“I watch the world, fascinating,

Insects buzz, pulsating

Fields of planting, branches heavy

The earth is dry, the harvest levy

Thunderstorms, long, hot days

Summer shimmer in a haze.”

Though the song was quite quiet and contemplative, Giordi sang confidently. Lady LeMewn drew strength from his constant, practiced singing, her playing increasing in volume to match her vocal accompaniment.

“I watch the world, anticipating,

Leaves are falling, separating

Golden hues, red and brown

Dying, withering, falling down

Carpet gold, kingly fit

Trees are bare, the sky is lit.”

Judd had a vision of the forests behind Fort Faine where the farmers had hidden and the goblins had terrorised. He recalled the way the leaves had made a carpet of the most beautiful hues and the trees, white like pillars of marble, as though the forest was always in the grip of a beautiful, endless autumn.

“I watch the world, contemplating,

Snowflakes softly permeating

Icy breath, frosty toes

Lazy south wind, it blows

Nights are long, the days are cold

In my bones, so very old.”

Caste shivered, remembering the nights he spent in a dorm room with other Order of the Grail clerical applicants. His roommates would be off talking and laughing in the dining hall while Caste huddled on his bed, trying to keep warm, a lantern clutched in one hand and the other, steadying the book on his knees as he studied.

“I watch the world, speculating

The first green shoots, indicating

Sunlight warms, springtime breath

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Throwing off the cape of death

New life bursts through crack and vein

The world has come alive again.”

Verne closed her eyes and recalled the days following the hateful winters where food was scarce and heat was even more so. She would erupt from the bed the moment she could, sprinting across the frosty ground, hunting for green sprouts which would tell her that the seemingly unbreakable grasp of winter had finally relinquished its hold.

“I spend my life in endless waiting,

Always still, hesitating,

Watching as the world goes by

My life continues til I die

So I will sample this gift of life

No matter the season of wealth or strife

And in this moment, what else becomes,

I shall live for tomorrow never comes.”

Lady LeMewn ended the song with a few light caresses of the harp then rested her fingers against the strings to silence their hum. She looked at Giordi, her eyes shimmering with unbroken tears.

“A more than worthy accompaniment.” Giordi said before she could speak, bowing to her then took her hand and led her back to the table.

“I was hoping for something a little more jaunty.” Lord LeMewn lamented.

“Harps are not typically jaunty instruments, I apologise.” Giordi said, taking the criticism wholly onto himself.

“Beautifully sung, Gavoli,” Judd complimented then looked up at Lady LeMewn as she took her seat, “beautifully played, Lady LeMewn.”

She nodded her head, lightly blushed from the praise.

“A warrior with musical appreciation?” Clariet raised his eyebrows. “You are unusual, Judd LaMogre.”

“That’s what my cleric keeps telling me.” Judd joked lightly then realised his dessert had been taken away while he was distracted. He had to hide his sigh, hoping his rumbling stomach wouldn’t embarrass him.

“What about you, the silent one, on the end?” Clariet asked.

He could only mean Verne who met Clariet’s gaze without flinching. He couldn’t help his appearance but there was something a little unsettling about Clariet. He had such light coloured hair it was almost white yet his eyes were dark. In a way he reminded Judd of pictures he had seen of snowmen with bits of black coal for eyes in a bed of white snow.

“What would you have me say?” Verne replied flatly.

“Are you as unusual as the man you follow?”

“Verne Sachon is a brilliant archer,” Judd interjected strongly, “he has saved my life and I would say is the bravest of all of us.”

“Even you?”

Judd shrugged. “There have been moments where I have faltered but Verne has not. Not even the spiders of Fort Sol unnerved him.”

“Perhaps it is your archer who is killing the monsters and you’re taking the credit?” Judd’s jaw fell down and he struggled to know how to respond to this less than lightly phrased accusation.

“I have never taken a kill away from LaMogre,” Verne said strongly, with a bite in his tone, “and it is possible that Judd speaks too highly of me.”

“Possible…but not likely.” Clariet looked at LeMewn. “Perhaps we should tempt the archer with a placement amongst your own guards?”

Judd heard Verne’s teeth grind together and wondered if there was an etiquette rule about being unable to refuse a lord, especially one was the half brother to the king whom they served.

“You are a cleric or deacon? I’m a little confused on that score.” Judd asked, hoping to change the subject.

“I was promoted from cleric to deacon a mere three days before I left Astaril for my post here.” Clariet explained.

“Though I am not a knight, my lordship of Quarre still required an officer of the Order of the Grail,” Lord LeMewn narrated, “but after the death of the cleric who assisted Sir Ift, King Rocheveron refused to send a mere cleric to assist me so he and Bishop Peele came to an agreement that Clariet should receive his deacon promotion,” Clariet gave a small smile which LeMewn caught sight of, “not that he did not already merit such an honour and his presence means I am never without guidance and counsel. Clariet has been invaluable to me in establishing order and understanding in Quarre.”

“Your Lordship is too kind.”

“An excellent pairing, it seems.” Judd drank more wine, alarmed when the servant refilled it.

He was glad the tavern was downhill. He suspected he would be rolling the entire way.