Welcome to Gaia! ::

The very second she left the room, Yosef felt himself slipping into a well of discomfort. He didn't know the harper, the harper didn't know him, and under the circumstances there was no way he could sit still long enough to listen to a story or learn a song. He could try, and he was going to. He owed so much to Ophelia, and he didn't want to let her down. But what if he failed? What if he squirmed in his seat and wrung his hands like a girl? Robinton might think ill of him and report his behavior to Ophelia, and she was already cross with him for asking to borrow a horse.

So it seemed, anyway. Rather than flat out deny him the use of an animal, she had opened her mouth, hesitated a moment, and then left the kitchen. The way he saw it, she was either insulted by his unusual request or she knew he had something to hide. In any case, the horse idea was out, so when his ankle healed he would just have to make the journey on foot.

Robinton noticed the lad's uneasiness and sought to make him feel more comfortable. He thought for a moment how best to go about it, and then he realized that they had not been formerly introduced. Perhaps that was all the boy needed. Or perhaps not. Being a harper, he had never found it difficult to entertain strangers, and he had never met anyone who reacted to him so strangely.

"So you want to hear a story and learn a few songs, do you? Let's say we begin by telling each other a little about ourselves." he suggested, knowing his tone sounded genuinely friendly but hoping the lad would recognize it as such. When he appeared to relax, Robinton introduced himself, for once telling the story of where he came from and his studies as a harper, and how he'd come to be a permanent resident of the inn. A few minutes later, he encouraged Yosef to do the same. "Now it's your turn, lad. What brought you to the Dancing Dragon, and how is it that you were able to win Ophelia over in less than twenty four hours?"

Miriam heard the door open behind her and sensed her mother's presence, but she pretended not to. Needing another minute or so to prepare herself for what was to come, she moved down the cobblestone path to the sunflower on which the butterfly had landed. Startled, the insect flew away, and Miriam was left to face her mother's inquiries alone. She didn't fret, though, as she had decided it was better to explain the dreams and admit her feelings for Brekke than to willfully tell an untruth.

"There you are, dear." said Ophelia from the doorway, though she already knew where to find the girl. Miriam did not normally neglect her duties, but sometimes she ventured out of doors when she needed to think. The question was what--or who--was she thinking about this morning? "I see that you've prepared the common room for lunch, but why have you not put the breads in the oven? They don't bake themselves, and you know how Robinton loves them."

"Mother?"

"Yes?" Ophelia answered, and then waited for nearly a minute.

At last the girl looked up and, gazing at Ophelia through her lashes, bit her lower lip. She chewed on it with nervous insistence and utter determination, which wasn't at all like her. She was determined indeed, but nervous? Not Miriam. Like her mother, she didn't have a nervous bone in her body. It must be that young man, the one who had her dancing around the room as if there were music playing that only she could hear.

"Well," Miriam hesitated, though briefly. "What do you know of dreams?

"Dreams?" Ophelia repeated. Unprepared for such a question, she stepped outside to join her daughter on the path. "Let's see. I know that we can have them while awake as well as sleep, and that they can either be frightening or enchanting. Why do you ask? Have you been having nightmares again, the ones you had when you burned your hand on the oven?"

"Oh, no, Mother. Nothing like that." Miriam frowned. When had she burned her hand? She must have been very small, because she had no recollection of any such thing. "As a matter of fact, I don't remember having nightmares. I do know that I've been dreaming of the same man for years, and last night he ... well, he turned up at the inn and now he's gone, and I fear that I may never see him again."

At last Ophelia understood. She didn't know that she believed a girl could dream about a man she'd never seen and have him appear to her in real life, but if such a thing could happen, Miriam's reaction to the mercenary was anything but strange. Clearly it was Brekke she was talking about, and even more clearly, since the girl had dreamed about him for many years, she must think herself destined to be paired with him for life. An understandable prediction, though not very practical. Perhaps this evening, she would take her daughter aside and explain to her that such a thing simply wasn't possible.

For now, reassurance and a sympathetic gesture were in order, so she wrapped an arm around the girl and gently guided her back inside. "Let's not worry about that just yet. If it's the young mercenary you're speaking of, Robinton mentioned that he was looking for work, so wherever he's gone, I think it's safe to assume that he'll be back before you know it."

As he mounted his horse and road out of town, Brekke asked himself how he was ever going to keep his mind on his work with Bathsuha around to oversee his duties with the eye of a woman who was clearly more interested in his physical being than his competence as a sentry. What was it about young men that made aging brothel madams so determined to snag them? Brekke didn't have many cronies, but of the two he did have, both had at one time been persuaded by a madam exactly like Bathsuha. Hopefully she'd gotten the message this morning, because Brekke wasn't about to spend every hour of every day telling her to go about her business and let him be.

His very next thought was Miriam. What would she think of his standing guard at a brothel? He was about to become a permanent resident at the Dancing Dragon, at least while employed in the nearest town, so word would be out in a few days, a sennight at best. In fact, considering that there were two other boarders here in town now who might have seen him entering or leaving the brothel, word might get back to the inn before sunset. That wasn't a very good impression to make on the young lady he hoped to court. Perhaps she would understand that he needed work and for now that was all he could find.

No sooner had Yosef searched his old memories for another song than the most familiar of them all came to mind. It would be nice to hear it from the mouth of his own mother, as she had been the one to pass on to him an unforgettable message while singing it, but he truly enjoyed Robinton's voice and was having more fun than he could ever have imagined. He liked the old guy.

"Do you know the one about the lady who buys this little girl a new coat? I can't recall the name, but she sews a green ribbon on it. My mother sang it too me many times, but the first was when I fussed about another lad getting something I didn't have. I can't remember what it's called."

Robinton thought for a moment, and then it came to him. "Why, you must mean Christabel May! Of course, I know it. I'll wager I know every song your mother ever taught you, perhaps some you won't even remember until you've heard them." he winked with a growing smile. Though he was left to handle the first few bars alone, together they sang once again.

She went out one morning to buy a new coat
For a lass whose poor family had none.
Now this wasn't a gesture she'd made before,
So she felt a strange warmth inside.

As she transferred the coat from the bag to a box,
She was struck with a notion she liked.
Little Christabel May, no she didn't have much,
But her favorite color was green.

A warmth, a warmth,
A feeling unlike nothing else.
To give, to give,
To give is refreshing, indeed.

A warmth, a warmth,
A feeling unlike nothing else.
The heart, the heart,
Responds with a shuttering leap.

Once said Christabel May of emerald green,
"It's a color I love oh so much."
Now the coat was not made of green but brown,
Yet the lady she knew how to sew.

On the collar she sewed a ribbon of green,
A ribbon so green it was pure.
She added the same to the cuffs on the sleeves,
and then she was done with the task.

A warmth, a warmth,
a feeling unlike nothing else.
To give, to give,
to give is refreshing, indeed.

A warmth, a warmth,
a feeling unlike nothing else.
The heart, the heart,
responds with a shuttering leap.

Now the coat of brown with green trim she took
down the road to the poor little lass.
And then Christabel May, she opened the box,
though she had a sad look on her face.

But the look it changed as she pulled out the coat,
and her eyes they at once came to life.
Little Christabel May she could now play outside,
and with an outcry of joy she did so.

A warmth, a warmth,
a feeling unlike nothing else.
To give, to give,
to give is refreshing, indeed.

A warmth, a warmth,
a feeling unlike nothing else.
The heart, the heart,
responds with a shuttering leap.

Seated across from each other in the small yet comfortably furnished parlor, Renfir and Eliander quietly awaited the return of their host. The seemingly overzealous but not so trusting old man had offered to put on a kettle of tea, in addition to the dish of fresh berries and the plateful of crackers he had already set on a nearby table, but it seemed to Renfir that it was taking an awfully long time.

"What do you suppose he's doing in there?" he finally asked of Eliander.

The elf had been admiring a painting that hung on the wall near the door to the next room. It was of a female elf with long, silken hair the color of the sun. She wore a flowing white gown and appeared to be holding a book of some sort. At Renfir's interruption, he wondered if the book was just a book or if the painter was somehow familiar with the same one Renfir was asking about. He kept that question to himself, however, because at this time he didn't know Renfir well enough to aid him in his quest. He had come along only for the walk.

Slightly annoyed, as much by Renfir's intrusion as by his repeated endeavors to instigate a conversation, he lowered his glances to the human. "As I've said, I do not follow the everyday habits of men, nor do I care to understand them. Thus, if you would like to know what it is that's keeping the old man, perhaps you would find it more helpful to go into the kitchen and see for yourself,"

Renfir had never been one to judge a person by the first few impressions he gave, but he was beginning to think that Eliander was perhaps the coldest, most impertinent elf he had ever encountered. Would it kill him to behave in a civilized manner? Apparently so, or he wouldn't be so quick to stomp on every attempt Renfir made at consorting. Whoever the human was who'd turned the elf against all those who weren't of pure Elven blood, he must have been even more unlikable than Eliander himself.

They were sitting there in silence after Eliander's last comment when the old man walked back into the room carrying a tray laden with cups and a pot. "Well now, how do you take your tea? Sugar and cream or plain?" He set the tray down on the table before them and began pouring tea into the cups.

Renfir watched the old wizard and said, "I'm good with it plain thank you." He looked over at the elf and waited for him to reply. Eliander looked from the old man to Renfir and sighed. "I do not require tea at this time."

The old wizard looked at the elf and smiled. He handed Renfir a cup and then taking one himself, sat down in an overstuffed arm chair. "So, you are the one called Renfir? I have heard good things about you my boy." Renfir wasn't exactly sure how he should respond to that, so he just sat there quietly sipping his tea and waited. "So tell me, why is it you wish to find the Book of Light? Many have tried in the past and failed. What makes you think you will be any different?"

Now this was a question he had no problem answering.

Out in the common room the regulars were trying to entice Robinton into a song to pass the time. He had just finished eating his own lunch and was looking forward to a nice nap before the fire, but it didn't seem they were going to let him have it. Not before he gave them a song to send them on their way. He looked at Yosef, who was sitting next to him at the table with his foot still propped up on a stool and said, "Well lad, what say you? Shall we give them what they ask for or send them away without?" Yosef put his spoon down and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, looked up at the harper and smiled. He'd gotten to like the old man in the short time he had been sitting here with him and he was beginning to open up to the idea of singing songs. "How about the 'Wayward Peddler'?" he asked the harper. Robinton smiled and said, "An excellent choice lad. I'll begin and you can join me when you're ready."

He picked up his lute and after making a few adjustments to the strings, began to sing.



Robinton began to cough suddenly and Yosef quickly handed him a cup of wine. The harper downed the remnants of the cup and excused himself to go upstairs to his room. He let Yosef know that he was perfectly fine, he just needed to rest for a while.

"Ah Ophelia. Looking beautiful as ever today," he said as he approached the bar and took a seat. "What's on the menu for lunch? Whatever it is, it smells mouthwatering." She laughed at his attempt to sway her with his words and said, "Malloy, you say that same thing about everything we cook here. Just once I'd like to hear what you really think of my cooking." The look of shock on his face was memorable and she broke out in laughter again, causing those nearby to turn their attention to the the bar. "I'm sorry Malloy, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Please, forgive me. It's venison stew today. The butcher had a freshly killed doe brought in this morning and I was able to get a good slice of it for the Inn. Sit right there and I'll go get you a bowl." She wiped her hands on her apron and went through the door into the kitchen. She returned a few moments later and placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. "Ale I presume?" she asked. He nodded his head in agreement and dived into the stew like a man on a mission. "So tell me what has you looking so intense this afternoon. I saw the look on your face when you walked in. Something is bothering you and I know you want to talk about it, so fess up."