Ebony and Amilco exchanged a quick nod and parted ways. Amilco headed back towards the group of monks, while Ebony, heart pounding, made his way deeper into the ballroom.

As he moved through the crowd, a few heads turned. Some recognized him from his street performances in the town square, a small cheer rippling through that particular pocket of the crowd. One of them was the young woman who had been watching him with such interest during his recent performances. However, for the majority of the attendees, he was simply another musician, a fleeting presence in the sea of faces.

Ebony turned to the small crowd that had recognized him, a wave of gratitude washing over him. "The Bard from the Town Square!" someone called out, and a cheer erupted. "Play us a tune!"

Ebony raised a hand to silence the enthusiastic crowd. "Hold on, hold on!" he called out, his voice a little breathless. "I'll be playing for you momentarily.

But first," he paused, his eyes scanning the room, "I need to find the head of this whole affair, the one who organized this magnificent event."

The young woman from the town square, her eyes sparkling with excitement, pointed towards a group of elegantly dressed ladies. "That's Lord Claymore," she whispered, "the one talking to those ladies."

Ebony followed her gaze. Lord Claymore, a man of imposing stature with a silver mane of hair, was engaged in conversation with a bevy of beautiful women, his laughter booming across the room.

Ebony started to fix himself, trying to dust off his face and smooth down his attire. He was still a bit self-conscious about the bruises he'd sustained earlier. He took a deep breath and started to make his way towards Lord Claymore, when he was abruptly cut off by a tall, imposing elderly gentleman who was impeccably dressed for the occasion.

Ebony didn't recognize him. This was Leonard, a renowned musician in the kingdom, and he was not about to let anyone disturb Lord Claymore. Beside Leonard stood one of the Shaolin monks, his presence a silent but imposing reminder of the monastery's watchful eye.

Leonard looked down at Ebony, his eyebrows furrowed. "Can I help you, young man?" he inquired, his voice a low rumble that cut through the lively chatter of the ballroom. His gaze, though seemingly benign, held a subtle undercurrent of disapproval. Beside him, the Shaolin monk stood impassive, a silent guardian watching over the professional musician.

Ebony, despite the imposing figure of Leonard and the watchful gaze of the monk, mustered his courage. "I was just hoping to speak with Lord Claymore," he replied, trying to project an air of confidence. "I have a proposition for him."

Leonard looked Ebony up and down, his gaze lingering on the slight bruises that marred the young bard's face. Ebony, despite his best efforts, still looked a bit rough around the edges. His clothes, though clean, were simple and unassuming, a stark contrast to the extravagant attire of the other guests. He looked, to Leonard's discerning eye, like someone who had just tumbled out of bed, thrown on whatever clothes were available, and somehow miraculously found himself in this opulent ballroom.

Leonard stopped him right there. "Look, I know this is a good time, and you don't usually see his lordship," he said, his voice firm. "But now is a time for celebration, not for business. If you have issues with the Bandit problems, or any other personal matters, you'll have to address them later. This is a day of celebration, a time to enjoy oneself. Leave your problems for his lordship at another time."

Ebony corrected him, "No, I wasn't trying to ask for any personal favors. I was just hoping to play some music at the ball. I was hoping to provide some entertainment."

Leonard looked at Ebony, his expression hardening. "Listen, little one," he said, his voice firm. "I am the entertainment here. This is my ball. You don't have to play music here."

He paused, his gaze unwavering. "I know your music is… unique," he conceded, choosing his words carefully. "But this is my performance, my show. I want to maintain a certain atmosphere, a particular mood. And I don't think… well, I don't think your music would quite fit."

Leonard felt a surge of annoyance. He had meticulously planned this evening, every detail carefully considered. The music, the lighting, the ambiance – it was all meant to create a specific atmosphere, a sense of refined elegance. He feared that Ebony's music, with its raw, earthy energy, would disrupt the carefully crafted illusion, jarring the guests and shattering the mood.

He wasn't necessarily threatened by Ebony's talent, but rather by the potential disruption to his own vision. He had worked tirelessly to curate this evening, and he wouldn't allow some unknown street musician to jeopardize it.

Ebony, despite feeling a pang of disappointment, remained calm. "With all due respect, sir," he said, "I believe my music could add a unique touch to the evening. It's different, yes, but I think it could bring a certain energy to the proceedings."

Leonard considered this, his expression softening slightly. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, young man," he said, "but I believe your music might not be quite right for the tone of this particular gathering." He paused, "This is a formal affair, a celebration of the kingdom's elite. The music should reflect that."

Leonard, however, was unaware that his carefully curated atmosphere was intended solely for the upper echelon of society. He failed to consider the impact his music, and the exclusion of other musicians, would have on the common folk gathered in the lower ballroom. He was, in a way, perpetuating the very social divide he sought to ignore.

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Ebony, still determined not to give up, informed the man, "Excuse me, sir, but my name is Ebony, and I came here to make a proposition. I was hoping to play some music for Lord Claymore and be compensated for my performance."

Leonard chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Of course not," he said. "Lord Claymore has already commissioned me for this event. Apparently, he prefers not to have two musicians competing for attention."

Ebony felt a pang of disappointment. He had been hoping to earn some much-needed coin at the ball.

"Besides," Leonard continued, "even if you had approached him now, it's already too late. He commissioned me well before the ball began."

Ebony felt a pang of disappointment. He had been hoping to earn some much-needed coin at the ball. He glanced around the opulent ballroom, taking in the extravagant displays of wealth. It was a world away from the streets where he usually performed. He sighed, a touch of bitterness creeping into his voice.

"So, I'm just… out of luck then?"

Leonard, though still a bit ruffled, felt a flicker of sympathy for the young man. "I apologize," he said, his tone softening slightly. "Lord Claymore was quite insistent on having sole musical entertainment."

Ebony nodded, accepting the situation with a mixture of disappointment and resignation. He knew that arguing further would be pointless. He might not be performing at the ball, but he wouldn't let this setback dampen his spirits. He would find another way to make his mark, another stage to showcase his talent.

Ebony, visibly disappointed, looked at Leonard and simply said, "Thank you for informing me." He then turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped.

Leonard watched him go, a flicker of unease passing through him. He felt a tinge of pity for the young man, but he couldn't allow himself to be swayed. He had a reputation to uphold, a performance to deliver.

Deep down, however, a small seed of doubt had been planted. He hadn't heard Ebony play, and he couldn't deny that the young bard had a certain… presence.

Perhaps, he mused, he had been too quick to dismiss him. But those thoughts were quickly dismissed. He had a performance to prepare for, a room full of expectant guests waiting for his music to begin.

Turning back to Lord Claymore, he offered a reassuring smile. "I'll be ready in a moment, my lord," he declared, his voice brimming with confidence.

Ebony rubbed his scalp, trying to recuperate. He was still sad for a moment, but he quickly rallied, his mind already formulating a new plan. He would play for the common folk, down in the lower ballroom. His voice, powerful and resonant, would carry, and he would be handsomely compensated for his efforts.

Ebony, determined not to let this setback dampen his spirits, walked towards the small group of common folk he had spoken with earlier.

Ebony, determined not to let this setback dampen his spirits, walked towards the small group of common folk he had spoken with earlier. "Hey," he said with a friendly smile, "if you'd like to hear some music, follow me." He grabbed his lute and started walking towards the entrance, inviting the curious onlookers to follow him.

A small group of people, recognizing him from his street performances, eagerly trailed behind him. Ebony led them away from the opulent ballroom, towards a secluded courtyard bathed in the warm glow of the moon.

He stopped at the edge of the courtyard, his eyes closed, his face a mask of intense concentration. He stood there for a moment, perfectly still, the lute resting gently against his chest.

Ebony opened his eyes and smiled at the small group gathered around him. "Alright," he said, "let's make some music." He gently strummed a few chords on his lute, a soft melody filling the air.

The courtyard, once quiet, was now filled with the enchanting sounds of Ebony's music. His fingers danced across the strings, weaving a tapestry of sound that captivated his audience.

As he played, Ebony felt a sense of peace wash over him.

He was no longer playing for the approval of the elite, no longer seeking the favor of the wealthy. He was playing for these people, for the common folk who appreciated his music for what it was – a simple, honest expression of joy and sorrow.

And as he played, he realized that perhaps this was where he belonged, not in the gilded cages of the upper class, but amongst the people, sharing his music with those who truly appreciated it.

Ebony opened his eyes and began to play. The music flowed from him, a vibrant, infectious melody that drew the small crowd closer. He moved his feet, a slow, deliberate rhythm guiding his steps.

Suddenly, he began to dance, his body swaying to the beat of the music. The crowd, initially hesitant, was captivated. A young girl, her eyes wide with wonder, began to clap her hands. Soon, others followed, their feet tapping a hesitant beat against the stone.

Before long, Ebony and his small group of listeners were dancing, a joyful circle of movement and music in the heart of the opulent estate. The music, once a source of frustration, had become a celebration, a reminder that life, and music, could be found in the most unexpected places.

Ebony, feeling a surge of energy, reached out and took the hand of the young girl who had been clapping along. He smiled, and together they began to dance, their movements a joyful expression of the music.

The other members of the small group, emboldened by Ebony's example, joined the dance, their laughter mingling with the music.

Soon, a small circle had formed, their bodies swaying in rhythm to the enchanting melodies.

Word of the impromptu performance spread quickly. People from the lower ballroom, intrigued by the sounds of music and laughter, began to trickle out, drawn to the vibrant scene unfolding in the courtyard.

Before long, the small circle of dancers had grown into a larger group, a vibrant tapestry of movement and joy. The music, once a source of contention, had become a bridge, connecting the common folk with the magic of the night.

Meanwhile Inside the opulent ballroom, the nobles were enthralled. Leonard, a master musician, was captivating the audience with a unique blend of melodies.

While the concept of an "orchestra" hadn't yet been formally coined, his performance, with its intricate interplay of various instruments, was a symphony of sound unlike anything they had ever experienced before.

The music flowed like a river, weaving its way through the room, washing over the guests in waves of pure delight. They listened, mesmerized, as if savoring the finest vintage wine, a rare and exquisite experience. This was music on a different level, a transcendent art form that elevated their spirits and transported them to another realm.

Lord Claymore, observing the rapturous expressions on his guests' faces, couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. He had chosen wisely.

Leonard had his eyes closed, remaining focused on his rhythm and his music. He didn't have to keep his eyes on the sheet music; he had enough confidence to hit every single note. He'd been practicing for years, perfecting this piece, honing his art until they were as sharp as a finely honed blade.

Lord Claymore turned to the King and Queen, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "Your Majesties," he inquired, "how do you find the music? Is the artist I suggested to your satisfaction?"

The King, a man of discerning tastes, leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. "Magnificent, Claymore, absolutely magnificent," he declared. "The music is simply enchanting. Leonard, he is a true master of his craft."

The Queen, ever the gracious hostess, nodded in agreement. "It's the most exquisite music I've heard in years," she chimed in. "So captivating, so… ethereal."

Lord Claymore beamed with pride. "I'm glad you both enjoy it, Your Majesties. Leonard is indeed a gifted musician." He gestured towards the musicians, "His talent is a true gift to the kingdom."

The King stood up, his eyes still on Leonard, who continued to mesmerize the audience with his music. He gestured for Lord Claymore to join him, and together they walked towards the edge of the ballroom, continuing to listen to the music as they moved.

The King and Lord Claymore walked along the edge of the ballroom, their conversation hushed as they continued to listen to Leonard's captivating performance.

The King, leaning closer, whispered, "Did you hear what King Silas was proposing? Maximum shipments of ironwood and fresh fish... quite the trade deal."

Lord Claymore, feeling a slight frown tugging at his lips, acknowledged the King's concern. "Indeed, Your Majesty," he replied. "King Silas' demands cannot be ignored."

The King nodded, his gaze sweeping across the ballroom. "This trade agreement is crucial for our kingdom's prosperity," he remarked. "We must ensure the shipments are met."

Lord Claymore, though inwardly frustrated at the interruption to the festivities, understood the gravity of the situation. He bowed his head. "Of course, Your Majesty. I will ensure the shipments are met."

He inwardly sighed. He had hoped to enjoy this evening, to escape the constant pressures of governing. But it seemed that even at a social gathering, the demands of his duty inevitably intruded.

As they approached a large window, they were met with an unexpected sight. Below, in the courtyard, a group of people were dancing, their movements a joyful expression of unrestrained energy. At the center of the group, Ebony, his face alight with passion, played his lute with a fervor that seemed to ignite the night. Beside him, other commoners joined in, their own instruments adding to the lively music.

The King and Lord Claymore exchanged surprised glances. They had not anticipated this.

The King, a twinkle in his eye, said, "Well, look at that. The common folk found their own music and their own fun."

The King continued to watch, a shared smile gracing their lips. Both groups, the nobles within the ballroom and the commoners in the courtyard, were enjoying themselves in their own unique way.

Lord Claymore, though unimpressed by the impromptu performance, decided not to intervene. After all, it was harmless enough.

He turned back to the King, "Shall we continue our discussion, Your Majesty?"

The King, however, waved a dismissive hand. "No, no, let us simply enjoy this unexpected entertainment," he declared. "Fetch me a fine wine, Claymore, and let us observe."

Lord Claymore, though slightly surprised by the King's change of heart, bowed his head and promptly left to fetch the desired beverage.

The King turned back to the group outside, a genuine smile gracing his lips. He watched as the commoners danced, their movements a joyful expression of unrestrained energy.

He then turned his attention back to the ballroom, where the nobles were equally enthralled by Leonard's music.

The King found himself captivated by both scenes.

The music, whether played by Leonard or by the impromptu band in the courtyard, seemed to have a unifying effect, bringing joy and laughter to all.

He raised his glass, a silent toast to the power of music to bring people together.