On a late summer evening, Lann Swyft was to entertain nobles in House Lanny's country estate. Starting playing a melancholic lovesong, he remembered he was not to play such, and so he improvised, turning the song into a wholly different one.
Running, humming, strumming, begging for bread.
Twisted men, twisted fates, those of the dead.
Gazing up, never down, they kneel for all.
The lowest of the lowest, through mud they crawl.
Yet the prince, highest of highest, saw what he prized.
A boy with the eyes of one most civilized
A squire in the making, the prince thought, a lad to trust.
So he took him in, fed him, and washed off the dust.
In the yard they trained together, the prince and the beggar, hacking and slashing for naught.
In the tavern they gulped and gobbled, until they finally dropped.
”That boy, oh that boy” the king said, “bad seeds does he spread”
But it seemed he was far too late, for the prince’s path was dread.
From that day on, from that day since
The noble man would be known only as
The Beggar Prince.