Faolan stands watching, on guard, as Lancelot tours the art gallery, puts on the necessary airs and smiles at the necessary people. Speaks to Anne, the official liaison of the Seelie court here in Parrais, Faolan understands her to be. And Dorian, apparently the one who opened the place. The concept of an art gallery is foreign to Faolan, but he is not the one who has to make the appearances of appreciating it, and so he spends most of his time there blending into the scenery as best he can. (Though a few chatty attendants do remark that he makes an excellent addition to the collection, and whether they are serious or not, do not realize he is an actual man standing there or simply flirting within earshot, Faolan makes no attempt to speak up for himself or tell them off otherwise.)
As Lancelot ducks out of the gathering and makes his way into the city proper, Faolan follows. Like the shadow he always seems to be these days. The hound on his heels. He supposes the title is apt, much to his chagrin. Also to his chagrin, the amount of attention the other man seems to be collecting as he walks, although he supposes it has something to do with the brightly colored clothing that the other man is wearing and the dazzling white cleg he is leading beside him. Faolan's own cleg is a beauty in its own right, but where the other man's is a bright white cloud on a beautiful summer's day, Faolan's is smaller and black as midnight. Dressed plainer, wearing riding leathers, it's clear just by looking at them that Lancelot is the one here on the official visit, and Faolan? Faolan is here for him.
It's just as well that most of the attention he seems to be drawing is children. Faolan doesn't have to worry so much about the man surrounded by a crowd of strangers when said strangers only measure waist-high at best on him. He watches him with them from a safe distance - Lancelot doesn't feel the need to include him in this and it's just as well. He isn't sure how confident his ability is with children. Certainly not his ability to impress them as the other man has, at any rate. So he leaves him to it and settles his own ride back into its stall, waiting, watching, listening as Lancelot works his charms on the children of Parrais. He does understand what he's doing, of course, and it's sweet, Lancelot's approach. Of course it would be.
As the children disperse, Faolan does not know whether Lancelot knows he is still there or not, as he calls Lady to his heels and sets off in the direction of the markets. He suspects he might. Lancelot is no fool, and seems to understand that Faolan is usually somewhere close at hand, should he need him. No matter how long he spends in meetings or entertaining the children on an official outing, respectively. Faolan watches where Lancelot travels in the markets, looking for eyes that might be following him, tailing close enough behind to hear what sorts of conversations are had with the man and then as he walks away. He wants to make certain that everything is as it seems. That Lancelot really is being perceived as the noble visitor he is and that there are no ulterior motives for speaking with him, that appearances really are as they seem.
Of course, as he walks, as he listens, he tries tries to get a feel for the city itself as he goes. It's hard to turn the spying off, and so he might as well put it to use. He wants to know what is the general topic of conversation among the people of the marketplace, for the common people - the common people's gossip - usually reveals the most light, he knows. And he also knows that whatever they've been telling Lancelot, it's not all that they would have had on their minds, for they would see him as the official delegate from Caer Glaem and even should they appreciate his sentiments, Parrais is still its own city with its own issues to deal with. And so he listens. What is on the minds of the people? What troubles them? Who troubles them? Each snippet of information he can find he gathers like a precious jewel, storing it away to file through later for what information is and is not relevant to him. Perhaps it's good that Lancelot is happy to wander off on his own. It buys Faolan the anonymity he needs for this.
When they are done for the day and Faolan trails after Lancelot back to their lodgings for the night, once he is sure that the other man is secure behind closed doors with his guards on watch (he'd have been a fool not to bring some, for this purpose), Faolan ducks out and takes to the streets again. It does not take him long to locate a traveling musician - having been one himself, once upon a time, he knows the right places to look. And for the right price, he knows just the right way to sell his song to the man, so that he might play it in the city here too. On the stipulation of course that he wait five days before he start playing it. It does not take him long to teach the man the song - being a bard, of course he has an excellent memory. He promises him more work, if he hears good news of this ballad. (He will be checking back on this, of course.)
The man is a good sort. They share a bond, the pair of them, an understanding of the trade. Faolan is not a trusting sort but he knows here at least that his coin is being put to good use. They spend some time together that night - Faolan pays for food and drink as recompense for the night off. And the man learns the song and learns it well enough that by the time Faolan heads back he is reasonably sure that all will be well. He has given him a pseudonym - Deord - and as much information as that he is currently serving in Caer Glaem. It's a believable story. The best lies are at least partially true, after all. And the fact that he is shardless makes it that much easier to pull off. Perhaps there are some upsides to dying after all.
PARRAIS
As Lancelot ducks out of the gathering and makes his way into the city proper, Faolan follows. Like the shadow he always seems to be these days. The hound on his heels. He supposes the title is apt, much to his chagrin. Also to his chagrin, the amount of attention the other man seems to be collecting as he walks, although he supposes it has something to do with the brightly colored clothing that the other man is wearing and the dazzling white cleg he is leading beside him. Faolan's own cleg is a beauty in its own right, but where the other man's is a bright white cloud on a beautiful summer's day, Faolan's is smaller and black as midnight. Dressed plainer, wearing riding leathers, it's clear just by looking at them that Lancelot is the one here on the official visit, and Faolan? Faolan is here for him.
It's just as well that most of the attention he seems to be drawing is children. Faolan doesn't have to worry so much about the man surrounded by a crowd of strangers when said strangers only measure waist-high at best on him. He watches him with them from a safe distance - Lancelot doesn't feel the need to include him in this and it's just as well. He isn't sure how confident his ability is with children. Certainly not his ability to impress them as the other man has, at any rate. So he leaves him to it and settles his own ride back into its stall, waiting, watching, listening as Lancelot works his charms on the children of Parrais. He does understand what he's doing, of course, and it's sweet, Lancelot's approach. Of course it would be.
As the children disperse, Faolan does not know whether Lancelot knows he is still there or not, as he calls Lady to his heels and sets off in the direction of the markets. He suspects he might. Lancelot is no fool, and seems to understand that Faolan is usually somewhere close at hand, should he need him. No matter how long he spends in meetings or entertaining the children on an official outing, respectively. Faolan watches where Lancelot travels in the markets, looking for eyes that might be following him, tailing close enough behind to hear what sorts of conversations are had with the man and then as he walks away. He wants to make certain that everything is as it seems. That Lancelot really is being perceived as the noble visitor he is and that there are no ulterior motives for speaking with him, that appearances really are as they seem.
Of course, as he walks, as he listens, he tries tries to get a feel for the city itself as he goes. It's hard to turn the spying off, and so he might as well put it to use. He wants to know what is the general topic of conversation among the people of the marketplace, for the common people - the common people's gossip - usually reveals the most light, he knows. And he also knows that whatever they've been telling Lancelot, it's not all that they would have had on their minds, for they would see him as the official delegate from Caer Glaem and even should they appreciate his sentiments, Parrais is still its own city with its own issues to deal with. And so he listens. What is on the minds of the people? What troubles them? Who troubles them? Each snippet of information he can find he gathers like a precious jewel, storing it away to file through later for what information is and is not relevant to him. Perhaps it's good that Lancelot is happy to wander off on his own. It buys Faolan the anonymity he needs for this.
When they are done for the day and Faolan trails after Lancelot back to their lodgings for the night, once he is sure that the other man is secure behind closed doors with his guards on watch (he'd have been a fool not to bring some, for this purpose), Faolan ducks out and takes to the streets again. It does not take him long to locate a traveling musician - having been one himself, once upon a time, he knows the right places to look. And for the right price, he knows just the right way to sell his song to the man, so that he might play it in the city here too. On the stipulation of course that he wait five days before he start playing it. It does not take him long to teach the man the song - being a bard, of course he has an excellent memory. He promises him more work, if he hears good news of this ballad. (He will be checking back on this, of course.)
The man is a good sort. They share a bond, the pair of them, an understanding of the trade. Faolan is not a trusting sort but he knows here at least that his coin is being put to good use. They spend some time together that night - Faolan pays for food and drink as recompense for the night off. And the man learns the song and learns it well enough that by the time Faolan heads back he is reasonably sure that all will be well. He has given him a pseudonym - Deord - and as much information as that he is currently serving in Caer Glaem. It's a believable story. The best lies are at least partially true, after all. And the fact that he is shardless makes it that much easier to pull off. Perhaps there are some upsides to dying after all.