Playing the sun down, Jarem [open, just ask]

[Conri]

((Somewhere near Faylinbrook Forest))

The road, as far as it stretched across the land, was without a great deal of company. Few enough were the ones who wished to take the longer route. Everyone always seemed to be in such a hurry these days, though one could rarely tell just where or why it was that they hurried. Still, that lack of company made this stretch of the road peaceful and just as enjoyable, in its own way, as a crowded market square. And Conri could most certainly appreciate the wonder of both, though he had to admit that it was rather lonely here. Here, where nothing ever seemed to change save for the seasons. Here, where the wild grass was always well above his waist and the low lying brambles housed tiny wrens every spring and summer. Here, where he could sit still for as long as he liked and never once feel that he was moving too slowly. Here, where he could feel lonely properly and simply relax. He shook his head at the direction of his thoughts, and jolted himself from the standstill he'd come to.

The elf made quite the image as he walked, slowly but with wide steps. His clothes were disgracefully patched together and the dye was almost worn complately away, so that what once had been a brillant blue was now a pale grey somewhat akin to clouds before a storm. His vest stood out sorely, the dark brown not the greatest match for the blue, though Conri didn't care, it was a wonderful gift from his aunt and he liked it, so he'd wear it whenever he wished. At his belt hung an odd assortment of objects that ranged from his knife, to his panpipes, to a bunch of dried wildflowers a friendly little girl had picked for him. They'd be too brittle to carry about soon, but he thought the gesture deserved some recognition, which was why he'd tied the posse there in the first place.

Now he untied his pipes, fingers idly tracing the thin cord that held them together as he listened to the gentle sounds around him. Wind sloughing through the grass, rustling wings and high pitched warblings. The beat of his heart in his ears and the quiet brook that would disappear soon. Then, with a slight frown of concentration, he took a breath and blew, creating a cascade of notes that rose and fell softly. Conri played only briefly, enjoying how the sounds tumbled in and around his own music. Then he ran out of breath and let everything fade back to the way it had been before he started. The birds taking up their songs until he began again, replacing them when they fell silent to listen. He stopped walking slowly, unaware that he had, and closed his eyes, turning towards the fields and setlling into the rhythm of this tradition, as he join in Nature's song. The elf continued to stand there as the sunlight faded and the shadows lengthened, paying little attention to the passing of time except to note how it changed the sounds around him. The birds growing quieter and the wind growing stronger.

Conri lengthened the notes he played, dipping down more and more into the lower range of his pipes as evening came. Though the tune that dropped through the air was slow, it was by no means mournful. There was a certain continuity about it that seemed to make it endless, beyond such things as sorrow or fear or death. The notes hid in the shadows and soothed the little birds to sleep, they swept through the golden grass and whispered to each gently bending blade a lullaby. The music wrapped itself so strongly about Conri's being that he never wished to stop, though he knew the sun was gone and it was time to sleep. Still, he'd sent the sun to its rest with a song, so he supposed, as he took another breath, that he might as well continue until the stars found their places in the sky again.

[Jarem]

It was a beautiful ending to a beautiful day. The snow-white clouds gave way to the light of Simia, who shined her last as the day flowed into the night. A number of birds flew overhead on their way to their respective nests, and grounded animals scurried to and fro to find their homes, leaving the land to the nocturnal creatures that dominated the darkness. In this setting of preparation for the darker half of existence stood another being who was also preparing for a few hours' rest. Slowly, but deliberately, he wandered through the forest, carrying a bundle of sticks in his brittle arms and whistling a tune as he moved. His eyes were only half-open, for the need for sleep weighed heavily upon him. He could stay up long enough to accomplish his ends, though, or else he'd have to sleep out in the open. As he thought about it, he figured that wouldn't be so bad unless it rained. Though the sun had shone brightly all day, one could never truly predict the weather.

He bent down and placed his load carefully in a pile in the place that he'd set aside for himself. Those sticks would be used to build a fire, but that would come last. Now that he had them, he turned his attention to the building of a tent. He began setting down stakes and tying knots here and there, performing a series of tasks that one would not likely expect to see from a Wizard who could so easily have commanded the camp to build itself. But, he was Jarem, Wizard of the goddess Islanna, and to behave such was not his way. He had been born a commoner, and in spite of the power he had come to command, he had a tendency to continue living as a commoner. Even his clothes, which consisted of modest gray rags of wool, a gray hat, a pair of sandals (one of which had a near-broken strap), and a rope for a belt, did not betray his identity. Those were his traveling clothes, which he wore in the wilderness and when he was not doing anything particularly important or magical, or anything that made it necessary for his identity to be known. Better to wear them than to dirty the white garments that he otherwise dressed himself in.

As Jarem did the work to prepare for his sleep, a rather appealing sound reached his ears from the distance. It was the sound of music, a sound that he remembered well from his days as a dancer. Some sort of wind instrument, to be slightly more specific, and it was producing quite the beautiful tune. It was enough to distract the Wizard from his tasks, almost demanding that he shut his eyes and listen in silence for a moment, for even nature itself followed the tune of this player, whoever he or she happened to be. The song seemed to be a good-night melody to the birds of the air, the creatures of the land, and Simia herself as she pulled her light from the land for a time. After he listened for a few moments, the aged Wizard opened his eyes. A smile graced his features as he reached for his staff (which was disguised as one of gnarled oak wood). Surely, this was a musician worth seeking out.

He leaned on his staff as he walked along, taking some of the work off of his tired old legs as he followed the sound of the somber melody to its source. Jarem had a good ear, so determining the direction whence the sound originated was no difficult task. He found, however, that it was just slightly farther off than he had anticipated, and he ended up walking for a good minute or two before the musician came in sight. When he finally did see the player, though, he smiled brightly. He saw an elf of simple means, dressed in patches and rags not unlike those that Jarem himself wore, though the musicians were somewhat more elaborate. The darkness of the night had swept over the land near completely, but that did not stop this one from playing his song. Jarem was pleased, and he desired to move in closer to more thoroughly enjoy the hymn of the wandering elf.

He began to move closer, stepping as deliberately as before, but the sound of wood striking the ground did not reach his ears. Neither did his feet produce any noise as he took one step after another, for he had muffled the sound of his approach through supernatural means. He had utmost respect for this musician, whose focus on his music had called prompted him to close his eyes, thus barring Jarem's approach from his vision. In turn, Jarem had silenced the medium that was the wind, lest the noise of his approach disturb the elf. The wrinkled Wizard drew near, but maintained some distance between himself and the musician, realizing that his sudden appearance might frighten the man when he finally ended his song. It was not Jarem's intention to appear as a threat; he simply desired to stand there and sway with the beautiful music of a wandering elf in the night and recall with fondness the days when such music had moved him into the most graceful of dances.

[Conri]

Conri lingered over his playing until the ache in his chest from a combination of breathlessness and sorrow forced him to stop. But even then he might have continued until he collapsed, simply from the joy of it. He'd first played his pipes here when he was nearing his fortieth year, some eighty five years ago, and since that time, he'd often come simply to play for the meadow near the trees. It was a beautiful place, special, it being one of the first places he'd explored by himself. What was more, he always had the impression, fleeting though it was, that something else was listening to him play, something greater than humans or elves or men. Perhaps it was only his imagination and the knowledge of who inhabited the forest, but it had still brought him back, year after year, until the very act had become, for him, a tradition. He'd never played for so long before though, never needed to.

As the evening passed and the stars grew brighter, he played his song, but where it had earlier encompassed something greater than feelings, as his desire to continue battled his fatigue the notes grew thinner, weaker, breaking off before they were finished the way a sob gets choked back. Then, as the moon rose to its rightful place, he won, but the song changed again. Thicker, heavier and full of emotion, he released everything he'd felt in the past eighteen years: horror, fear, sorrow, loss, loneliness, shame, hurt and the joy he'd felt of it all being over. A single tear slipped from beneath his closed eyelids, sliding down his cheek and drying in the wind. He didn't know anyone else was listening, wasn't really aware of what he was doing. Conri only needed to give a voice to everyone who no longer had one. Even if no one else was there to hear. Eighteen years was too long to be away from everything he held close....

Finally though, the music fell silent, drifting away into the dark. It left the faintest of echoes in the silence, a slight ringing within one's memory.

His shoulders slumped and he heaved a sigh, lowering his panpipes and wiping at the strange dryness the tear had left behind. Opening his eyes, Conri blinked at how dark it was all of a sudden, though his eyes had long ago adjusted, since it had been darker beneath closed eyelids. At first, all he saw was the meadow, shadowed and dancing in the moonlight, but as he turned back to the road th elf started in shock. He took the old man standing on the road for an apparition of some sort, a faerie or spirit. But he didn't look overly spirit-like, though he, of all people, knew just how stories grew. Then, as he registered the worn clothing and the old staff, Conri considered the possibility that the man was another traveller who'd stopped on the road. Had he been preventing him from continuing onward? A quick check revealed that had the man wished, he could very easily gone around the entranced elf. So it surely wasn't that. Perhaps the old man had paused to listen to him, or had been drawn from his camp, Conri was quite certain that he hadn't seen anyone coming before he started playing.

Well, if that was the case, it was kind of him to stand so quietly to let him finish, though the elf had to pause in his thoughts as he realised just what he had done. A faint blush darkened his cheeks, though he offered the man a brilliant smile none the less, bending forward in that polite greeting he'd learned among humans. He took him for a human in the dark, never imagining that he was in the presence of another elf, let alone one as powerful as a wizard. He might have introduced himself there as well, or at least, offered some small greeting but speech had escaped his capacity for the moment, and he was still caught up in the music and the new silence around them. To be sure though, there would be no escaping his chatter once he found his tongue.

[Jarem]

As the song drew closer and closer to its end, Jarem noticed that it descended ever further into sorrow and sadness. He closed his eyes once again and began to sway slowly back and forth, his heart growing heavy as the song went on. Though its melancholy message was not lost on him, it did not resonate with him entirely, as he did not have any real personal sorrow of his own to draw on. Jarem was never one to complain about his life. He had little to complain about anyway; the worst he'd had to deal with was a bit of isolation and a little father-son strife, but outside of these trivial misfortunes, he considered himself to be very blessed. The sorrow that he was feeling was actually the result of his empathetic nature. One did not play a song as heavy and emotionally charged as that which the wandering elf was performing unless he had seen a great deal of suffering and misfortune in his lifetime. Perhaps if he found it to be worthwhile, Jarem would ask this man what in his life was the source of his pain.

As the final notes of the song began to drift away into the gentle wind, the Wizard's eyes opened once again, and a smile spread across his face. He placed his staff against the ground in front of him and leaned on it. He didn't feel that he would appear to be much of a threat, and this was confirmed by the elf across from him in time. Though the musician at first reacted somewhat fearfully, Jarem chalked that up to the fact that he had, for all intents and purposes, appeared from nowhere. Just to be sure, however, he remained stationary and only smiled, his eyes widening slightly in the darkness, as any movement might have been taken as an assault. His benign stance was effective; in a few moments, he saw the smile he wore on his face reciprocated by one even more brilliant from the elf. Now that the initial jitters were out of the way, the two of them could speak with each other.

"Salutations, friend." Said Jarem in greeting after the wanderer had bowed politely. "Forgive me if I do not bow in turn. There is no guarantee that these old bones could pull me up again." That wasn't entirely true, for Jarem's body was durable enough in spite of his elderly appearance. There was a certain appeal to playing up the old man thing, though. Some people were showed more kindness or concerned for him because of his apparent age. Others were simply more respectful. Still others were actually rather rude about it, but it was still fun to toy with them. Yes, playing old when you really weren't could be a good time, and he was pretty sure that Islanna was aware of that when she placed her "curse" upon him. It was something they laughed about together--a little inside joke that few others ever became aware of.

Jarem continued speaking to the musician. "My sincerest apologies for startling you." He said. "I admit that I approached stealthily quite intentionally. A song as wondrous as yours is not to be interrupted. It's been many years since I've heard anything so moving." There seemed to be something special about the way this wandering elf played his music. In his many years of existence, Jarem had heard many people produce beautiful sounds from various instruments, but only a very small few had ever managed to produce anything that inspired true emotion. But, whether by some magical trait or simply amazing experience, this wanderer was one of those whose song moved nature itself and could perhaps satisfy even the gods. His skill with his instrument was to be treasured, and Jarem most certainly appreciated his good fortune in having discovered this musician during one of his songs.

[Conri]

Listening quietly as the stranger spoke, offering a greeting and an excuse for what might have been perceived as a slight, Conri could only continue to smile. For a moment, he was worried that his tongue would refuse his right to make it form words, or that his throat would stick and the necessary air wouldn’t come, but it was only for a moment. Then, he took a deep breath and answered, as cheerfully as ever he answered any form of greeting. “And as many wonderful good days-nights- to you as you may think of, sir.” The elf had been somewhat surprised by this, supposed, human’s fluency in his language, but then, he was wrinkled enough to have the time to learn whatever he wished, and had the bright eyes of any intelligent person, so he supposed that if he could learn common, a human could just as easily learn Elven if they so wished. He didn’t find it at all necessary to tell the man that he was forgiven; he knew his limits far better than Conri could. Particularly as Conri had never been old, and very likely never would be.

“Oh, you needn’t apologize, my good fellow. It is as much my fault for being so surprised as it is yours for being the one to startle me.” His words were sincere, and the elf meant well, despite laying part of the blame on this stranger when it was more usual to simply dismiss the whole event as inconsequential. But then, for Conri, it was rare that any event ended up being inconsequential. He was also a little flustered by the praise; having received it far more often from an audience he knew was there he wasn’t quite sure how to take it when he was told this stranger appreciated his music. Music he’d never actually meant for anyone else to hear. Covering his confusion by ducking his head to scrutinise his fingers as they tied his panpipes to his belt, he let his thoughts play over what the man had said. The first thought to traipse through his mind, was that his song had moved this fellow, the second was that he’d called it wondrous.

Now Conri, who was forever speaking without much thought, could well understand that that might not have been exactly what was meant. Still… As soon as he recognized the word ‘wonderous’ his head came back up and his eyes widened. Whether in surprise or incredulity even he couldn’t have said, and a quick flood of words poured form his mouth. “Wonderous? You thought my music was wondrous? Truly? Oh, that could very well be almost the greatest speech I’ve heard since I’ve got back to Crimsonwood! The greatest being my Leah telling me she’d only been waiting for me to grow the courage to ask after her.” He grinned and winked playfully, being perfectly truthful about his feelings, and unaware that this man might not actually care about what he considered to be the greatest speech he’d heard in the past two years.

“Now.” He paused for a more dramatic effect after giving the fellow time to assimilate and respond to his flurry of words, then he set his fisted hands on his hips to emphasize the fact that he was being serious. “Wherever did you come from?”

It was a very important question, good for general knowledge and to find out just what sort of questions might be answerable should he ask them. After all, if this fellow hadn’t come from Whitehaven , then there was no use in asking after any information from there, now was there? Of course, it might end up that he’d forget and ask in the course of their conversation anyways, but the chance of that was slim, much less than if he was to ask for the stranger’s name and forget that. He was also rather curious, since it seemed to him that he’d popped out of nowhere, where he had come from.

[Jarem]

Jarem's smile widened as he listened to the words of this wonderful musician. The man was quite polite, as the Wizard had hoped, and seemed to be a model of good manners. Good manners to match great talent. Such a thing was decidedly rare in the world; most individuals with any sort of special skill or power become complacent and rude. But, judging by this fellows speech, he didn't have much cause to believe that he was so great anyway. The elf seemed so very shocked to hear what Jarem thought of his music. His surprise seemed unwarranted; such skill with the pipes was worthy of admiration just as Jarem's skill in dance had once been. For him to be so caught off guard by the compliment...surely, the number of those who had heard him play must be very few.

"Aha! Congratulations, good sir!" Jarem exclaimed on the matter of his courtship of this "Leah." "I dare say that this is what all women wait for: the failing fortitude of us men. Well, nearly all, anyway." It was a small joke at the expense of all men; the Wizard knew good and well that many women were waiting for much more than courage. He knew it especially of the Witch of Cordak, whom he had referenced offhandedly in his final sentence. Even the goddess Islanna would have trouble finding a suitable mate for that one, though Cordak himself was probably enough for her.

Jarem gestured behind himself after being asked where he'd come from, turning his body slightly to facilitate his pointing. "Just over the hill there." He replied lackadaisically. "I have managed to set up a small camp: a tent and a bundle of sticks for a fire, nothing more." There was some idea in his mind that this wasn't exactly what the traveler was asking. He considered the possibility that the man had wished to know what actual town or village he called his home, but he dismissed it quickly, not really having any desire to focus on the matter. There were wizards and witches who had "homes," and there were those that didn't. Jarem was one of the latter, wandering about to and fro, remaining with people who offered their kindness and staying in the wild when there were none. He could, of course, have said where he was born, but he didn't really call that place home anymore.

"But, on the matter of your music." Jarem said, not seeing fit to question the traveler on his place of origin since he'd already implied previously that he was a Crimsonwood elf. "Surely, the elves of your home have not been treated to a sampling of your melodies, or compliments such as mine would be commonplace. Why do you not share your gift with them?" He could have been wrong in assuming that this elf hid his gift from his neighbors, but he considered it very unlikely. He dared to believe that Elves appreciated the arts more than any other beings of Aspera, and to think that they could have heard the traveler's moving music without showing any appreciation seemed almost foolish to him.

[Conri]

His smile, which had not been small, grew even wider as the man congratulated him upon his recent marriage. It certainly was something that he believed deserved such a remark. Particularly as Leah had been waiting some 60 years or more for his courage to show itself. She would have been well within her rights to let him go without pity, but she had a large heart. He chuckled, nodding at the wise comment, surely, he might have learned his lesson the first time, but never had he thought to set that learning to practise. Foolish-ness, he was sure, and fear of a woman’s response, was ever the failing of males. “Many thanks. Hah! They wait, though some with less patience than others. My mother wished many strange things upon me afore I grew brave.”

His eyes sparkled in remembrance of those conversations they’d held between them. More often than not, they’d ended with his mother throwing her hands into the air in exasperation and leaving him, with a parting pat on the shoulder, to worry himself in peace. Around Conri, even elves found it difficult to maintain their quiet mannerisms.

Looking where the old man gestured, he realised that he could very well have walked past him that afternoon, since he had come from that direction himself. And all without knowing. Or perhaps, this man had come behind him, but not by way of the road, for it did not curve around to reach the other side of the small crest. Nor were there many who would have expected it to. For beyond that hill, or near enough to it, lay Faylinbrook Forest, into which few would ever dare to venture. Conri’s amber eyes widened as he considered this information, and he briefly reconsidered his earlier impression of him being a fey creature. Still, it did not seem likely. As far as the elf knew, they did not wander far from their home these days, and were so rarely seen. Surely, they would not come out for a common elf such as he was.

Then he frowned slightly, thoughts quite clearly passing through his mind with each slight shift in expression. The night, well-lit though it may be, was a time for sleeping, and, as Conri felt no great urgency to move onwards, he wondered if he might press himself upon the hospitality of this man. He had no need of a tent, his cloak was warm enough at present, but a fire would be welcome, and, of greatest importance, some company. But just as he was starting to formulate his request, taking care with his words as he did not wish to presume too much or seem desperate, the man spoke again, turning the conversation once more to the matter of his music. And, just as before, the words caught him by surprise. As most would, Conri appreciated a little praise now and then. It encouraged him to practise and continue at what he so enjoyed, but usually that praise came and went and then the conversation moved on to other things. Less trivial and generally more important.

So it was that this stranger induced his cheeks to flush darkly a second time in as many minutes. He who so rarely blushed for any reason. But then he waved his hand expansively, shaking his head at the same time, with utmost sincerity. He was not dismissing the man’s words, simply ushering them along into the night, so he would not have to think of them overlong. Still, it would not do to leave a question unanswered, because that was rude, and Conri so hated to be rude.

“Why, certainly those who live in my home, Leah and my family, they have heard me play often enough. And they do tell me they don’t mind it in the least!” He gave a happy grin and exaggerated shrug, spreading his arms out a little from his sides to show that that was a wonderful concession to have gained and that he was putting their words rather mildly. In truth, many of his relatives had told him they loved to listen to his playing, but that he shouldn’t spend so much of his energy on human songs. Still, he was trying to be as diplomatic as possible about such narrow views, and didn’t wish to insult this fellow since he still believed him human.

“Truth? I wasn’t thinking anyone was around to hear. I…” His explanation trailed away dismally as he glanced at his worn boots. Conri didn’t know how to continue. He let his fingers play with the few loose leather strips hanging from his belt, torn between his own privacy, of which he had very little limits, and his wish to set the man’s ideas straight. It wasn’t that the elf never heard compliments or didn’t share his music. In fact, he rather had to, considering it was his profession as a bard. It was simply that the way he had been playing this night, without the guidance of any previously learned melody or tune, was something few others had ever heard. Usually, it was only here, where he’d always believed he would be alone, that he made his own songs. So Jarem was right in thinking that few had heard his own playing, but it wasn’t because they wouldn’t listen.

“I haven’t played so for near eighteen years, sir, I played once for Leah and I do believe she liked it, only, she was crying so very hard after, she couldn’t speak.” Finally, the words burst from him; he never could keep secrets, even ones that weren’t really secret. “She wanted me to play something for her, lighten her mood, see? So I tried to show her how much I loved her. I thought that was sure to cheer her, though I wasn’t expecting the tears.” Conri kept on now that he’d started, earnest in his desire for this old man to understand what he was trying to say.

“And Mother heard me too, the first time I held my pipes. Wasn’t near as good as I am now though, maybe- maybe she would like to hear it again…” Even making such a statement as that, about his skill, Conri didn’t sound as though he was trying to brag. It was simply a fact, and he knew it and this old gentleman seemed to know it too. His voice failed as the latest thought flowed through his mind; almost at the same speed the words were leaving his mouth. He’d never thought to share more music than he already did. Never thought to intrude in that way or ask for an audience if he couldn’t find one amid the many towns and cities he visited throughout the year. The elf had always thought playing to nature, where none would have to hear him was enough.

His uncertainty showed through his hesitation and his wringing hands. His face, shadowed though it was by night, held all the confusion of revelation as was evident in his voice. For the moment, he had forgotten about sleep, and the strange place they were meeting in, and his ancient desire to keep his sorrows hidden. All he wanted was the opinion of this man. All he needed was a word or tilt of the head. Conri’s quiet worries and wonders were clear as he gave a voice to this newest question.

“Do you think she’d want to?”