Play, Minstrel, Play (Thayne)

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Happiness was hard to come by for Yassia these days. As far as she knew Camelot could be on the moon or evern further away for all the progress she had made towards it. By now she was so sick and tired of her seemingly endless journey it had occurred to her more than once to just give up. Turning back of course was no option, as that would mean even more wandering. No, she actually started to fancy the idea of starting new somewhere, settling down in some random village and working with her herbal remedies. Being Princess and eventually becoming Queen of the distant kingdom of Ailantha, that was so far from her current reality it sometimes only seemed like a distant dream. Had she really been there once or had she just made that all up after waking up on the shores of Albion?

But there was one thing that could bring a smile on Yassia’s face still, however haggard it might look lately. Music! She had never learned any instrument herself, but she had a fairly good singing voice, or at least Mircea always had told her that. Mircea… no, she mustn’t think of him now, it hurt too much.
Any distracting thought was welcome, and so it wasn’t a big surprise that when the sound of a lyre being played reached Yassia’s ears, she was drawn into the direction of it like a puppet on a string, singleminded and dedicated, as if anything else in the world had ceased to matter.

By the time she had made out the source of the dulcet music, Yassia had forgotten about her aching feet, her desperation and her hunger. It didn’t matter anymore that she hadn’t found a place to stay yet, like she always wanted to establish first, to make sure she did not linger in a village in vain. As long as there was still daylight left, she could march on, but after dark everyone better stayed behind solid doors. But it was not the thought of leaving the village that made her walk on, no, it was solely the music that guided her steps.
The man playing appeared a vagrant minstrel, haggard like herself, maybe even more so as his dark hair and prominent eyebrow gave him a sort of gloomy, grim appearance.

Without any coherent thought at all, Yassia joined the very little spectators and listened on, immerging herself in the slow rhythm of the song he was playing. So easy to just forget about everything right now! After a while, the princess caught herself humming along, but even if she realised that might disturb the minstrel in his playing, she couldn’t stop, in fact even raised her voice a bit. Music, she realised, had to become her life saver if everything else failed.

~.~
Tag: Thayne
Timeline: Somewhere in the one year gap
Time of Day: Afternoon
Muse song: Blackmore's Night - Play Minstrel Play

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[thayne]

Thayne sat at the edge of a village, playing a tune upon the lyre he always carried with him. Sitting upon a rock, a small offering bowl beside him, and wearing a dark set of robe-like clothes that, depending on one's viewpoint of clothing, might hint at some nobility, even if distant. The truth is, that he was of nobility -- his mother was and his father was not -- but much had happened to change that. Such as his mother betraying his trust and beginning to kill the citizens of their village, turning against him when he begged her to stop -- and all when he was only five, no less! Despite the anger he always felt when he thought of this, he had become indifferent enough about it to hide that emotion, so none showed in his voice as he sang along with his music.

"I sing of a maiden
That is makelees:
King of alle kinges
To her sone she chees.

He cam also stille
Ther his moder was
As dewe in Aprille
That falleth on the gras."

Eventually a few people had gathered around him to listen to his song, the notes hanging in the air and playing a sweet melody. Including one woman who eventually began to hum along. It didn't bother him, though it had managed to pull his attention away from the song for the slightest of moments, almost making him skip a note. Thankfully, if anyone noticed, they didn't seem to care, or thought it should be that way. He needed their money, if they would pay it, this was how he made his living, and despite his gloom and dark, haggard look -- having come from both his dark past and living as a rather poor peasant for nearly five years -- he usually got it. Other times, the people were rude enough to not care and just ignored him, not giving him so much as a copper after listening to his music. Those days, particularly when he could only attact a small crowd, were usually the worst. He was getting sick of sleeping out on the cold ground!

"He cam also stille
Ther his moder lay
As dewe in Aprille
That falleth on the spray.

Moder and maiden
Was nevere noon but she:
Wel may swich a lady
Godes moder be."

When he finished, he sat down the lyre on the rock beside him and, like every other time, took up the small bowl, holding it out almost as if a plea for money. Yes, he was sick of sleeping on the cold ground, and sick of begging these greedy men and women for money! Only a few people in the small crowd tossed him money, only a few coppers, but at least it might be enough to get him a semi-warm place to stay. "Greedy bastards," he mumbled, setting the bowl down beside him and glancing at the woman who had began to sing along with him. "Is there something you want?"

[ To understand the song, you might want to look here ]

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Yassia had never heard that song before, but it was a beautiful one. The melody was catching and calm, elegant even and still merry. You could easily get lost in it, and also the singer’s voice itself was pleasant to listen to. She hoped he would get enough to earn his living for another day, he was definitely good enough to deserve it. Quickly she calculated her own meager money left, wondering if she could dare to spend some on him. Yassia would surely like to, but she needed to think about herself as well. Prices were very different in taverns, she had no idea how much she would have to spend. Could she really afford to give to him now?

Sadly enough the other spectators seemed to be tormented by similar thoughts, the poor minstrel didn’t get much out of his performance, and Yassia saw his brows furrow in vexation. She could relate to his sorrow, as her own money dwindled by day. Whenever the weather was pleasant enough she slept under the stars but those nights were not restful. Without anyone to watch over her, she jumped at every sound, always afraid someone might happen upon her by chance, robbing her of the little she had left and killing her afterwards, maybe even without her noticing it. Still, she had taken that risk on several occasions, not knowing how long her money would last if she carried on living like a princess still.

"Is there something you want?"

Well that sounded not too friendly, and Yassia was highly tempted to snap something at him about not letting his cranky mood offend others, but then she thought better of it. An argument was never the best way to start a conversation and it happened to her often enough. She might as well act on her reason as long as she still responded to it.
So, instead of being as cranky as he obviously was, she tried a smile.
“Well, no actually… just… maybe to compliment you on your play and voice. It really saved my day, I can tell you. That’s also why I was humming along, I hope you don’t mind?”

If he minded she would find out pretty soon. He might not be the easiest fellow to converse with, but during her long travel Yassia had come across many who just needed a bit of time to warm up first, and those usually turned out to be the most interesting. It was worth a try.

[thayne]

Thayne dropped the coins that he had gained into a small pouch at his waist, all the while watching the woman, and the other people that left, mumbling amongst themselves. He knew that they didn't have much money themselves to begin with, they were probably almost as poor as he, which was why he didn't fuss about it too much. Still, he wouldn't have minded a few extra coins to last him a little longer. The road was hard, he traveled from village to village, never staying in one for too long as one's past always knew how to follow you. Who knew when, or if, it would catch up to him? To be on the safe side, he never told anyone where he was going, when he was leaving, or got too close to anyone. This also saved him from being betrayed by any particular person.

He glanced at the woman as he retied his pouch back up, wondering if she had any money to spare. It didn't appear like it, she seemed as broke as he, so he didn't expect much. Straightening, he sat back down on the rock -- he wasn't what most people would call "courteous", in fact, he was rather impolite -- and began to inspect his lyre. As if it needed it. It was perfectly fine a moment ago when he was playing it, it wouldn't change in the blink of an eye. It was almost as if he was ignoring her completely. He wasn't that rude, despite how he might act. Even if it appeared as if he was ignoring someone, he was still listening to what they had to say at least. It might turn out to be important, or it might be interesting. The span of news traveled far and wide, the lucky and successful heard and acted first.

But he was hardly successful.

So, he did listen to her words. And was surprised at her compliment, which showed only briefly in his eyes. On the other hand, he wasn't surprised, he got the occasional compliment, it depended on where was playing at the time. Most of the time, however, people's own hardships were just too... well, hard. "Well, I've had many years of practice," he commented, directly looking at her now. "It didn't bother me, I don't get easily distracted. Just shows that not everyone around is tone deaf." The last sentence was mumbled.