Role

Chapter 10

His skill with the instrument was rusty, but the unnatural speed granted
to him by the bracers he wore allowed him to more than compensate for that
deficiency. He sang many songs that night. Most were in the common
tongue, spoken in the streets and markets of the city, but others were in
a strange tongue with which only Hanigan was familiar, even though even he
wasn't fluent with it. It was the tongue of the North, of Athald's
people, and he marveled at how good it felt to hear it from his own lips.

He sang of great battles won and tragic defeats. Of ferocious orcs and
valiant knights. Of devilish magi and stalwart warriors. He sang of the
Northmen and of hunting stag across the fresh-fallen snow. Of a son's
love for his father and of the bond between brothers. He sang of
betrayal and loss; of things that once were, but are no more. Of old
friends lost and new friends gained.

The few patrons in the bar that night listened in rapt attention, but, as
the hour grew increasingly late, one by one they drifted off into the
night. Most smiled at Hanigan as they settled their tab, but they said
very little. Their mood was somber, reverent, as if they were aware they
had witnessed something significant but didn't quite grasp what it meant.

When the last of them had left, Hanigan came out from behind the bar
carrying a bottle of whisky by the neck and eased himself down into a
chair near the fire. Propping his feet up on the table, he gestured to
Athald to continue.

Athald sang on. He sang of growing old. Of fond memories and of deep
regrets. He even sang about the sea. The salt spray, the beauty of the
open water and the joy of returning home to loved ones. He and Hanigan
took turns drinking from the bottle, Athald between his songs, until both
of them were rosy-cheeked and full of bliss.

Eventually he grew quiet and set the lute down on the floor beside him.
Neither he nor Hanigan moved, and neither of them said a word. They sat
there together for a long while, two old men listening to the crackling
fire, each lost in his own thoughts but nevertheless glad for nearness of
the other.