milliways_bar | (no subject)

Random settles next to him, a wide smile on his face.

"The bar is full of musicians tonight, it seems."

"Aye, 'tis. A lovely sight on any night."

"You play the Harp, I see."

He smiles, cheerfully, and shakes his head.

"Sorry. I'm Random, of Amber. Do you mind a bit of company?"

"I am Taliesin, currently of Arthur's court, and I love company." He removes the harp from its sack. "Do you play at all?"

He smiles.

"I do. Pan pipes well, and passable saxophone."

He reaches into his own bag and pulls out the pipes.

"I don't know the saxophone--what manner of instrument is it?"

He begins tuning the harp lovingly.

Random watches, always loving the sight of someone doing something they enjoy.

"It's a brass thing. Sort of like a large pipe, in a way. But you vibrate a reed at the tip. I don't really know how to explain it."

"I do like pipes," Taliesin murmurs and begins to play a ballad, singing along softly in Welsh.

Random listens, eyes wide.

His finger taps gently in rhythm on the table.

His Welsh is not perfect. But it's good enough to understand some of it.

It is the lay of a slain knight, mourning his lady who will surely hunt for him and only find his poor corpse if she finds him at all.

He nods. It's a sad story.

"You play very well."

"Thank you kindly. I practice a great deal.

"Play me your pipes, would you?"

Random takes a deep breath, filling his lungs.

With a small nod, he launches into a melody.

His foot taps out the rhythm of a beating heart. The small pipes have the sound of breath. The entire song speaks of human existance. It lilts through pleasure, lingers in pain, and gasps through ecstasy.
Finally, it ends in a stacatto blaze of glory.
The rhythm of his foot slows to a halt.
And the music dies.

A slow smile spreads across Taliesin's face. "Oh, and ye've got magic, sir," he says softly. "Magic, indeed."

"I've got practice. And passion for it. It's been nine thousand years since I got my first pipes."

He caresses the ones in his hands, gently.

"Nine thousand years--indeed." He beams. "Are you one of the Fair Folk?"

"No. Our folk aren't what you'd call 'Fair' at all. I'm an Amberite."

He smiles.

"Though a Lord of the Fair Folk is my father, I'm something esle entirely. And what of you?"

The harp strings dance beneath Taliesin's fingers. "I am something unique, neither human nor fae--I was reborn from a spell, with all the wisdom of a man."

"And how long have you been playing? Or were you born with your skill?"

He watches the harp strings, listening carefully.

"Aye, it came to me with the spell. I was but a humble servant before."

"So, a step up in the world?"

He smiles.

"The opposite for me, I'm afraid. I abandoned Princedom to wander as a minstrel, for a century or two."

"Did you gain wisdom along the way? That's the usual result of such actions."

"I did. I've found that wisdom is the hardest thing to find, and the easiest thing to trip upon."

He slides the pipes back into his bag.

"I've done a lot of things during my life. Very few that I regret."

Taliesin leans back in his seat, ready for a story. "What do you regret?"

"Deaths that I've caused. Opportunities that I've missed. Friends that I've lost and enemies that I've gained."

He shrugs.

"It's been interesting, though."

"Deaths that you've caused . . . the consequence of being a prince," Taliesin says softly. "Holding the lives of other people in your hands."

"Yes. Though not all. It's been a long life. In my youth I was not as careful as I should have been."

He smiles, grimly.

"I had a rather simplistic view of my death. I didn't really consider it a possibility that I may have to face one day. I've had to rethink my attitude since then."

"All things die," Taliesin murmurs. "Sometimes they come back."

"Death for me will be the end. I will only die when my life is taken from me. I have often thought of how that moment will be."

He shakes his head.

"It's a hard concept."

"You know how your end will come?" His voice is mild, curious.

He shrugs.
"I can't die by mortal means, so I know my end will be at the hands of others."

He looks up, eyes glowing with a strange light.

"When I die, it will be as a true Prince of Amber. With mocking words to my killers, laughing the while, though my mouth will fill with the blood of my body. And in my last moment I will make one proclamation. And it will be an irrevocable curse on those who believed that they could conquer me with death."

"Of course," Taliesin points out gently, "of course, if you're dead, they have conquored you. Death brings down all men, pauper or prince."

Random smiles, raising his chin.

"No, they will not. I will not be conquered. My body may fail me, but they will not conquer my spirit. For they will have nothing that was not taken. True conquering comes when a victim surrenders himself. Though few understand this."

"Ah . . . I see what you mean.

"Your spirit, then--you have plans for that stage as well?"

"That is an unknown. And I'm more than happy to have it remain such."

He turns to the bar.

"Single malt, neat."

He looks up at Taliesin.

"Buy you a drink?"

"Ale, please, and thank you kindly."

He holds out the glass to Taliesin, and takes a small sip of his own Scotch.

"The drink of choice where you come from?"

"My own choice of drink. And thank you." He sips with relish. "Mm. We drink to warm ourselves on cold nights, mostly--ale, mead, spiced wine."

"Arthur's court? This is Britain, then?"

He nods.

"It can be bitter there, as I recall. I spent some time there."

"Aye--the kingdom of Camelot. The winters get very cold. Summers too, some years.

"Where is Amber?"

He shrugs.

"Nowhere. Everywhere. It's not a real place, in your sense of the word. Yet it's the only real place, in my sense of it."

"Indeed. Explain?"

"I don't know if I can. Only that wherever I am, Amber is but a short journey away, yet no matter how far you walk, you'll not find it."

"It sounds like a magical land indeed," Taliesin observes.

He nods.

"It is. And what of Britian? I didn't visit till much later in your future. I've heard stories of Arthur. What is life like under his rule?"

Taliesin shrugs. "Tales of Arthur, eh? I'm not surprised. He is just and wise, the queen is beautiful, and it will never last."

He smiles.

"Wise bard. Very wise. I'd wondered if anyone of the time had seen it."

He shrugs.

"Not my story to tell, though. Yours to live."

"Aye. To live and remember." He smiles faintly and then picks up his harp. "And it's time to return. Good to meet you, Prince of Amber."

"I'll see you again Bard."

He nods his farewell, and goes back to his Scotch.