The meeting hall was in a discordant uproar, though the tone was definitely more merry than sour. The summer feast was upon the castle. Lords and dignitaries from the land came to share a meal with The King and his family, a rare occasion outside of these solstice events, so everyone in attendance made sure to make it worth their time.
Bell stood off to the side, listening in to the idle chatter of those serving the audacious meal. The two they were tuned into the moment were complaining about Lord Marian and how he had asked for a new cup of wine every time they passed during the serving of the current course. One of them pointed him out at the table and even Bell could see he was in the throes of a drunken rabble with those nearby.
This was Bell's first event like this and was unsure of what their place in this event even was. They had performed with the dancers that accompanied Lady Sahri, providing an improvised beat and dance to match what was already choreographed. They admittedly were still not used to as large of an audience as this, and when they found an opportunity to rest in the wings of the makeshift stage, they took it and didn't return.
Their internal monologue ran rampant since then, chiding themself for every minor misstep, despite being fully cognizant that no one would've noticed or even commented on the errors. They were here as part of the entertainment and amusement, which they had already achieved, and so they sat, mind recovering but at the same time preparing for whatever was asked of them next.
Admittedly, no amount of visualization could've prepared them for the next order that was given to them.
"Um," a serving girl attempted to catch Bell's attention. "His highness prince Cyrus wishes for you do join him at his side."
Bell was dumbstruck, then searched for the prince at the table. He sat on the end of one side, closest to the king, but that left room on the edge for another body to exist. Albeit, that body would be in between the next crown prince of Arcadia and the current king of the aforementioned Arcadia.
Bell stood up and as they approached, the servant grabbed their arm.
"He said to... um. 'pull up a chair'" she said, the quiver in her voice betraying the casualness of the words being conveyed.
Bell's head was swimming, but they picked up the stool they had been sitting on and walked with purpose over to the feasting table next to the prince.
"Sire," Bell said with a flat affect. They had no idea what Cyrus' intention was and they weren't about to let emotion color how they felt about the situation.
p>The prince was not eating, in fact it looked like he had barely touched the food on his plate. He was staring towards the center of the table where no activity was occurring.
"Sit," he ordered, his gaze still averted.
Bell placed the stool and scooted it closer to Cyrus, figuring the safer physical distance in this instance was toward the prince and not the king. Though the king had most assuredly noticed Bell's presence now at the table, he seemed to pay them no mind and no guest in the immediate area raised any protest. Bell's glance caught the gossip of Regent Kalthar whispering to their neighbor with their eyes on Bell, but that was the largest reaction they noticed at the table.
"Tell me a story," Cyrus said. His voice was difficult to hear over the other ongoing conversations, the tone of his voice almost matching the room.
"What about, your highness?" Bell asked.
"Anything." Did Bell hear his voice falter on that word? "A myth, a tale, a story about yourself," Cyrus continued.
Bell hesitated, unsure of what Cyrus desired from this interaction. Did he want something entertaining with his meal? A conversation starter?
Bell noticed his fingers fiddling with the wooden end of the knife next to his plate.
"I grew up in a sanitarium outside of the castle walls. I was told the nurses thought I wasn't going to survive a week past my birth, so it seems I was abandoned by parents who believed their child was already dead." Bell had delivered this story many times before, in fact they had regaled it when they had visited the castle for the first time.
"I do not begrudge my parents, I had a comfortable childhood and plenty of companionship and love from the sisters of Saint Gremory."
Prince Cyrus nodded, now finally picking up his knife and using it to cut into the meat on his plate. Bell took this as their cue to continue.
"I loved to learn and with the available materials, became educated in quite a few areas of study and skilled in a few trades, but nothing truly moved me. The sisters urged me to find a vocation, if not I could always join them in their covenant. I cycled through many things, but none stuck. This was all until the merryman came to visit the sanitarium.
"His name was Cicada, he was a musician and dancer mostly, but he also had a large set of stories and tales to tell from his travels across the land."
Bell paused before continuing their story checking if Cyrus was even listening. It was hard to tell, he had not looked at Bell once since they approached the table, but nothing in front of him had seemed to have his attention at all either. He had begun eating however, which indicated to Bell their story was doing something.
"Cicada was a demon," Bell said a little quieter. Cyrus stopped chewing his food for a moment. He was listening.
"Cicada had the body of a man, but his limbs were covered in a green carapace and he had insect wings, though he said they did not allow flight. Instead he would apply thin paints to the membranes on his wings to make them look like stained glass and help tell his stories. When he danced, he used weird parts of his body to make the beat to accompany his steps.
"I asked him to teach me some of his dances and I took to the practice quickly, the sisters had never taught me before, but Cicada was a good teacher. I performed with him during one of the last nights of his stay in the sanitarium and the sisters and other residents were more excited than I had seen them in a long time.
"Is that why you came to be the fool of this castle?" Cyrus asked in between bites.
"No, not quite. I liked dancing and performing, but it was actually because of a parable that Cicada told me. It was a story about a man who died every 5 years and then would revive 5 years after he was buried. The man would have to remake his life anew every time as in 5 years people would cease to wait for him, and he was afraid he would become a monster, lost in despair, if the cycle continued.
"Then he met a nomad, a fool, a merryman, who cycled through the land every couple of years. The two became friends, and when the man revealed he would soon die and need to be buried and forgotten for 5 years, the merryman assured him that he would not forget. He would return to this spot to see his friend again and tell him all the stories of what had transpired in the world since then.
"The man died and was revived after 5 years, and the merryman kept his promise. Almost to the day, the merryman returned to his friend and told him of his travels and how the world that was now differed from what it was 5 years prior. This is how their lives continued for many, many years. These two men on different paths made sure to cross theirs whenever they could. They made a comfortable home in each other's strange life."
"What is the takeaway of that story? And why did it make you want to become a jester?" Cyrus asked, his meal almost finished.
"The takeaway is that while we cannot always change the circumstances of each other's lives, we can exist to be a constant, a confidant, and a comfort to someone that needs it," Bell said. "And I wanted to become a jester because after Cicada told me that story, he said it wasn't completely fictitious, though he frames it that way. He said the man who died every 5 years and revived every 5 years was a real person. Cicada the merryman, was that man. He became a fool because of his friend. He wanted to make other's lives brighter like his friend did for him."
"And you want to make others lives brighter too?"
"I do."
Cyrus finally looked at Bell, a gleam of surprise in his eye at the confidence at which they spoke those words.
Cyrus quickly averted his eyes again, focus dropping to the side. "That was a nice story," he said plainly. "You're dismissed."
Bell nodded and retrieved their stool, offered a quick bow to the prince and the king and left. Thankfully, their white paint masked the flush they could feel creeping into their face.