Chapter Text
“A round for you and your friends, dear?” asked Tessa as Knowles approached the bar. She took a couple of glasses down from the shelf in preparation.
“Just for me and Zara,” Knowles replied. They glanced over their shoulder at where they had left Zara, who had been in a particularly prickly mood today. “I’m hoping that she’ll stop trying to bite our heads off if she has another mead.”
“Oh, dear. Is she quite alright?” Tessa said.
“You know, with her, it’s hard to tell. Something’s bothering her. I don’t think it’s serious , but she is seriously grumpy right now.”
Tessa pulled the tap and began filling the tall glass mug with the soft golden drink. “Well, mead does tend to help with that.”
“Mm-hmm. Also…” Knowles leaned over the bar slightly, lowering their voice. “Can you tell me anything about the four folks who came in a little while ago?”
“Which four?”
“Lady in the fur, skinny half-orc, armored elf, dwarf with an unusual beard.”
“Ah, those four. Well, what about them?”
Knowles had been watching them for a bit. The dwarf was sitting at the other end of the bar quietly, sipping a single drink and not really talking to anyone, but had definitely come in with the other three. The elf’s armor was gorgeous and shiny and looked like it had cost a fortune, as well as having the symbol of a deity Knowles didn’t recognize on their armor. That was a knight, a paladin, even, not a common soldier or guard. The woman, whose skin was a sort of earthy dark green but who definitely didn’t look orcish, was laughing and talking to the half-orc like they were having a conversation, though he never spoke out loud or with any kind of sign language Knowles could see. And the half-orc…he was young, not more than fifteen or sixteen years old, and that was assuming he was small for his age, but Knowles was good at reading people and figuring out how they carried themselves, and this kid was powerful . Not confident like the woman or calm like the elf or quietly competent like the dwarf, but powerful. Powerful enough that Knowles wouldn’t want to take him on in a fight, that’s for sure. “Just curious,” Knowles said. “Wondering if they’re after the same thing that we are.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but they seem nice.” Conspiratorially, Tessa said, “That young elf bought the drinks for the party, and they are a very good tipper. A bard, I believe.” She started filling another cup with ale for Knowles.
They raised an eyebrow. The elf definitely had the money to be a good tipper if they were less stingy than most of the rich people Knowles had met, but… “A bard? Really, with that armor?”
“You didn’t hear their voice,” Tessa said.
“Nice voice or not, they’re definitely a paladin of some sort. Have you ever seen a bard with a longsword?”
“I’ve seen a lot of things, dear,” Tessa replied. “I’m telling you, they just have that air about them.” She paused, hiding a smile. “Also, they did ask me if it was alright if they played some music in a little while.” She handed them the drinks.
“Ah.” Knowles tapped their finger against the glass. “Musician, I wouldn’t have bet against, but…a bard in armor .” They chuckled. “You don’t see that every day. Thanks, Tessa.”
“Of course, dear.”
Knowles made their way over to the table Zara was sitting at, lingering just a moment longer than necessary near the table where the woman and the half-orc and the elf sat.
“... do need to catch a snake by hand, ya should always try to have a stick, preferably with a fork or a hook at the end, to keep its bitey parts away from yer hand when ya grab its tail,” the woman was explaining vehemently in an accent that sounded weirdly Gnomish for somebody who was nearly as tall as Knowles was.
Snakes. Oh, lovely. A druid. Or possibly a ranger, but she didn’t have a bow, or any other weapon. Knowles looked around surreptitiously to make sure she hadn’t brought any snakes or otherwise unpleasant animals into the inn. They didn’t see any. Phew . They got to Zara’s table and placed the mead down in front of her.
“...thanks,” Zara muttered.
“You are welcome. You want company?”
“Never.” She took a drink. “But whatever.”
Knowles smiled and sat down. They didn’t say much, just sat and drank with her and watched out of the corner of their eye as her shoulders slowly began to relax.
A few minutes later, the elf reached into their bag and took out a couple of instruments. There was a simple silver flute and a beautiful small harp that laid flat across their lap.
Knowles heard Zara groan as the first few notes started up. “ Ugh , that person’s a bard ?”
“A musician, for sure.”
“No, they’re a bard, I can tell. Gods. I hope they’re less obnoxious about it than Killiker.”
Knowles laughed. Then, suddenly, the music that the elf was playing hit them, and they knew exactly what Zara meant. “Oh, wow .”
They were playing the harp with one hand and holding the flute with the other, and a melody that seemed more complicated than those two instruments while being played one-handed should really be able to produce was floating out across the inn. There wasn’t any overt magic in the music–at least, it wasn’t forcing any emotional reactions like some other bards would do. But as Knowles kept listening, and as the elf put down the flute and began to sing quietly in a smooth, rich tenor, a shiver went down their spine. The lyrics were in Elvish.
Knowles leaned over towards Zara. “What are they saying?” they whispered.
“Shh.” Zara listened for a moment. “It’s about a girl. Taralyn, I think is the name, unless that translates to something I don’t know. Which it might. They’re singing in some fancy high Elvish, and not even the dialect high elves speak around here. They must be from far away.”
“Interesting.” Knowles propped their chin up on their hand. “Just a normal little love song, or…?”
“I’m not sure. Hold on.” Zara’s brow furrowed in concentration. “They’re saying, I’ll be there in the darkness, I’ll be there to…um, take the things you’re afraid of? And when the end comes, I’ll take your place.”
“Huh.”
“Taralyn, you’ll stay where your garden is growing…something about heartbeats…I don’t know what that part meant. Um…the dawn reaches out its hands to guide us. I’ll be there in the darkness, et cetera.” Zara cleared her throat and sat back, drinking more of her mead.
Knowles had a little smile on their face as they listened.
The next song that the elf sang was in Common. Their accent was soft, lilting. “Oh, say the sun, to the soil, here’s to my ever-loving girl. Here’s to the heart on my sleeve. A piece of you is a piece of me.”
A weird nostalgic ache swelled up in Knowles’s chest. They had to blink a few times as their sinuses began to burn like they were on the brink of tears. Huh.
The elf only sang a couple more songs, both in Elvish, both about a strange mix of sorrow and… delight at being alive to feel sorrow. Zara wasn’t translating anymore, so Knowles didn’t have any real basis for that analysis. But they somehow knew it anyway.
The druid woman struck up another conversation with the musician when they finished the fourth song, saying something Knowles couldn't quite hear but which made the elf smile a bright, warm smile that crinkled the corners of their eyes. Even the half-orc boy smiled a little bit, and he reached out and tapped the elf's arm. Some exchange happened there that Knowles couldn't catch, and the elf said, "I know which one you mean, Maburk, here." They picked up the flute again and played a fast-paced little tune.
"So, verdict on whether they're as bad as Killiker?" Knowles asked Zara.
She had nearly finished her mead, and was starting to look a bit tired. "Could be worse."
"Well, I like their music. I want to talk to them," Knowles said.
"Eugh. Why?"
"Mostly because I think this little group could be dangerous if they're after the same thing we are," they said more seriously.
"These guys? Really?"
"Looks can be deceiving," warned Knowles. "I wouldn't want these people as enemies. But I need a little more information in case they do mean trouble."
"Well, go talk to them, then," Zara said. She yawned and crossed her arms. "I'm not going to stop you from giving me some peace and quiet."
They didn't take it personally. They waited until the elf finished the jaunty little flute tune before approaching the table. The half-orc boy looked a little nervous, but Knowles gave him as reassuring of a smile as they could and addressed the elf. "You play beautifully," Knowles said.
"Thank you." The elf's expression was even more overwhelmingly bright when it was focused on them. They adjusted the purple silk scarf that was draped and tied loosely over their head–not quite self-consciously, but definitely trying to tidy up their appearance.
“Could I buy you a drink?” Knowles said directly. “Maybe play a game of cards or dice? I want to talk to you.”
The druid leaned over to whisper something in the half-orc’s ear, and the kid actually giggled quietly.
“I would like that.” The elf stood up. Their armor clinked softly, sounding more like bells than full plate. They actually gave a formal little bow. “Call me Oren.”
Knowles stifled a giggle themself as they put a hand out to shake. “I’m Knowles. Have you tried the cider here? Miss Tessa makes it herself, it’s wonderful.”
“I haven’t, but I’d love to.” Oren clasped their hand. Theirs was soft and delicate despite obvious strength and callouses from both their sword and the harp. “Are you a regular at the inn, then, or just passing through?”
“Both, weirdly.” The two of them walked up to the bar. “Two ciders, please, Tessa?”
“Of course, just a moment, dear.”
Oren reached into a pouch at their waist and put a few silver pieces onto the bar, not drawing attention to it or looking away from Knowles. “A brief homecoming? Or do you travel a route?”
“And neither , weirdly. The Goblin’s Head is magic. It’s sentient.” Knowles wasn’t going to complain about Oren volunteering to pay for the drinks instead, even though they’d offered first. “It’s following my friends and I on our journey.” They tapped their foot affectionately on the floor. “It thinks we’re interesting, apparently.”
Oren looked delighted. “The building is alive?”
“Sure is. And it likes us.”
“Of course it does,” Oren said with smooth sincerity. “I have only known you for a few minutes and I can see why.”
Knowles’s cheeks got a little warm. Bards . They cleared their throat as they heard Tessa chuckle. “Where are you from, Oren? Not from around here, I’m guessing?”
“No, very far away. Have you heard of Freistaldt?”
“That sounds vaguely familiar. It’s not on this continent, is it?”
Oren shook their head. “Far to the east.”
“There was a civil war there,” Knowles recalled. They’d heard stories about it early in their days as a guard. A group of refugees had come to the Capital seeking assistance. Knowles couldn’t remember if they had gotten any. “It ended about ten years ago.”
“Twelve, yes. And it lasted nearly twenty.”
If Oren had been a soldier in that war, that would explain the competence with a blade that was practically oozing off of them. As Tessa handed their drinks over and they went to sit at a small, unoccupied table nearby, Knowles didn’t prod further at the war topic, instead just saying, “Sounds like you’ve had a long journey.”
“It has been. What about you? Are you a local?”
“More local than you, but not really. I’m from the Capital of the kingdom to the south of here. We’ve been on the road for a while as well.”
Oren took a drink of the cider. “You were right, this is delicious.”
“Right? Everything Tessa makes is lovely."
“Did you want to play a game, then? If we play cards, you may have to teach me, but I am familiar with more dice games,” Oren said.
“Let’s start with dice, then. Do you gamble?” Knowles watched them carefully. They knew some holy people weren’t fond of betting, though others didn’t mind.
“Not usually. I have gotten in trouble gambling the few times I have tried,” Oren said with a soft laugh. “The people I played with thought my luck was too good. But I do not cheat.”
Knowles immediately perked up. “Interesting,” they said. They pulled a set of dice out of their pocket. “Luck and chance are kind of my specialty. I’m looking forward to seeing how this goes.”
After a few games, Knowles was even more intrigued. Oren’s luck was good. Not outrageously, not suspiciously , just enough that Knowles wasn’t sweeping handily like they normally would. They’d have to play dozens more to really be sure it wasn’t a fluke. Still, interesting.
“So,” Knowles said eventually, “I’ve been meaning to ask, who’s the girl you were singing about?” They let themself sound just slightly flirtatious–not seriously, although Oren was cute. If their paths were only crossing for the night, there wasn’t much of a point in getting attached, and if Oren and their party were after the Gem of Fortune…well, then there was really no point in getting attached.
Oren looked up from the dice. They didn’t look put off by the question, but there was more sadness on their face than amusement. “Tonight I was mostly singing about my younger sister, Taralyn.”
“Oh,” Knowles said. That nostalgic ache they had felt while listening to Oren sing suddenly gave a pang again in their heart. Not a typical love song at all, then. A piece of you is a piece of me. “Where…where is she?” they dared to ask.
“Home,” Oren replied quietly. “Where she belongs.”
“Home on another continent?”
Oren nodded.
“You miss her,” Knowles said. It wasn’t a question.
“Terribly,” said Oren.
Knowles thought that they should probably let it go, but… “Why did you travel so far away if you have family that you miss?”
Oren tilted their head, clearly thinking about how to answer.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Knowles hastened. “You barely know me and that can get really personal. I’m just curious.”
“No, I will tell you! We may have only just met, but nobody ever became friends by withholding their stories and trust,” Oren said, very earnestly. “I would like to know you better, Knowles. It is just…complicated to explain why I left home.”
As they had spoken, Knowles watched a shimmery mote of greenish-silver light form in the air. It shaped itself into a tiny leaf and a twisting sprout, and it alighted on the back of their hand and wrapped around their wrist–a little offering of potential magical assistance, the bardic power of encouragement made visible and tangible. It glowed faintly and felt rather warm. “Well,” Knowles said, looking at the leaf and then back at Oren with more affection than they had planned to have for this strange, sweet, trusting elf, “I’m listening.”
“My family have been knights for many hundreds of years,” Oren began. “It is an expectation, a duty, for the members of the family Solmaere to have at least one knight in each generation. Knights of Kenhald, our deity of redemption, are tasked with traveling the world and providing the people we meet with the opportunity and resources and support to improve and make amends to those they may have hurt, as well as the protection and safeguarding of the Light that lives in all mortal beings.” Oren reached across the table and briefly touched Knowles’s cheek. “The Light that I see in every person’s smile. It shines brightly in you.”
Knowles couldn’t help but smile at that statement. “Well, wandering knight, that all sounds incredibly noble.”
“It is a high calling,” acknowledged Oren. “My family’s calling.”
“But not yours,” Knowles realized.
They hesitated. “It is my calling to nurture the Light. I just imagined I would be fulfilling it more often with a song than with a sword.”
“Somebody in your family had to do it, though,” Knowles said. “But your sister didn’t want to?”
“Tara and I both were encouraged to follow our own passions. She is an incredible gardener, and a clockwork tinkerer, and she plays music with me when I am home," Oren said. "We did not expect that the knighthood would fall to either of us."
Knowles frowned. They were starting to understand what Oren was implying.
"We were the youngest of our siblings," they continued. "Ettrian was a fully trained knight before I was even born. Viessa finished her training when I was very young, and Khyrmin was knighted just in time for the war."
"Ohh…"
"They were called home to fight for our lord. Now King. Twenty years as soldiers." Oren's voice got a faraway quality to it. Not detached, but quietly matter-of-fact. "They were some of the bravest, best knights in our lord's army. All became captains. It was a slow war, you understand, a quiet war. Months passed often between battles, months that soldiers could take to visit home. We thought it would never end, and we thought they would always keep coming home."
"Oren," Knowles said quietly. "You don't have to."
"We heard the news that the war was won in a fight with few casualties, an easy surrender, a day before we heard that our siblings had been killed. Twenty years they survived, and all three Solmaere knights fell in the final battle of the war."
"What are the odds?" Knowles whispered, horrified and devastated.
Oren gave a little shrug. "I would imagine slim."
"I am so sorry for your losses," Knowles stated. "I…I am so sorry."
"Thank you. And for listening." Oren took a breath and actually smiled at them. "Twelve years is not so long, especially for an elf, but it is long enough that the wounds are not quite raw."
"A familiar kind of hurt," Knowles murmured.
"Yes."
Knowles felt the warmth of the magic of the leaf on their wrist, and they drew it within themself to gather the courage to speak. "I feel the same way about my family. My sibling, Bailey, especially. They died when we were kids."
Oren’s eyes shone. They took Knowles's hand, running their thumb across the place on their wrist where the leaf had disappeared. "It is good to talk to somebody who understands. You carry their Light bravely."
Knowles wasn't sure about that, but if they said anything else right now, they thought they might start crying, and that just wouldn't do. They let Oren touch their hand for a moment longer, then cleared their throat and reached for the dice. "Another game?"