View source for Fragments of Tales: The Knight and the Bard

By: Shirszae
Posted on: December 31, 2013



<center>I - '''Meeting'''</center>

 
Silence fell as soon as the last spirit-addled patron clumsily fell into the drunken stupor he had been aiming for. A white-haired woman, wearing a long-sleeved black tunic and breeches, sprang immediately from near the hearth, leaving her harp forlorn upon a chair as she quickly made her way to the counter. She dropped on a stool right in front of the innkeeper and, leaning her head in her hands, smiled at him with a certain mischievous edge. And asked, afterwards, for a cocoa.


But before the notes of music could altogether fade from the echoing rafters, an armoured warrior pushed past the door. For a moment, the dull light of dusk met the fiery glow of the hearth, bathing the dim room in a warmth orange tint that did not quite match the frigid currents that swirled in alongside the light. The innkeeper Percival, always solicitous to new guests, smiled one of his best smiles as he immediately waved the newcomer over to the tavern counter.


The warrior -a tsol'aa, by the sharp silhouette of his pointy ears against the glare- lingered for just a moment, no doubt suspicious of such eager friendliness. But few can resist Percival's charms, and so the knight agreed after just a little while, closing the door and walking over to take a stool half a dozen paces away from the musician. He spared her no more than a passing glance and a muttered "Lady" as he settled and lowered a heavy pack onto the floor next to him.


A frown flickered on the woman's brow at this summary dismissal, and it only deepened as Percival immediately deserted her to attend to the new arrival. She glowered, her eyes resting fixedly on the now conversing pair. She did not bother to hide her displeasure, but neither was there any need as neither glanced in her direction. So she unashamedly stared, sipping now and then from her steamy mug as the two men went on and on. She eventually finished drinking, and yet the men's quiet conversation did not show any sign of winding down.


She almost groaned with frustration, finally raising her empty mug, only to slam it hard against the wooden counter. Both men jolted, the inn owner merely flushing with an apologetic smile afterwards. The newcomer's hands, however, cautiously dropped near the grips of twin longswords resting sheathed on his hips. He gave her a searching look now, eyes sizing up every limb of hers until they finally came to rest on her branded cheek. It was his turn to frown then.


A satisfied smirk came almost unbidden to her lips. Nodding at the tsol'aa casually, she willed her attention on to Percival, towards whom she pushed her emptied mug. "Fill this again, would you dear?" He in turn nodded at her, taking the mug without a word and heading for the kitchens. "Oh! And something stronger than cocoa this time!" She called after him, a sliver of amusement entering her voice.


When she looked back, the tsol'aa's eyes were still cautiously fixed on her, though his hands were again on the counter. "What does a mhaldorian do in a place like Caer Witrin?" He asked evenly, before slowly raising a two-handed mug to his lips, and sighing with satisfaction. "I can't see how that's a concern of yours," she responded easily, her head leaning on her hand before glancing back to the kitchens, hoping to catch a glimpse of her drink. The knight's expression turned steely at her retort, but she did not seem to mind in the least.


"Well, I can. You are an enemy of Creation," The knight said, his clear voice sounding more matter-of-factly than threatening. He took another swig from his mug, then added, "But I can't sense any outstanding crimes from you, so it does not matter. For now." Saying so, he stood and turned his back to her, hands fumbling noisily with his plated armour. Then, with a sigh of relief, the breastplate came to rest carefully on the floor, soon followed by his pauldrons and gauntlets.


Despite herself, the woman felt her face redden at the sight of his wilful vulnerability. Under the breastplate he wore nothing but a rumpled white tunic, and when he turned, it became apparent the fabric was not quite thick enough to conceal the glowing lines of three runes sketched underneath. Oak, elk, and lion, she thought before promptly turning to stare at the ground, hoping her white locks would hide her blushing cheeks.


"Nice runes," she uttered, her voice overly casual.


To his credit, the confused look on his face lasted but a second, before comprehension lit his grey eyes. A moment afterwards he was grinning. "Thank you, lady" he said with a graceful bow, "I am a runewarden, actually. I-" But Percival returned just at that moment with a brimming mug, and all other thoughts were abandoned as the sweet smell of mead caught in her nose. 



<center>II - '''Minuet'''</center>


The runewarden knight and the woman at the counter had not spoken to each other any further after Percival's return with her drink. The runewarden had kept mostly to himself, directing what little he said to Percival, eating silently otherwise. The woman had been much the same, though a little more insistent on getting back his attention. The innkeeper, however, was not a fool. Much too aware of the heaviness in between them, he thus remained rooted at an even distance from either, responding politely to all enquiries and commentaries done by both his patrons but never letting himself be dragged into open conversation with either.


All in all, dinner had been a dismal business, and so he observed without surprise as both guests retired soon after for their respective lodgings. Night had long since set in, but he lingered yet as was his custom. Outside, Caer Witrin was as lively as by day. There was never silence, and never a moment's rest, but he had made his peace with that a long time ago.


Such were the thoughts that occupied his mind when he heard footsteps descending the well-worn stairs. He chuckled in the darkness though he felt no mirth, turning to see just who it was that had been woken by the persistent activity in the little mountainous town. But his eyes grew slightly wide when the pale moonlight shone brighter in the room, reflected amids messy locks of white hair. He hid his surprise with a smile, and waited for her to come closer.


She had a little smile on her lips as well, and it only grew as her yellow eyes found his and she curtsied and made her silent way to the dying hearth.


Percival subconsciously made to follow her, only stopping at the last second. What good was it to encourage her? So he instead busied himself once more with the remaining trinkets on the counter, glancing in her direction now and then. She was sitting on the floor near the hearth now, legs crossed with a small harp firmly nestled in her lap.


Softly, she strummed a few strings on the instrument, then sighed. "I'd have thought you at least could sleep," she said, her voice a whisper under the notes of her music.


"Right. Because you came down here intending to be alone, eh?"


"Would that be so strange?"


He considered that, his eyes again looking for her. She was staring into the smoldering coals now, head turned down as if hardly able to resist dozing off. But there was no trace of weariness in her voice.


"You are strange," was all he could truthfully answer as he shrugged with mild unease.


The bard chuckled at that, though the cadence of her fingers on the strings remained unaffected as they played a song for two. "Won't you come sit with me, then?" she asked in a tone that made it plain it was not a question, at least as far as she was concerned.


He frowned. "Actually, I-" He opened his mouth with the intention of refusing her, of arguing there were other things for him to take care of. Or something to that effect, but now could think of nothing remaining to be done.


She smiled slightly, awaiting his answer.


He closed his eyes, feeling frustration well from deep inside himself. "Very well," he heard himself say. He emerged from behind the bar, walking briskly to her side. She looked upwards to him, her fingers stilling briefly.


"Sit."


He groaned in response, eliciting but a raised eyebrow from her, then finally complied, plopping carelessly at her side. "Is something the matter?" she asked, leaning a little against his arm, fingers plucking more gently at the strings now.


Percival forced himself to chuckle, then said "You are the matter, dear. If you don't mind, I-"


"I mind, yes," she said easily, cutting him off, "You may not go. Unless it is to get a few drinks, of course."


He looked at her, incredulous, his expression seemingly provoking her to laugh openly, which in turn made her lean even more against him, her head resting now fully on his shoulders. "You don't seem all gay and friendly now, you know? I am quite... Disenchanted," she whispered.


Of course. Strangers were always disenchanted, or disappointed. Or whatever other word they'd muster up. No one realised all them of Caer Witrin had their roles. Him being such a good actor was probably the real tragedy. "I am simply weary. Same as you," he said finally. Even now, he knew a part of himself was trying to assuage her.


She said nothing, unmoving save for the motion of her hands, and silent for a long while as she stared into the cooling coals. Then abruptly she straightened, her head turning to look at him with a mischievous smile. "Perhaps all you need is to unwind, then." As she said so, her fingers began to pick their pace among the strings, welling up a soft, sure-footed but meandering melody that indeed seemed to effortlessly plaster a smile onto his lips. 



<center>III - '''Malice'''</center>


His neck was stiff and aching by the time consciousness made its tentative return to him. Just thinking about moving sent pinpricks of pain across his spine. And he had to do a massive effort just to drive away a lingering, drowsy warmth. He blinked once, twice... The third time, he finally managed to keep his eyes open. Grimacing, he willed his neck to move, and looked around. The hearth was utterly spent, and the common room was submerged in cold shadows.


It took Percival a little longer to distinguish her mildly concealed form next to the hearth, opposite to him. She was crouching, legs pressed against her torso and tucked under her rumpled tunic. Her whole body swayed to the rhythm of some distant noise, but her eyes, smoldering as the coals had been before, never left his own. Instead, she smiled a pleased smile at him and reached for something beside her... A bottle, which she tilted and pressed against her lips, taking a long swallow.


Percival frowned, trying to focus on his surroundings. There were a fair number of bottles strewn around, but in the dimness none were particularly familiar to his mind. He shrugged.


Outside, the night's gloom was receding.


"Such a shame. You don't remember, do you?" whispered the bard, bottle still in hand. She did not seem all that pleased anymore, but instead pouted, as if she contemplated something not at all to her liking. She put the bottle aside, got on all fours and crawled over to him. "You had seemed so happy, too..." She trailed off momentarily, as if reminiscing. "I could make you," she offered softly on his ear. A cold shudder rippled across his spine at that, an instinctual urge to move away from her overtaking Percival and causing him to smash against the nearest wooden table's feet, knocking over a couple chairs and causing a ruckus.


She merely tilted her head.


His face felt intensely hot. His very being felt afire, as if merely gazing she could.... Ah. Something clicked in his mind just as everything swam about him. "You are a siren," he gasped, unable now to even part his eyes from her. From the way the neckline of her tunic plunged down farther than it was wise for a woman to wear, teasing him to get closer and get a better view-


"Wha... What is taking place here?"


Both almost jumped, turning as one to look at the knight, who had just stepped out of the stairway. He walked over to a fallen chair, his face like a mask, lifted it and put it in place. The knight's movements were easy and graceful now that he was unburdened by any weight except that of his white tunic, some trousers, and swords. Percival shallowed, unsure of what to respond to his query. Unsure, even, of what had really happened last night. Or what had been about to happen just now.


Trying to make up his mind, Percival glanced at her.


The bard appeared to be frozen in place, on all fours still as she had been. She had her eyes on the knight, and the knight in turn held her gaze. But her face was flushed as deeply as it could possibly be, and her golden orbs darted momentarily away before returning once more to do battle, while the knight's face was impassive and stern.


Quite suddenly then, she rolled and threw herself away from the hearth, away from Percival, and away from the knight, just as the latter grabbed the hilt of both his swords, unsheathed them, and lunged. It was a close thing, but she managed to put two tables in between her and the armed tsol'aa.


Not that tables would avail her anything against a runewarden who employed runed blades, as his obviously were. Had she really taken... Advantage of him? The thought felt distinctly foreign. He had never heard of any woman doing such. And specially not one as lovely as the sireni bard in front of him, who most definitely did not look as if she needed to do such in order to get a little bit of fun.


The siren looked at him, hair a white flurry about her face, and smiled fleetingly, before her gaze moved to some point beyond, returning afterwards to the knight who was pressing on her, kicking chairs and tables away to cut off her manoeuvring.


She seemed remarkably self-possessed despite this, but the grim outcome would not delay long before playing out. Was he really going to let a stranger kill her? And who did this stranger think he was anyway, and what right had he to kill such a lovely little thing in front of him, and ruin his inn in the process!?


For the briefest of seconds, the innkeeper felt almost annoyed enough to walk up to the knight and demand an explanation. He wrote it off as foolishness. Instead, he silently got up, and glanced around. Indeed, a black scabbard lay not far from himself, almost hidden in the shadow of the tables that remained yet upright. He lifted it, felt a hum emanating from the blade within, and almost dropped it on the floor again. He caught himself in time, took a deep breath, aimed at the woman, and threw the thing with all of his meagre strength.


Almost as if expecting it, she caught the scabbard easily out of the air, unsheathing the blade as her fingers forged a death grip around its hilt. She smiled at the knight then, for the second time. A deeply insincere smile, just as the first had been.


She was not moving backwards anymore. Instead she... Swayed. Unpredictably. Like a drunkard would, though her eyes remained alert, and intent on the every movement of the knight. And the tsol'aa knight had not even spared him a glance. His face had remained impassive, though he had muttered something under his breath afterwards.


"You have taken advantage of this innocent man," the tsol'aa called out to the siren, in a clear voice devoid of any particular sentiment.


"Have I?" She put on a surprised, mocking face, her voice little above a whisper, "But I don't remember him complaining of any such! How would you know?"


The tsol'aa smiled thinly as he continued to advance, "It seems evident to me. Otherwise, why run? Why did the innkeeper not defend you?"


Such words seemed to amuse the bard, for she actually stopped her swaying and just... Laughed. A harsh, rolling laugher. But before the laughter had died in her throat she launched forward, rapier at the ready. The tsol'aa knight was not even caught off-guard. He just waited for her to close in, then slashed savagely with his twin weapons. She pivoted deftly to a side, just barely avoiding the first blade. Her hand then shot for the hand holding it, knuckle-slapping it to numbness before grabbing a firm hold of the wrist, just in time for her rapier to meet his second sword with a screeching wail.


The blades locked, but it would not last. The knight was much taller and much stronger than the siren. Already the bard's limbs trembled with the effort, her grip on his wrist visibly weakening. And yet she leaned closer on to him, her face perilously close to the edge of his blade, and her lips moved tremulously, mouthing something he could not hear. The knight grunted, shaking his head as something like a spasm flashed across his face and body. For a second, his arm was free of her hand, but then she caught it again in a tenuous hold. She leaned against him again, her chest heaving with the effort, blades clattering wildly against each other, the lock breaking.


For just a second, a blank face overcame the knight's expression, and the clattering subsided. The bard gasped, taking a desperately tentative step away on shaky legs that caused her to stumble over. Then, visible from across a room bathed in dawn's first light, the knight's eyes lit with fire. In a second, his expression turned to unbridled fury as he quickly closed the distance between them.


And ran her through.


[[Category:Bardic Winners]][[Category:2013 Bardics]]