The next morning began much like the one before, but knowing what to expect made it manageable. The ache was still there, the dull reminder of blood and discomfort, but it no longer felt like an emergency. It was something I could endure.
I woke lying back to back with Illara, her warmth a quiet anchor in the cold room. She was still asleep, breathing slow and even. I appreciated her presence more than I wanted to admit. Not because it made me feel safe, exactly, but because it reminded me I was not alone in this.
We still had two days before Norman was ready again. Extra coin would help, especially if we were travelling back to Holver soon. But more than that, I needed to do something that proved I could exist without violence. Something that showed Illara a side of me she could trust.
So today, we would be bards.
When Illara finally stirred, I waited until she was sitting up and fully awake before I spoke.
“I was thinking we could spend some time today singing in taverns to earn a bit of coin,” I said. “What do you think?”
Illara blinked at me, then smiled faintly. It was a small expression, but it made something ease in my chest.
“That sounds great,” she said. “If you’re up to it. Based on yesterday, I didn’t think you would be.”
“I want to do something today that helps us,” I said. “And singing is something I can do.” I hesitated, then added, “I will need you to collect the coin though. If you’re willing.”
Illara’s smile grew.
“That sounds good,” she said. “But please tell me when you’ve had enough. I’d rather avoid conflict if possible.”
Her caution was fair. Yesterday I had snapped at a stranger, and even though I wanted to blame pain and exhaustion, the truth was uglier. Something in me had enjoyed the sharpness. Not the woman’s discomfort, but the feeling of cutting someone down. Drisnil’s reflex, and my own resentment tangled together.
Today I would do better.
After a quick breakfast of leftover rations, we headed for the first tavern. The same one we had sung in before. It was quiet in the morning, the air inside still stale with last night’s ale and smoke, but that gave us a chance to speak with the owner without an audience.
He was wiping down a table when we approached, and he looked up with only mild interest.
“Hi,” I said, forcing my friendliest smile. “I was hoping to sing a few songs for the lunch crowd today.”
His eyes narrowed slightly in recognition. “Ah. You two again. Singing for lunch?”
“Yes,” I said, then corrected myself before he could assume the wrong thing. “But this time, we were hoping for a cut of the coin the patrons throw in. Not just a meal.”
He leaned back, hand to his chin, weighing us as if we were a gamble.
“How about I take half,” he said at last, “and you take the rest.”
I shook my head. “That isn’t worth it for us. Twenty-five percent to you is fair. This is extra coin you wouldn’t have without us. More people stay, drink more, and you still get most of the benefit.”
His expression remained flat, but the calculation behind his eyes was obvious.
“Forty percent,” he said. “No lower. I provide the patrons. Without them you’d be singing in the street in the cold.”
I waited a beat, then nodded once.
“Deal.”
We shook hands.
“I’m Drisnil,” I said. “This is Illara.”
“Ivor,” he replied. His voice was neutral and his face remained expressionless, as if the agreement had cost him something even while it benefited him. “I’ll look forward to your performance.”
We stepped away and found a table near the wall. Somewhere we could watch the room fill and not be too exposed.
Now came the harder part.
I leaned toward Illara and kept my voice low. “So. I still have a few songs in Drisnil’s memories. What sort of song do you think we should start with?”
Illara thought for a moment. “Do you have any more Elvish songs? I liked the one you performed at the festival.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But most of them are… melancholy. Not ideal if we want people to part with coin.”
Illara’s eyes softened slightly. “Then do two. An Elvish one first, then something joyful after, to reset the mood.”
I nodded. “That I can manage.”
We spent the rest of the morning testing melodies under our breath, refining verses and choosing what would land best. As the tavern began to fill, I watched people file in, laughing, stamping snow from boots, shaking cold from their shoulders.
And I told myself, quietly and firmly, that today I would not be the person they feared.
Today I would be the person who could make them smile.
As lunchtime approached, I realised there was no musician in sight. No lute tucked in a corner, no fiddler warming fingers by the hearth. If we wanted to do this, it would be with nothing but my voice.
Acapella was doable.
It was also a risk.
I stood and walked toward the front of the tavern, where a small stage had been built against the wall. Nothing grand, just planks and a rail, but the moment I stepped onto it I felt exposed. Vulnerable. Embarrassed in a way that didn’t match the setting at all.
Performance had never been my strength in my old life. I could speak at a table, I could narrate stories, I could play a role, but standing in front of strangers and being looked at… that was different.
And now I was doing it in someone else’s skin.
Illara stepped forward before the awkward silence could swallow me.
“Alright,” she called out, her voice carrying easily. “For today only, we have an elf performing one of her people’s traditional songs. Give her your ears, and give Drisnil a proper welcome.”
Illara winked at me.
A few patrons clapped. Some kept talking. A couple looked over with bored curiosity, the kind that said they’d seen dozens of performers and had no reason to believe I’d be any different.
I drew a breath.
Then I began.
The first Elvish verse slipped out of me like something remembered by muscle rather than mind.
Ulin thar, ulin fen,
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
na ratha virem en sael.
Lethin valen, selath ron,
ith vathar siraen en dael.
Eran’thil selor na uva,
thaleth miren, thaleth vae,
naethin lumae na silen dra,
ith norin liraen en hae.
The tavern quieted.
Not all at once, not like someone had commanded it, but like conversation simply forgot itself. One laugh died halfway through. A mug paused mid-lift. Chairs creaked as people turned without noticing they were turning.
My voice held the room.
And inside me, Drisnil stirred.
She enjoyed it.
The control. The way attention snapped into place. The way people looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
It made my skin prickle. Not from fear exactly.
From the unsettling knowledge that part of me liked it too.
I pushed forward into the chorus.
O silva baugh, o thalen thir,
nael voraen neran sir.
Thalen calen, vaen norath,
selor en’thal, selor naeth.
O silva baugh, o thalen vae,
thaleth calen en vera sae.
Ith enor dust, ith enor name,
lendil thalen, lendil mae.
Even Ivor had frozen. He stood behind the counter, cloth in one hand, half-polishing a glass that no longer mattered, his eyes fixed on me as if he’d forgotten where he was.
The verses continued, and the tavern stayed still, transfixed in a way that made the air feel thicker.
When I finally finished, there was a beat of silence so complete I wondered if I’d done something wrong. I gave a small bow, partly because it felt expected, partly because I needed something to break the spell.
And then they clapped.
Not polite applause. Not a few lazy taps.
Real applause.
The sound hit me like warmth. It made my chest tighten. It made me want to laugh, and cry, and do it again all at once.
Illara took the opening and began weaving through the tables, collecting coin with quick hands and a smile that made people generous.
When the applause faded, I cleared my throat and stepped forward again.
“Hi everyone,” I said. “I’m Drisnil. Thank you for listening.”
A few people called out approval, and someone whistled.
“For the next one,” I said, “we’re going to do something lighter. A jaunty tune. The chorus is simple. We’ll sing it twice, so you’ll all have a chance to join in.”
I drew another breath, steadied myself, and began.
I came to town with brave intent,
And half a boot and no coin spent,
My belt was loose, my stomach tight,
I owed the road a dozen fights.
I told the guard, “I’m bound for fame!”
He laughed and asked me for my name,
I said, “The kind that men recall!”
He said, “Aye, thief is one and all.”
The last of the melancholy drained out of the room. People grinned. Someone barked a laugh. Someone else slapped a table hard enough to make mugs wobble.
Then I hit the chorus.
Two coppers short and a mile from home,
My boots are broke and my belly moans,
But pour me stout and I’ll swear I’m rich,
Till morning steals my borrowed wish!
So raise your mug, don’t count the cost,
We’re all just fools who coin has tossed,
And if I’m poor, at least I’m free,
Now buy a drink and sing with me!
Mugs lifted in time with the rhythm. Feet began stamping against the floorboards. A few patrons started singing the last line before the chorus had even finished, too eager to wait.
The energy surged through me like a current. I could feel the room turning. This wasn’t control the way Drisnil liked it. This was something else.
Connection.
Joy.
I saw Illara moving through the crowd, collecting coin, but also laughing as she did it. She looked lighter than she had in days.
After the next verse and chorus, the patrons joined in louder. By the end of the song, most of the tavern was singing with me.
When it ended, I lifted a hand.
“And for those of you with good memories,” I called, grinning now, “we’re going again from the top. This time I expect you to carry the chorus.”
The tavern roared in agreement.
This time they didn’t hold back.
I barely had to sing the chorus at all, only keep the tempo and keep them together. The room became a single voice, a single beat, and when it ended people laughed and cheered like we’d all won something.
The applause that followed felt like it shook the boards under my boots.
And for the first time in a while, I believed I could be someone worth clapping for.
When it was done, we counted the coin. Eight silver and four copper. A surprisingly good haul for barely an hour’s work.
We handed Ivor his forty percent. His expressionless face cracked into something close to delight, and for the first time since we met him he actually looked alive.
“You are welcome back tomorrow,” he said, broad smile in place. “I’d be keen to hear you sing again.”
I returned the smile. “Sure. But next time you take thirty percent.”
He chuckled, tucking the coins away. “Only if you do better than today. Otherwise I’ll be expecting forty.”
We had just reached the doorway when three men staggered into our path, weaving as if the floor moved beneath them. I smelled stale ale and something sourer on their breath. Their eyes dragged over me the way hands might, slow and claiming.
“Hey, elf,” one of them slurred. “You ever been with a human man before?”
Another leaned in, grinning. “Don’t worry, your friend can join in too.”
Something in me tightened instantly. Heat rushed up my spine, sharp and ugly. Being treated like an object was new to Geoff, but it was not new to Drisnil. Drisnil had lived in a world where people looked at her like she was either prey or prize.
Illara’s gaze flicked to me at once, watching carefully.
I forced myself to smile, cold and deliberate.
“I don’t waste my time with ordinary people,” I said evenly. “I only spend it with those I respect and enjoy the company of. You three fall far beneath my expectations.”
The men bristled.
One stepped closer, his grin twisting into something meaner. “Heh. You shouldn’t look down on us. I’m sure we could force you to spend time with us if we wanted.”
Drisnil’s thoughts surged like a blade unsheathed.
Lure them outside. An alley. Quiet. No witnesses. Their throats would open easily.
My fingers twitched with the urge.
I pushed it down hard. No killing. Not for this. Not when Illara was watching. Not when this was exactly the sort of moment that would decide whether she trusted me tomorrow.
Instead, I grabbed Illara’s arm and moved.
My foot hooked behind the lead drunk’s ankle, and I shoved his shoulder with enough force to send him sprawling onto the tavern floor. He went down with a curse and a crash, knocking into one of his friends.
Before they could untangle themselves, I pulled Illara through the doorway and into the street, running.
The men shouted behind us, boots scraping as they tried to give chase, but drink dulled their coordination. By the time they found their balance, we were already halfway down the road.
We didn’t stop until we were out of sight of the tavern, breath coming hard, my heart still hammering with adrenaline and restraint.
Illara finally slowed, then turned to me.
“Thank you, Geoff,” she said, voice steady but tight with lingering anger. “For not hurting them.”
She searched my face like she was reading a story she didn’t fully trust yet.
“I’m glad to see more of you than Drisnil showing through.”
Her words settled in my chest like something solid. A small confirmation. A small victory.
It meant my effort mattered.
It meant she was beginning to see me as a person again.
Not just a monster wearing kindness like a disguise.
Lament of the Silver Bough
Ulin thar, ulin fen,
na ratha virem en sael.
Lethin valen, selath ron,
ith vathar siraen en dael.
Eran’thil selor na uva,
thaleth miren, thaleth vae,
naethin lumae na silen dra,
ith norin liraen en hae.
O silva baugh, o thalen thir,
nael voraen neran sir.
Thalen calen, vaen norath,
selor en’thal, selor naeth.
O silva baugh, o thalen vae,
thaleth calen en vera sae.
Ith enor dust, ith enor name,
lendil thalen, lendil mae.
Lumaen thin, lumaen sel,
na vinor miren na rel.
Selath mi vaen, selath mi thael,
ith thirin vathar en sael.
Lirin naen, lirin anor,
naethin miren na vathor.
Ith nethil draen mi valen,
sael na uva, sael na sel.
O silva baugh, o thalen thir,
nael voraen neran sir.
Thalen calen, vaen norath,
selor en’thal, selor naeth.
O silva baugh, o thalen vae,
thaleth calen en vera sae.
Ith enor dust, ith enor name,
lendil thalen, lendil mae.
Draemin dor nael thir ven,
ith vow en’hal, ith vow en’len.
Lethin lenor en siraen,
ith virem silor en vaen.
Calen nael ren, calen nael sel,
thaleth miren en naethil rel.
Thalen ulin, thalen uva,
“Len’thir vathar,” thalen sa.
Anor ven, naethil ven,
ith mercy lenor nael fen.
Ulin thar, ulin fen,
silva baugh… silva len.
O silva baugh, o thalen thir,
nael voraen neran sir.
Thalen calen, vaen norath,
selor en’thal, selor naeth.
O silva baugh, o thalen vae,
ith lenor miren en vera sae.
Ith naeth, ith dra, ith anor gone,
lendil thalen… lendil home.
Where roots remember what we burn,
I walked the hollow, starless road,
With winter pressing like a load.
Sang softly of the things that die,
Not with a scream, but with a sigh,
As though the world had learned to lie.
You never bowed for kings like me.
You broke your spine, but did not kneel,
And taught my heart what loss can feel.
You stood when nothing else could.
If home is dust and names are gone,
Then let your shadow lead me on.
A witness with no right to join.
It watched me bleed my footsteps out,
It watched me swallow fear and doubt.
A sound that tasted just like shame.
But when I knelt to drink its black,
The water only stared me back.
You never bowed for kings like me.
You broke your spine, but did not kneel,
And taught my heart what loss can feel.
You stood when nothing else could.
If home is dust and names are gone,
Then let your shadow lead me on.
Of vows unkept, of oaths half-spoken,
Of laughter buried under stone,
Of loving voices turned to bone.
Your leaves like glass, your bark like dew.
You bent above me, close and kind,
And whispered, leave the past behind.
And all your mercy fell like rain.
You never bowed for kings like me.
You broke your spine, but did not kneel,
And taught my heart what loss can feel.
If I could give you what I should,
I’d trade my breath, my blood, my dawn,
To walk you back to where you’re from.
Across the prayers that always failed,
I follow still, I follow long,
The silver bough, the broken song.
Lyrics for second song
And half a boot and no coin spent,
My belt was loose, my stomach tight,
I owed the road a dozen fights.
He laughed and asked me for my name,
I said, “The kind that men recall!”
He said, “Aye, thief is one and all.”
My boots are broke and my belly moans,
But pour me stout and I’ll swear I’m rich,
Till morning steals my borrowed wish!
We’re all just fools who coin has tossed,
And if I’m poor, at least I’m free,
Now buy a drink and sing with me!
With hands that knew a man’s true deal,
I said, “Fair love, I’ll pay you back,”
She said, “Sweetheart, you’ve got no tact.”
You pay in coin, or leave me now.”
I flashed a grin, my best disguise,
She took my chair and rolled her eyes.
My boots are broke and my belly moans,
But pour me stout and I’ll swear I’m rich,
Till morning steals my borrowed wish!
We’re all just fools who coin has tossed,
And if I’m poor, at least I’m free,
Now buy a drink and sing with me!
Lost three times fast, then won a fight,
The man I beat was twice my size,
But he was slow and full of lies.
I said, “Aye, right after I eat tonight.”
Then someone threw a crust of bread,
And hit a noble on the head!
My boots are broke and my belly moans,
But pour me stout and I’ll swear I’m rich,
Till morning steals my borrowed wish!
We’re all just fools who coin has tossed,
And if I’m poor, at least I’m free,
Now buy a drink and sing with me!
With ale in hair and soot in snares,
The innkeep said, “You owe me rent,”
I said, “I’d pay you if I meant.”
I bowed and said, “I’ll surely go,”
Then stole a pie and ran away,
And called it honest work for pay.
My boots are broke and my belly moans,
But pour me stout and I’ll swear I’m rich,
Till morning steals my borrowed wish!
We’re all just fools who coin has tossed,
And if I’m poor, at least I’m free,
Now buy a drink and sing with me!
