After the Battle III

She played her harp, scarcely hearing the sounds of the tavern going on around her.

The Music she played was her only solace...she had grown up the
daughter of a Bardess, who had taught her the love of notes.
Although she did not follow in her mother's footsteps, she kept
the love of song in her heart.

There was a fair crowd in the inn this eve. On good nights, she
might have a few silver in her cup at the end of the night. It
was not easy getting along, ever since...

She played faster, closing her eyes once more, allowing the music
to wash over her, to stem the tide of pain, the pain of Memory,
that foe who had not let her be ever since she was told of her
newlywed husband's death in battle.

A Lurikeen walked by her and tossed several copper coins into her
cup as he left the tavern.

Her current song ended, and she calmed a bit...she started a new
tune. She looked up from her instrument and looked around the
room. The usual drunkards in the far corner; a party of brightly-
clad Guildsmen laughing and telling old stories; a few lone
individuals staring in their cups; and the old man, sitting in
the back of the smoky room, against the wall.

This was the third night in a row that she had seen him. He had
looked at her, stared even; something that she was used to, yes,
but the stare was not the usual kind she received from men. It
was almost as if he wanted to say something to her...and...

...almost as if he was remembering. Something she had tried desperately to avoid.

She played a fast, light tune that was known by all, one that
made it easy to smile and forget for a moment at least any cares
that might press on one's soul.

The old man stood, and slowly walked towards her. She noted a
limp in his walk, and a scar upon his face; a soldier. Like
many who passed through this place.

He pulled up a chair near her, looking uncomfortable, his eyes
facing the rest of the room like hers.

As she finished her tune, he looked over at her briefly and said:

"You have talent, Milady. It is good to hear soothing sounds,
for not all in this world is soothing."

He scowled as he finished his words, as if thinking better of
what he had said.

She struck up another song, looking straight ahead, her face
carefully devoid of emotion.

"Yes, Milord."

As she played, he seemed to be pondering something...deciding...

A Firbolg, obviously drunk, yelled out: "Dance, woman, dance
for us!" The old man next to her stood, his eyes blazing with
wrath, his hand sliding his cloak aside from the pommel of his
sword. The Firbolg muttered to himself, and turned his attention
elsewhere.

As her song ended, the old man, seated once again, said:

"Play his favorite song for me, Milady. The one he would want
to hear every night."

She was stunned, her breath caught in her chest, something
twisted deep inside her, but she looked at him, her eyes
moist, and saw he looked at her with compassion, a haunted
look upon him, his head tilted to the side as if recalling
something long ago.

She squeezed her eyes shut and wept, and she played her dead
husband's favorite tune, a soft lullaby that was very sweet
and flowing, and she flowed along with the music, face streaked
with tears as she remembered; Memory had caught up with her, and
Memory was her enemy, yes, but it was also a friend, bringing
happiness back to her, though it was shrouded in sorrow.

When the lullaby was done, she opened her eyes.

The old man was gone.

On the little table at her elbow, a scarf rested, a scarf she
had known so well...and resting on top of it was a single coin,
a platinum coin.

She kept on weeping.