I took the basic premise and my parts of the last story we tried to write, and I wrote out my own full version of it. It follows here:

"In the north, a long time ago, there was a kingdom called Ysgrant, lead by King Urien ap Lyr. The High Bard was called Caswallawn, and his apprentice, Marchwyr.

Marchwyr's studies were intense under the tutelage of Caswallawn. Caswallawn was a typical high bard, snooty and quick to anger. Always were the court officials and local dukes afraid of his power to curse them, and they had good reason to, as well - the last person he satirised was found dead among the rocks of the dangerous coastline.

One day, a beautiful young woman came to court, shining in a dress of silvery jade, a tiara of gold set upon her delicate brow. All the nobles whispered to one another that she was to be King Urien's new bride. She came from a place called Ylegedd, a kingdom no one else had heard of before. In the West, she said. But that was all she cared to tell. All other mention of the land people recalled only from myth and legend.

Marchwyr was there at court, kneeling beside Caswallawn the Ollav, and the instant he saw the young woman walk up to the King, his heart was broken, for he had never seen a more beautiful girl in his entire life.

She spoke:

"I am Princess Gwyneth, and I bring greetings from my father King Caradwyr of Ylegedd. I am grateful that you have accepted my father's proposal, and we eagerly await your presence in our land, that the proper ceremony can take place."

With that, she left. The court bowed as she took her leave, the very air around her glistening with magic and delight.

Later, as Marchwyr was taking a pail of water up to Caswallawn's chambers, he heard voices - usually the High Bard's chambers were dead silent while the Bard was deep in meditation, composing poetry. Setting the pail down upon the top of the stairs, Marchwyr crept up to the door and listened closely.

"This contest is not something to be taken lightly, Caswallawn!"

"My King, I understand."

"Therefore, you MUST write the poem!"

"I shall do my best, my King."

"This girl must be mine. The High King from Tara will be there, as will the Kings of Strathclyde and Dal Riada."

"Yes, my King."

"Be it so. You must be with me to recite the poem, but the authorship must be attributed to me. On the 24th of November, at sunset, we must stand upon the summit of Yr Wyddfa and speak the incantation 'Cludwch i'r yn Ylegedd' and the clouds will be sturdy enough to walk upon."

"It is a long-known tradition in the bardic world. We have known of the existance of the Cloud Kingdom for many hundreds of years, since the day we first came to these isles."

"Very well. It is November the 21st. You have three days."

With that, the conversation ended.

King Urien made for the door. Marchwyr heard the footsteps and instantly panicked, frantically grabbing the water pail and hiding behind the door just as it opened up. After the King disappeared down the stairwell, Marchwyr was about to enter his master's chamber ... when he heard the old man laugh aloud. Marchwyr became still again, as he listened once more to the High Bard, now alone:

"Talk down to me, will you? King Urien, I will see you disgraced. I shall have my apprentice write this poem, and after I have read it aloud at the contest, I shall make it known that you are a liar, and did not write the poem. You shall be forever looked down upon by the peoples of the Isles and the Clouds for your plagiarism. You dare to tell me who I will write poetry for? I curse you, King Urien of Ysgrant. You shall be driven to madness by your embarrassment, and hurl yourself from the highest tower in the land and fall to your death. Felly y bydded - Be it so."

For a moment, Marchwyr could hardly breathe. Eventually he caught up with himself and knocked upon the High Bard's door and was let inside.

"Young Marchwyr, you have an assignment."

He tried to hide his knowledge. "Yes, master?"

"A Rannaicheacht Mhor stanza. Four lines, with internal cross-rhyming."

"Yes master."

"Of course, 'yes master'. It was an order, not a suggestion. Now begone. You have two days."

Marchwyr simply bowed his head and quickly left. He was to write a poem in King Urien's name, so that Urien might win Princess Gwyneth for his own. But then the King would be accused of plagiarism and be shamed. The Bard's curse would follow the King to his grave, as it had done before so many times. If he wrote the poem, the King would punish Marchwyr, for it is bad luck to harm a Bard. An apprentice, though, is nothing. However, if he did not write the poem, he would bring the curse of Caswallawn upon himself. The whole situation brought Marchwyr's soul down lower than it had ever been before.

Marchwyr toiled for two days and nights, and at the dawn of the third day, he presented Caswallawn with the finished poem.

"Good. Now, begone. The King is leaving, and I must attend with him."

As the King's retinue streamed out of the castle gates, Marchwyr looked on in wonder.

He made a decision: he must see the contest. He must see Gwyneth again. Thus resolved, Marchwyr followed the train of men and banners, hiding behind rocks and trees, taking the long way around through forests and streams in order that he may not be seen.

After a while he strayed so far that he found himself lost. He could not see the high-flying banners anymore. The forest closed around him ominously and Marchwyr began to curse that he ever left the castle.

"If only I had stayed back at the castle, at least I would know where I stand!"

Just then, a bright light appeared out of the brush. It danced around Marchwyr, zipping in close, then jumping back, twisting and turning. Three others suddenly appeared and did the same, a kaleidoscopic phantasmagoria of lights swirling around young Marchwyr.

The lights died down, and in their place, four beautiful women stood. They smiled and danced before him, drawing his eyes away from the trail behind them which would take him to Yr Wyddfa.

"Come with us," they said, "come and taste life's pleasures. Our hearts and our bodies are yours, life with us will pass like an eternal dream."

Marchwyr did not know what to do. Certainly it would be easier, to abandon his quest and dream forever with the spirits of the wood.

"The world shall never again trouble you. Not beast, not man, not woman."

Woman. Marchwyr must escape these fairies, for he had heard in the tales of his people stories of men and women being seduced by the spirit world, and that while they succumbed to their temptation, years and centuries would pass before they finally woke up from their folly, and upon returning to the world they would find their loved ones dead and their lands speaking different languages. There was a woman, one certainly not of this world, whose heart was his objective.

"Begone!" he shouted at the fairies, and began to run for the trail.

The fairies pursued him, howling their mad curses upon him, calling for his doom. A geis they put upon him, a prohibition, declaring that when he found the woman he loved, the curse would come full circle: that their love would doom them to die while they were still young and full of life. Marchwyr's mind filled with the words of the fairies, and he dwelled upon them, and dreaded the fearful prophecy.

He came to the base of Yr Wyddfa, and saw that it was indeed sunset. The last of the soldiers were winding up the slopes, and disappearing into the clouds surrounding the summit of the mountain. He raced up the crags and slopes as fast as he could. He found himself alone on the summit, surrounded by snow and rock, and the darkening sky above. The sun in the west was almost sleeping. He knew it was almost too late. He ran toward the sun threatening to drop behind the sea, and lept off the edge of the mountain as he shouted "Cludwch i'r yn Ylegedd!"

He fell.

His body met the clouds, and there it stopped. He stood up, upon the sky, and looked around. He saw before him, on the horizon of the clouds, the shining spires of Ylegedd. He broke into a run and raced for the Kingdom in the West.

After much time, he suddenly realized that he was no longer running on clouds, but on green grass. The sun was not yet set in this land. The field before him was filled with people: men, women, soldiers with their spears, retainers, musicians, high priests in their white robes and golden headbands, while banners gently flapped in the breeze. He filed in behind a group of soldiers whose armour and banners he had never seen before, nor whose faces seemed familiar.

King Caradwyr stood and gave the opening speech: "Welcome all, to this field of Bedugew in the land of Ylegedd. Here you stand beside peoples from this world and the next, and the next after that. Warriors from Tartary, poets from the Kingdom of the Veil, kings of Prydein and scholars of the Morning Land. All are here to prove their worth, their wisdom, their love, for my dear daughter Gwyneth. Whosever lyrics move her the most, it is he who shall have her hand. Let it begin."

The contest began, and continued throughout the day, the entirety of which saw the sun hanging low in the sky exactly where it was when Marchwyr first arrived. The Land of Sunset was this realm of Ylegedd.

When all the other contestants had read their poems, King Urien came and stood atop the pedestal, while Caswallawn stood beneath him.

Caswallawn spoke: "I shall read the poem in the name of King Urien of Ysgrant." Marchwyr watched as the High Bard unfolded the parchment which he gave him only that morning. Caswallawn began:

"Without a light to guide my eyes
Lies will draw me into Night
Unrequiting though the Prize
Who is wise will trust his sight."

The crowd applauded, and so did Princess Gwyneth. King Caradwyr's high priest walked to the center of the gathering throngs.

"The contest is decided. Let the princess come forward and speak her choice."

Princess Gwyneth, garbed in royal silver and gold, stepped up to the podium.

"My choice ... the poem from my lord King Urien ap Lyr of Ysgrant."

The throngs rose up with an ecstatic cheer, approving her choice. The suitors who lost their Prize reluctantly offered up their congratulations. Caswallawn took this moment to rush into the centre of the crowd and exclaim, loudly, "Hold the celebrations! I have truth to tell!"

"What is the meaning of this, High Bard of Ysgrant?!" questioned King Caradwyr.

"The lyric does not belong to the mind of King Urien. It is a forgery!"

Cries of anger went up from the legions of guests surrounding the field of Bedugew.

"Then who is the author of this poem, which has won my heart?" cried Gwyneth.

Just then, from the crowd, emerged young Marchwyr. He walked to the centre of the field, where Caswallawn, King Caradwyr, and the beautiful Gwyneth stood.

"I wrote the poem," said Marchwyr.

"This is true."

"What is this?!" roared King Urien. "Caswallawn, you were to write the poem yourself, and now you present me with this ... this ... boy! This apprentice! This nothing!"

The high priest of Ylegedd interjected - "So you admit that you presented this poem as your own, which was not?"

"No. HE presented it as my own," Urien responded, pointing at Caswallawn.

Caradwyr was furious. "Then you are both guilty of the ultimate sin in this contest, and indeed the worst of sins - you have lied. Begone from my lands! King Urien ap Lyr and Caswallawn the Ollavh, you are both banished from this Land of Sunset! You and your soldiers and retainers must return this instant to your world, and never return."

Shamed, King Urien left in a flourish, surrounded by his men, disappearing into the dark East. Caswallawn followed the train of men, equally disgraced.

The attention of the crowd fell upon Marchwyr. Especially the eyes of King Caradwyr.

"And you, young man. You have been an accomplice to this false testimony. You are equally as guilty."

"Forgive me, my king, but I am not entirely at fault."

"Explain, then."

"I feared the wrath of Caswallawn, for as is apprentice if I did not do as he told me, I would surely be driven to suicide, as that is the nature of his curses. But I could not die. Not while there was the chance to win the heart of young Gwyneth. The poem was read as if it were from the mind of King Urien. Yes, that was a lie. But the poem was mine, and I wrote it not for the King ... but for myself. For I do seek the hand of your daughter in marriage, for what little grace I have seen of hers has captured me."

"If you wrote the poem, explain it, young - ?"

"Marchwyr, my lord. My poem is interpreted thus: 'Without a light to guide my eyes' - that is, without the beacon of hope that I may have Gwyneth, and without her visage before me to lead me to deeds great - 'Lies will draw me into Night' - the Night of uncertainty and confusion, and indeed depression - 'Unrequiting though the Prize' - that is, all this, even though she does not know who the true poet is - 'Who is wise will trust his sight' - she must believe it with her eyes, who wrote the poem: the old king who seeks her only that she bear children and carry on his name, or the young poet who seeks her that she may be his second half, his reason for living, his object of affection and love."

The crowd was very moved by his explanation and interpretation.

Young Gwyneth stepped forward, and her eyes gazed at young Marchwyr.

"Your words have captured me, and now that I behold you, I find that the words and the poet now match one another. With my father's permission, I take you for my husband."

The King Caradwyr stepped toward the two young people. "My daughter has made her choice, and your honesty has captured my good blessings. Let the two of you be married, and let you live on forever in this Kingdom of Sunset, the truth of your love seen in the very reflection of the sun as it falls over the edge of the world, until the end of time."

Marchwyr recalled the curse of the fairies, and merely smiled: in this land, their curses held no power. Only when he returned to the World would the curse be again taken up. But he had little reason to go back.

At that very field of Bedugew were married Marchwyr ap Maelgan and Princess Gwyneth, and upon the death of King Caradwyr, Marchwyr and Gwyneth came to rule the lands of Ylegedd, that mystic realm of eternal sunset which may only be reached when the sun is right, the clouds lie before you, and your heart's desire be true and good.