The city buzzed like a disturbed beehive, a symphony of hawkers' calls and carriage wheels on cobblestone, but amidst the cacophony, a new melody began to bloom. Elias, clad in travel-worn but impeccably cut suede and linen, stood on an overturned crate in the central square. His smile, a rogue's gleam that crinkled the corners of his eyes, was as bright as the morning sun.
He plucked a chord, rich and resonant, and then, with a flourish, launched into a tune so cheerful, so utterly infectious, that heads began to turn. It was a rollicking folk jig, brimming with the spirit of wide-open roads and clandestine merriment. Children paused their games of tag; merchants, usually stony-faced, found their lips twitching into grins. Even a pair of stern-faced city guards, leaning on their polished halberds, seemed to relax, their armored shoulders swaying almost imperceptibly to the rhythm. Elias's voice, a warm baritone, threaded effortlessly through the notes, a golden ribbon of sound. He sang of gnomes dancing under moonlit toadstools and pixies pilfering pies from open windows, his eyes twinkling as he watched the crowd swell.
He finished with a flourish, a final, lingering chord that hung in the air, leaving behind a lightness in the listeners' hearts. Coins, a pleasant jingle, rained into the open lute case at his feet, but Elias's gaze had already fixed on a particular target.
She was a maid, no older than eighteen, with eyes the color of summer sky and hair pulled back in a severe bun that couldn't quite hide the wisps that framed her pretty face. Her apron, though clean, bore the crest of Lord Aerion's manor, a prominent dragon sigil. Perfect.
"My dear, a smile like yours ought to be outlawed for causing such delightful distraction," Elias purred, his voice dropping just enough to be intimate, even amidst the receding crowd. He leaned against the crate, his posture relaxed, inviting.
The maid, a blush spreading across her cheeks, giggled. "Sir, you flatter."
"Only with the truth, I assure you," he countered, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that promised untold adventures. "Tell me, does such beauty as yours grace the halls of Lord Aerion's manor often, or are they kept locked away like precious jewels?"
She laughed again, a sound like wind chimes. "I'm just a maid, sir. My name is Elara."
"Elara," he repeated, savoring the name. "A melody in itself. I am Elias. And I confess, Elara, my heart sings for a chance to play for ears as discerning as yours. Tell me, does the esteemed Lord Aerion appreciate true artistry? Or is his court content with mere… noise?" He winked, a playful challenge in his gaze.
Elara's eyes widened. "The Lord often entertain musicians, sir! They appreciate the finer things."
"Ah, a connoisseur then," Elias mused, tapping a finger on his lute. "And I, Elara, am no mere fiddler. My music, you see, has a way of… coaxing secrets from the shadows. Of making the forgotten hum once more. A rare talent, some might say. Perhaps even one that might please the Lord's court?" He let the question hang, his smile unwavering, just the right amount of confidence mixed with faux-humility.
Elara's brow furrowed in thought, her gaze tracing the intricate carvings on his lute. She remembered the sheer joy his music had brought to the square. "It was truly beautiful, sir. I've never heard anything quite like it. I… I could mention you. To the Steward, perhaps. He often seeks new entertainers."
"My dear Elara, you would be doing a service not just to me, but to the very soul of the manor," Elias said smoothly, taking her hand and pressing a light, lingering kiss to her knuckles. "A thousand thanks. I shall be at the Gilded Goblet Inn, should the muses — or the Steward — be so kind."
He released her hand, leaving a warmth that lingered long after she hurried away, a faint flush still on her cheeks. Elias watched her go, his smile still in place, but a flicker of something older, more calculating, crossed his eyes. The game was afoot.
Later that evening, as the last rays of twilight bled from the sky, painting the inn's common room in hues of bruised purple and faded gold, a rap came at the door of Elias's humble chamber. A liveried footman stood there, stiff and proper, holding a folded vellum scroll.
"For Elias, the wanderer?" the footman inquired, his voice devoid of inflection.
Elias, who had been idly polishing a silver buckle on his cloak, raised an eyebrow. "That depends," he drawled, "is it an invitation to a feast or a warrant for poetic mischief?"
The footman's expression remained unchanged. "An invitation, sir. From Lord Aerion of Aldwych Manor. To perform for the court this eve."
Elias's lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. "Splendid. Tell his Lordship I shall be delighted to grace his halls with a melody or two."
He closed the door, the formal invitation crisp in his hand, the heavy wax seal of the dragon crest a pleasing weight. He was not surprised, not truly. He'd spun enough silver threads in his time to know how to weave a path. This was merely the next step on a road he'd been walking for years, a road paved with forgotten songs and the ghosts of old dreams. He ran a thumb over the lute strings, a soft hum escaping the wood. Tonight, he would not merely play; he would speak.
The grandeur of Aldwych Manor was not overstated. Elias found himself striding through marble halls polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting the flicker of countless enchanted sconces. Tapestries depicting ancient hunts and mythical beasts adorned the walls, their threads shimmering with subtle magic. Servants glided silently, like ghosts, their movements practiced and precise.
He wore a slightly more polished version of his usual travel-worn clothes – his suede tunic brushed, the linen shirt underneath crisp, his dark trousers neatly pressed, and the only splash of color a deep emerald scarf knotted loosely at his throat. He still carried that roguish smile, a comfortable mask he'd worn for years, a shield against the pain of past failures and a lure for curiosity. He looked every inch the wanderer, yet carried himself with the confidence of a king.
The great hall buzzed with the quiet murmur of the nobility, an assembly of silks and velvets, gems winking in the soft light. Elias, ever the showman, paused just inside the entrance, letting his gaze sweep over the gathering. And then he saw her.
Velthra.
She stood apart from the main cluster of courtiers, near a tall, arched window that overlooked the moonlit gardens. She was elegant, almost ethereally so, her movements fluid as she raised a delicate goblet to her lips. Her skin was pale, like moonlight on fresh snow, her dark hair a cascade of waves that seemed to absorb the light around her. But it was her eyes that truly held him: striking, intense crimson, like pools of spilled wine, or perhaps, something older, more predatory. She was watching him, even before he had taken a single step into the hall. A quiet, unnerving intensity in her gaze that spoke of deep wells of power. Beauty, forgotten or broken – she was neither, yet something about her drew his eye with the same reverence he felt for a newly discovered ancient ruin.
A chamberlain, a fussy man with a perpetually worried expression, motioned him forward. "The Lord and Lady are ready for you, Master Elias."
Elias offered a brief, charming bow, his gaze lingering on Velthra for a fraction of a second longer than was polite. He felt a thrill, a prickle of anticipation that had nothing to do with mere performance. There was something here, something beneath the polished surface of this grand manor, and Velthra was at its heart.
He took his place before the Lord and Lady, a stately pair seated on carved thrones at the far end of the hall. Lord Aerion was a weary-looking man, with what seemed like a deep sadness in his eyes. Elias offered another bow, one that conveyed both respect and a hint of insolence.
The hall dimmed perceptibly as servants moved to lower the oil lamps, leaving the space illuminated primarily by the flickering, dancing light of a grand hearth. Shadows stretched long and distorted across the marble, giving the ancient hall an eerie, intimate feel.
Elias raised his lute, his fingers finding the familiar, comforting tautness of the strings. He took a breath, closing his eyes for a moment, letting the silence of the hall seep into him, letting the subtle energies of the place resonate with his own. He was a conduit. Always had been.
He began to play.
The first notes were a soft, melancholic hum from the lute, a quiet whisper that stole through the hall, a stark contrast to the cheerful jig of the morning. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, other sounds began to weave in. A high, keening wail that was not of wood or string, but of something else, something airy and ancient – the ghostly blue violin. It pulsed into existence beside him, a faint auric glow outlining its ethereal form, a spectral bow drawing across spectral strings. A moment later, the shimmering, whispering chords of a harp joined, its form less distinct, more diffuse, a hazy, luminous mist hanging in the air, rippling with the vibration of unseen strings.
And then, his voice.
He began to sing, a soulful, haunting tune, the lyrics subtly altered to fit the fantastical setting, to speak of old magic and lost loves. It was "Lost on You," though none in the hall would know its true origin, only the raw emotion pouring from him.
"So smoke 'em if you got 'em 'cause it's goin' down
All I ever wanted was you
Let's take a drink of heaven, this can turn around
Let's raise a glass or two…"
As the music began, a curious phenomenon occurred. The shadows in the room, previously dancing with the firelight, subtly shifted, coiling inward, stilling unnaturally. They seemed to hold their breath, to lean in, as if listening intently. A chill, not unpleasant, settled over the hall, a deep quiet that stole even the rustle of silk and the clink of jewelry.
Velthra's crimson eyes, previously intense, widened slightly. Her lips, a perfect bow, parted, as if she were about to speak, or perhaps, to gasp. Her gaze was fixed on Elias, then on the faint, ethereal glow of the spirit instruments that pulsed faintly with each note, illuminating the space with an otherworldly, azure light. For a moment, even the Lord seemed caught, his stern expressions softened by an unbidden fascination. The guards, who had been stiff at attention, found their muscles relaxing, their breaths coming slower, deeper. They were enchanted. All of them.
Elias poured himself into the song, his eyes closed now, lost in the ebb and flow of the melody, the communion between his mortal hands and the spectral instruments. He reached deep within himself, past the charm and the pretense, to the raw ache of what he had lost, the failures that whispered in the dark, and let it fuel the haunting beauty of the music. The blue violin wailed, the ethereal harp shimmered, and his voice, rich and resonant, carried the weight of ages.
"To all the things I've lost on you, oh
Tell me, are they lost on you? Oh
Just that you could cut me loose, oh
After everything I've lost on you, is that lost on you?…"
The song reached its crescendo, Elias's voice rising with the spectral instruments, an angelic sound that seemed to resonate with the very stones of the ancient manor. The ethereal glow brightened, then slowly, imperceptibly, faded, until only the firelight remained, and the hall was plunged back into its natural state, though changed irrevocably by the music.
Silence, profound and heavy, hung in the air. It was a silence of reflection, of lingering magic, not of emptiness.
Then, slowly, applause rippled through the hall, tentative at first, then swelling into an ovation. Lord Aerion clapped, a rare, genuine spark of appreciation in his eyes.
But it was Velthra who moved.
She stood, her movements as graceful as a dancer's, and began to walk towards him. Elias watched her approach, a faint thrill stirring in his chest. She moved with purpose, her crimson eyes still fixed on him.
"Master Elias," she said, her voice a low, melodic murmur that carried perfectly in the hushed hall. "That was… exceptional."
Her words, though simple, carried immense weight. To personally approach and thank a wandering musician, an outsider, was highly unusual for someone of her evident rank. It was a clear breach of courtly etiquette, a testament to the profound effect his music had had.
Elias bowed, a deeper, more sincere bow than before, a glimmer of genuine curiosity in his eyes that matched the subtle invitation in hers. "My Lady, the true art lies in finding the ears worthy of its song."
Velthra smiled, a slow, intriguing curve of her lips that hinted at secrets. "Indeed. Your… unique accompaniment… was particularly striking. I confess, I am deeply curious as to its origin. As to your… inspiration." Her crimson gaze held his, a silent question passing between them. "Would you perhaps be inclined to join me in my chambers later this evening? We could discuss these matters further. Quite privately, of course."
The invitation hung in the air, a silken thread woven with both genuine intrigue and something more, something that brushed against the edges of dangerous allure. Elias felt the familiar tug of the game, the thrill of the unknown, but beneath it, a deeper hum – the recognition of a kindred spirit, perhaps, or at least, a soul as attuned to the unspoken currents of the world as his own.
He gave a sly bow, his roguish smile firmly back in place, but his eyes, for a moment, held a deeper, unreadable knowledge. "Happy to share any secrets you'd like to hear, my lady," he murmured, his voice a promise and a challenge, the silver tongue now speaking not of flattery, but of a dance just beginning.