A Song for Barrowtown
Tenth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC
Danar had to struggle mightily against a smile at the sight of six skittish horses being half-caroled half-cajoled towards the strange many-eyed wizard. He was wearing the skin of a man now, as fine a disguise as you could ask for, but the beasts still sensed something off about him so it was 'there's a good girl Rosie' and 'have an apple Blackfoot' all the way through. But it had to be done cause Lady Dustin apparently wouldn't let just about any sore-foot wanderer into her hall, the more fool she in these times. You never knew what sort of spirit or fae folk might come knocking on your door seeking hosting, and even the kindly could all too easily be turned to wrath by ill treatment.
"What's so funny," the black armored warrior with a hound on his shield who'd taken the beast's name growled.
"We have the sorcery to carry things from place to place in the blink of an eye and we're using it to carry horses a thousand leagues and more just so they can carry us a couple more where the Lady of Barrowtown can see." With a sly look at his wife he added teasingly. "Guess that's what comes from leaving a woman in charge eh..."
"Is it now?" she asked archly without looking up from polishing the brass work of her new crossbow, bought with the Dragon's coin from an earth-spirit trader. "Well then, I'll know what to blame whenever we meet an empty-headed lord."
"I am thankful then that my kind have no lords," Soft Strider said in that gentle tone of hers, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, but Danar didn't miss the spark of humor in her deep green eyes.
***
A light snow drifted over Barrowtown as heavy clouds crowded above veiling the sight of the morning sun, though there was light aplenty peeking through the windows of smiths and bakeries, potters' shops and candle makers. They weren't poor in fire to keep the cold at bay, nor for any other wealth needed to keep body and soul together. The last meandering songs of last night's carousing drifted out of tavern doors while diligent merchants set up their shops to catch early custom.
Yet not all was as commonplace as seemed at first glance. Where the lights of hearths and candles faded into grey twilight the shadows twisted strangely, the creak of a lonely door echoing like strange laughter. Men walked softly and never alone along the snowy streets, Danar saw. They knew that they were not all that walked the streets and custom was not all that was being hunted, though being townsmen they might be too stubborn to admit it to themselves.
Ahead the Great Barrow loomed, a hill raised by human hands, not near so grand as Winterfell, nor so mighty as the Wall meant to keep the dead things out, but wrought of those same old arts, death brooding in the midst of life. Were their task less urgent he might have stopped to string a few words together to a tune to fix the feeling in mind. But like so many songs that might have been, this one too flew on the wind, perhaps to whisper itself into some other bard's ear.
They rode up the path to Barrow Hall openly for none dared challenge them until they reached the gates, there Xor gave a name to match his face, Baral Xo from the far off Summer Islands come to see the wonders of the north alongside his faithful retinue and wishing to give gifts to the lady of Barrowtown for the honor of seeing the deep halls under the hill. At this the guards grumbled a little, as good guards were wont to do, but they quieted down without needing any silver as only the best guards could claim. Whatever else Barbrey Dustin was she knew how to surround herself with loyal men bearing steel, likely why she hadn't come afoul of some dark fey's bloody jest until now.
Thus it was that they came to have their audience with the lady of the keep without even an hour's delay. Twas private of course, as 'Summer Islander custom demanded', though that part had strangely been the hardest to convince Xor of. What kind of singer shied away from a lie or two, for after all, were not all songs lies as much as truths?
"So what are these gifts you would bring with the morning light?" Barbrey Dustin asked as they entered the shadowy great hall. She sat perched upon her throne like a raven on a branch. Black was her dress in mourning for a man more than eight years dead and black her hair pulled back in a widow's knot, seeming to stretch out her skin all the more over her sharp features.
"Many gifts, great lady," Xor began in his melodious voice. "The gift of spices and perfumes, of wines and chocolate, even of song if you would lend me an ear." With each proclamation he motioned to one of the bags they had brought along, the aromas of summer brought in the land under winter's grip. Then he paused and in a far more serious tone, he added. "But above all else we bring the gift of safety from what which walks the night."
"A bold claim," the lady said, eyes narrowing in sudden interest. "Pray continue."
OOC: This is what happens when you send not one but two bards to perform diplomacy. No hidden messages and teleporting into locked rooms for them.
