined words took him into another place, a place where his troubles ceased to be replaced by the characters’ troubles, troubles that always were brought to a happy ending and a fulfilling conclusion.
Waru began working faster, even becoming somewhat excited about hearing a good tale. With favorite stories circulating through his head the work flew by. He had a great memory for the stories and characters, he often dreams of leaving Ganlo to travel with the minstrels and storytellers, adventuring and weaving tales of his own. With this in his mind, the two hours’ work quickly became only one more hour. In what seemed no time he found himself hanging the last candles to dry, hurrying to take off the brown apron and leave the hot room.
After a quick goodbye to his father Waru was out in the street, dashing through openings in the crowds. Collar up and long black hair swept backward, he was barely conscious of the rune imprinted on the back of his neck. He took advantage of a brief lull in the crowd to make his way across the town square instead of skirting around it in alleyways. No one would notice him, he knew; he was only one of many young men making their way through crowds. Just as this thought flitted through his head he noticed a single pair of prying eyes watching him searchingly from behind a stall. After a quick glance at the man, Waru altered his glance down, allowing some of his hair to fall in front of his eyes while pulling his coat closer. Right before he turned the corner to leave the large market, he took a quick glance through the falls of his hair at the man. Waru found the burly man’s attention taken by a customer, but just as he was looking away he thought he saw the man’s eyes flick back to his direction.
Slightly unnerved, Waru slowed his pace. His hand nervously went to the back of his neck, only to be taken away a little too quickly to be normal. Coat collar and his hair were still covering his neck well, there was no way the man could’ve seen anything strange. This didn’t sate his curiosity or fears, however; his mind was filled with nervous thoughts and qualms the rest of the journey. In no time Waru saw the steps up to the quaint tavern through his hair. Excitement began creeping back into his mind as he opened the door. A small crowd was gathered towards the back of the tavern where a lone man was standing on a chair, gesticulating carefully some unheard joke with his hands. A roll of laughter swept through the crowd as the man stepped down. Qualms evacuated Waru’s mind as excitement took over; he hurriedly made his way toward the crowd, taking a place to hear the next speaker as well as he could.
A gangly, hardened man stood and took deliberate steps towards the chair that served as the speaking platform. As he stepped up onto the chair, towering over the heads of all present, the crowd began to settle down quite a bit. The man’s countenance was set, not gay or open like the last speaker. A small smile crept across the man’s face, looking awkward at first, but soon warming into his eyes. He slowly looked at what seemed to be every individual person in the room, holding a steady gaze. His eyes swung around to Waru, who held his gaze for quite a long time. The man’s presence and his eyes brought the entire crowd almost completely to his attention, waiting for the story to begin. As his gaze was reaching the end of the crowd, he began to speak, his focus moving toward the center of the crowd.
“Today I begin a story of a long lost past, a place very much our own, but gone in every other sense of the word.” He paused, slightly inclining his gaze intent on capturing the crowd. His deep voice began again, “Countless years ago, while the great tower of Drafen still stood with gleaming walls and lush grounds, there lived a mighty prince among men, Prince Threnbor; a prince soon to come into his inheritance, beloved throughout the kingdom. He was still but a child in the eyes of many, being only six and ten years in this world. Threnbor’s father, King Threnhar was one of fair mind and led a peaceful reign. Though he was in fair health, you will see that it could not halt his fate.”
Waru sat transfixed by the subtle movement and the ease of the man’s speech. Stories of history and of his own land always gripped Waru’s attention, the mention of the legendary city of Drafen triggered images of great castles and white stone put together in his mind. Not only was the tale was based on the land that he knew through countless stories and dreams, but the prince was the same age as Waru. His mind was being absorbed by the story, the skill of the speaker drawing him in as he had only been a few times, knowing as he fell into the tale that this man’s was an exceptional talent.
With a slight movement of his hand, the man began again. “On the day after the celebration of his seventeenth year in life, Threnbor accompanied his father to court; watching the proceedings as always in preparation for his reign. The trials were simple, a theft with a clear guilty verdict, and a simple dispute over land ownership among neighbors. As the neighbors were moved quietly out of the room they were replaced by two men who claimed to have a dispute of their own over land ownership. King Threnhar sat quietly, preparing to hear each testimony when the glint of steel caught Threnbor’s eye.”
“Time seemed to slow, almost halt altogether for the Prince. He watched the glint of steel, now taking the form of a small dagger, fly through the air towards his father. Dismay and utter disbelief fueled Threnbor’s thoughts as he leapt from his chair towards the man who had thrown it, the same man who had brought the claim to trial. Threnbor’s sword was in his hand as another glint of light on steel formed into a second dagger, leaping from the other man, the defendant of the trial. The Prince ran wildly to his father’s aid, but in an instant after the daggers had been thrown, King Threnhar ruled no more.”
“In time Prince Threnbor became King Threnbor. The crown brought great pain to Threnbor, a reminder of his lost father more than a symbol of his duty. Threnbor was derelict in his duties as his reign began; the pain of his father’s death outweighing the responsibilities brought on by the heavy crown upon his brow. As the year passed the Prince allowed regents and others to take on his tasks, allowing him the time to wander Drafen, morose and pensive. His eighteenth birthday came and went with forced splendor and quaint smiles, but for Threnbor the day was shrouded in black, his birthday the forbearer of his father’s death. Another year passed by quite in the same way, the kingdom for all purposes left without a king. As his birthday loomed upon him yet again, Threnbor began to wonder, to ponder his health and his situation, to look for a solution. The day before his celebrated birthday, Threnbor left Drafen and his responsibility.”
“He was not sorely missed by his people, though there were the few who continually searched for him. A search was enacted to search for him, finding nothing for months until they came upon a small clearing in the woods, a cave furnished sparsely and an abandoned fire pit. Beside the entrance to the cave lay Threnbor, starved to death with his father’s sword in his hands.”
Waru’s eyes began to wet slightly, his countenance displaying a sadness unique to himself. This was all wrong, he told himself, the ending was all wrong. Waru sought for the happy ending, waiting for something to come, it couldn’t be the end.
The storyteller paused, looking at his audience, watching them absorb the tale. “Threnbor died for what he thought was his purpose, he became so caught up in what had happened, dwelling in his pool of self-pity and doubt that he was truly no longer alive. The love he had for Threnhar was misguided; death is no end to all things, but a beginning of so many more.” He said slowly and deliberately, stepping off his perch and walking out of the tavern into the crowded street beyond.
Waru labored to keep a small tear at bay, wiping his eye in what he hoped was a nonchalant movement. Sitting down in a quiet corner of the tavern he sank into the shadows, thinking about the wonder of the tale he had heard. Never before had he listened to a story like it, the ending was no fairy tale meant to lift spirits or bring laughter. His fears and memories that had been held at bay by the familiarity of a simple but elegant tale flooded back into his mind. Prince Threnbor’s failure made Waru think of his own, dwelling on future events that could never take place, formulating stories of his own life and failures, but with the absence of the familiar happy ending.
After what seemed no time and an eternity at once Waru still sat in the same dark corner of the tavern, hardly noticing the people talking, drinking, and even laughing, all around him. His thoughts were slowed and less worrisome, relapsing into functionality rather that uncertainty. No one turned as he stepped out the tavern door, turning to take the short route back to his home and the candle shop. Perfunctory motion guided him, his true thought still dwelling on the tale spoken minutes or hours before. His eyes failed to tell his mind what was happening around him, moving from one side-street to another and finally coming out into the busy town square where his concentration was finally broken.
“Sorry.” Waru automatically responded after he bumped into a man standing in front of a small pottery stall set up on the edge of the town square.
“No, no. I’m sorry.” Came the unhurried reply as Waru turned to acknowledge the man before he went on his way.
As their eyes met for a brief greeting Waru saw he was standing before the very storyteller he had just witnessed. A slight shift in his eyes told Waru the man recognized him as well. Waru began to feel self conscious under the storyteller’s gaze, breaking away from his eyes and pulling up his coat collar instinctively as he walked away at a pace that was a little bit too fast to be normal.
I don't think anyone really saw it on TESF anyway 
Thanks for taking the time to read it eek 
