The blacksmith kept his head bent as he listened to the men speaking to each other in a thick Briton tongue. The Gael was trying exceedingly hard to remember all what he knew of Anglo-Saxon tongue, as it was unfamiar still to him to speak. Though he understood it extremely well, it was still hard for him to not fall into Gaelic was was his habitual form of speaking. The King had adressed him as friend. That was a good start, Fael figured, for to do otherwise probably meant something bad. Were all Kings friendly? Fael hoped that was the case. He slowly raised his head as he looked towards the throne now. It was majestic, more so than he had imagined. When he'd first entered he hadn't had a good loook at it but now he could see its beautiful craftmanship. An ancient throne, by the looks of it. One that had stood for a long time. He gazed towards the king as he finally dared to say something.
"Mah name is Fael, of the McDonough clan sire. I be new 'ere in this land. I dunna know how I got 'ere but now that I seem ta be stuck 'ere, I figure I might as well come ta the kin' ta ask my questions: Can I stay 'ere permanently? I dunna really have a home ta go back to. Everyone's, well... dead. Was dyin' too, meself." Fael spoke gruffly, though he did try to speak as politely as he could muster. Politeness wasn't exactly common but he knew how to treat customers to his shop at least. He wasn't cultured by any means. Perhaps the king would understand. The dark-eyed blacksmith gazed towards the young boy with the king. He smiled softly and bowed a greeting. "My apologies, I didna realize I was addressin' the Kin' and the Prince." God, he was screwing this up already and he hadn't even been speaking that long. He just wanted to have a home. "I dunna want to be a bother but I would like ta be the blacksmith here for the people. If that be possible at all, sire." Shut up! He was talking too much. He closed his mouth and quieted, bowing his head solemnly as he waited for an answer. Fael wasn't one to talk much but his worry had gotten the best of him now. This strange place and now he was before a king of all things. Really, all he wanted was to have a smithy so he could start workin' again. that would be the best option at this point. Otherwise, he might just go mad.
Not that he wasn't already mad. Who was he to address a bloody king?! He had realized long ago his purpose in life was nill. He wasn't worth very much, a humble blacksmith of a humble origin. All he did was make swords. Swords that would see battle at the hands of greater men than he. His masterwork sword would be the only one he would keep for himself. He was pouring his heart and soul into this sword, the one with the red-ruby pommel. He knew that the day he finished it, meant that his life's work would be complete and he wished, oh how he wished that he would die on that day. But it seemed, that day was not to come. He thought he was going to die when he saw that bright light near his blacksmith. But it was not the case. He had not died that day, rather it seemed that he had been given more time. But why him. Why him and not the others? Why Fael the Blacksmith and not the little children that he had seen die first? Why not his parents, why anyone but him? Fael felt unworthy of another life but if it had been given to him by whatever gods were out there, then he was not one to refuse it. All he wanted now was to find another smithy.
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