Caleb can't help the way he perks up when Ro announces the next song will be in Zemnian. He feels Nott pat his arm excitedly, and he sits up, curious, as Ro begins to strum.
He can't know what the words mean, but as he begins to sing, Caleb notes right away that his pronunciation is quite good; a useful skill, and probably a fair bit of practice. It's only a few lines before Caleb recognizes the song. Oh, he happens to know this one quite well.
The first time he heard it was in Blumenthal, when he was young, but it wasn't uncommon in the taverns and beer halls of Rexxentrum, either. It's been years, but he still finds himself humming along before he can think better of it, quiet but resonating. It's a bit melancholy in the way that many Zemnian songs and stories tend to be, but with an underlying sweetness. He remembers it in Wulf's low voice, the vibration through his wide chest as Bren pressed his ear against it, pleasantly beer-drowsy, the three of them tucked into a corner table as the bard sang.
Ro's voice couldn't be more different, but the feeling it conjures is also both melancholy and sweet. Caleb's expression is soft, though his eyes are a little distant, as he sings along in his head. For most of the song, at least. Toward the end, the words change to ones he hasn't heard before.
That stirs him from his half-reverie. This new ending outlines the futility of the hero's death, killed fighting for the sake of a more powerful man who will never acknowledge his sacrifice. It makes the grief of those who loved him loyally stand out starkly. The criticism of the Empire itself in the change is not veiled. This is the sort of thing his training taught him was worth keeping an ear out for, perhaps even a little digging, just to see if the bard might share more than sympathies with one of the underground resistance groups.
In many ways, it hits a little too close to home now.
Caleb claps again when Ro reaches the end, and offers, "Gut gemacht. That was very good. Your Zemnian, also. That song is fairly well known in the part of the Empire I am from. Though someone has altered the ending since the last time I heard it." Which, admittedly, was a long time ago.
When Ro looks as he sings the last verse, he catches something as it flickers across Caleb's face, though he isn't quite sure what it is. He lowers his gaze again as he finishes with a slow strum, and a smile lights his face as he's offered applause again.
"Thank you, I've been practicing. It'd be embarrassing to sound bad singing a song badly in a language other people actually know," he says with a wry look. He tips his head when Caleb says the ending has changed since he last heard it and that makes Ro wonder. "How has it changed? If you don't mind my asking. And uhm. What's it about?"
The bard he learned it from had only given a gist, and he's picked up what he can from just singing it over and over again, but there's only so far he can get without knowing the language.
Caleb is ready to explain, and equally ready to warn his new companion about yet another seemingly harmless way to end up in an Empire jail cell.
"Ja, so first of all, you could get arrested for singing that one," he says, blunt but informative. Just getting that out of the way first. Helpfully, Nott gives a low horrified shriek. "That last verse, anyway. I am surprised the bard who taught you did not warn you about the anti-Empire sentiment."
Concerning, actually, what could have happened if Ro performed this casually at a crossroads inn some evening.
"Most if it is equivalent to the original that I grew up with, which is a bit gloomy in the way of many Zemnian tales. Three ravens discuss making their next meal of a fallen hero who lies wounded after a great battle. The hero's dog never leaves his side and his hawks keep the carrion birds at bay, but his lover is far too late, and he is dead long before she arrives. She buries him, and dies by the end of the day herself. Love and loyalty, and so on. The ending of this new version, though--well, I will give it a rough translation for you."
And he does. Easily recalling the words in Zemnian, he approximates their meaning in Common as best as he can in a rather flat recitation.
And again a faithful man lies in the moor A hero who lost everything for no reason. A new grave for an old war For the dear tale of glory and heroic victory. For the short rage of a nobleman Who once thought highly of revenge. For a king he didn't even know He now lies dead in a far country.
"So you can see the problem," he finishes. "But, ah...at least it is only Nott and I you have played it for?" He hopes, at least.
Ro's eyes widen when Caleb says, very bluntly, that the song could get him in as much trouble - or likely more - than wearing the wrong holy symbol. His brows knit and the surprise turns to a concerned sort of interest as he listens. He remembers the bard well, and somehow it doesn't really surprise him to learn of the anti-Empire sentiment hidden - or not so hidden - in the final verse.
He sits back, the contemplative frown still fixed in his expression as he listens - first to the general gist of the song, then to the final verse. He absently plucks a tune, even if Caleb's recitation is flat. It gives him something to do with his hands while he thinks.
"Mm, I see," he says after a moment, if only to acknowledge that he understands why he would get in trouble for it. Ro is quiet for a few seconds more, considering what would make a person change a traditional song possibly well-known by so many. "Well, I can't say I don't like the verse as the bard taught it to me. But maybe I just keep this one to myself until I'm out of the Empire."
And off places where most people might not know the language he'd be singing in anyway. He looks at Caleb, searching him. Even Ro isn't quite sure for what.
"Thank you," he adds as his expression finally smooths into something that at least seems happier. "The rest of the song sounds... well. Nice isn't the right word. But it's a good ballad. I'll be careful," he adds. "Be a shame to undo your good work trying to earn some coin."
"Ja, it would be," Caleb agrees with a thin, apologetic smile. It is better to have told Ro than not, but it doesn't feel good. "I enjoyed your performance, at least. And I think you should sing that verse elsewhere, when you can."
It unsettles him because it reminds him of another life, where he could have been the one ordering the arrest--or worse. Of lives lost needlessly in service to a false patriotism. Proof that the message it conveys works.
"It...completes the song with a gravity the original ending did not."
Suddenly self-conscious, he glances away from Ro, looking down at his boots instead before he reaches for Frumpkin to drag him back into his lap.
"Thank you for playing for us tonight," he says, talking to Ro but looking at Frumpkin. "I would gladly hear another from the sea, if you are inclined."
"My pleasure, really." Ro smiles brighter, attempting to ease the shadow that's passed across Caleb's face. He adjusts his position and gives his lute a decisive strum when the other man suggests another song from somewhere far away. Ro can do that.
"Happy to oblige." And he is, Ro picks up a song he learned in Emon, something more upbeat with significant innuendo but nothing that's outright dirty - a song for plausible deniability should an establishment want to avoid anything to ribald. Just something to lighten the mood. If he gets Nott laughing, he'll call it a victory.
Ro plays a few more songs, winding down to quieter ones as Nott starts to nod off and as he starts feeling drowsy himself. He murmurs a goodnight to them both before disappearing beneath his cloak, curled against a nook in the tree roots that is about halfling-sized. He doesn't want to presume that Caleb would be okay with cuddling again for warmth, especially when it's clear Nott already had that idea.
Morning comes with a low mist and chill, but no clouds: hopefully the sun will burn it away as it rises higher. Ro feels stiff, but nothing worse than any other night on the road. Ro isn't the best morning person. Not surly, but quiet for the first hour or so as they all get ready to hit the road again.
"Should we stay off the road?" he asks, only a bit uncertain. He imagines, hopefully, Caleb and Nott might have a better idea of the risk.
Before they bed down for the night, Caleb's unease does noticeably fade, thanks to Ro's songs and Nott's merriment. Just as she does each night, Nott scurries into his arms and curls up against him, and he arcs his body around her smaller one to keep her nice and warm. He mutters a quiet Gute Nacht in return as Ro finds a spot among the roots nearby to pull his cloak over himself. For a moment, Caleb had considered inviting him closer to stay warm again, but he understands preferring to keep to himself now that he has his gear back, and leaves him be.
In the morning, he appreciates the quiet as he scatters the evidence of their campfire and they get ready to move again. Nott is especially sleepy today. He winds up hoisting her up piggy-back so she can keep resting for a little longer, and feels her yawn against the back of his shoulder.
"No no, I think we will be good from here," he decides, automatically starting off in the direction he knows the road to be. "We made good headway yesterday. The sooner we can get behind city walls, the better." He offers a small half smile, glancing over then away again.
As they get moving and the sun climbs higher, the lingering chill in his extremities fades into the pleasant warmth of exertion.
"I don't mind camping, but a bed might be nice," he says with a wry little smile. He feels better as they get moving, and he tries to match the mood of the other two: he'll talk if anyone is feeling chatty, but he doesn't try to fill the silence if it lingers. At least the day is turning into a nice one. Ro can't hold the government against the landscape, and while they walk it's easy not to think about what could have been had he not rescued by the strange duo he's traveling with now.
It's nice enough that Ro ends up putting his cloak back into his pack when they stop in the afternoon. After a rest, it's back on the road. Ro's actually hoping they find a town tonight.
"Are you both from here? The Empire, I mean." Ro figures Caleb must be with the accent and the fact that he seems to be a native Zemnian speaker, but Nott could be from anywhere. Hopefully he doesn't hit the paranoia he's noticed in both of them; he really is just trying to make conversation.
"A bed is always nice," Caleb agrees, with more than a little longing. Opportunities to sleep in a real bed are a rare treat. But if Ro is paying, and they reach a sizable enough town tonight, then maybe. He doesn't want to risk another smaller village just yet.
Travel is faster and easier once they hit the road, and eventually Nott slides down from his back to walk on her own, thankfully for his arms. Caleb unwinds his scarf at the same time that Ro packs his cloak away. He removes his coat while they stop to rest, but dons it as they get moving again.
The question Ro ventures is general enough that it doesn't set off any alarms; it's easy enough to tell by his accent where he is from, and he certainly couldn't pretend otherwise even if he wanted to. He gives an affirmative hum and looks down at the newer of his two small companions.
"I am, ja. The northern part, closer to the capital. I have spent my whole life here." Probably best to deflect a little anyway, just so he doesn't encourage deeper digging. As ever, it's better to seem unremarkable. "So your life of travel is very interesting to me."
Nott, who has had her hood up all day, looks up as Caleb gently taps her shoulder. "Oh, yup!" she exclaims, a little too shrill. Caleb knows what nerves look like on her; like him, she doesn't like discussing her past. It's part of the reason they work so well together. "Me too. Born and raised! But like, by goblins, so mostly just in woods and caves and stuff."
"I only really spend my time between a handful of places," Ro admits. Caleb's answer offers enough without revealing too much; Nott's nervous squeak gives her away a little more. But she's a goblin traveling with a mask and bandages covering as much as she can manage. There's plenty of reasons why someone wouldn't want to discuss their past.
"I grew up in a little fishing village." Well, he can talk about himself a bit. He doesn't have a lot to hide, at least not regarding where he's from. "My mother found me on the shore and I grew up with a family of humans. Five brothers and sisters."
As he speaks of them, he misses them. He can already imagine faces if or when he ever tells them about being arrested. It won't be the most dire straits he's ever found himself in, so it should make for a decent story if he embellishes a little here and there.
Ro, at least, has no qualms talking about his past--that or lying quite convincingly. Either way, Caleb is interested. It's nice in the way that his singing was nice; he can imagine something that has nothing to do with himself for a little while. It's certainly a whimsical enough story.
"So you came to your family from the sea?" he asks, at the same time that Nott squawks, "Five?!"
There is a warm and genuine curiosity in Caleb's expression, understated as it is, as he looks down at the halfling. A little fishing village seems like it might have a few things in common with a little farming village.
Ro can't help but smile at the contrasting reactions to what he's told so far. Caleb's warm curiosity is what keeps him going.
"Washed up in a cradle that floated like a little boat," he says with a small, distant smile. "At least, that's how she tells it. They already had two children, so keeping me as a third wasn't trouble. Especially being so small--Oh, they're all human," he adds by way of explanation.
"My little siblings all outgrew me by the time they were toddlers." That had been hard, just as it had been difficult to always be the smallest child in the village. A runt, no matter how loved. "I'm sure I caused my parents a good deal of anxiety, especially when I got it in my head that I needed to--prove myself to the other village children."
The tale only grows more whimsical from there, but it makes Caleb smile faintly. Meanwhile, Nott grins sharp and wide, round yellow eyes bright.
"I bet those big folks didn't know what hit 'em. They always think they know what to expect from us." She glances up, pulling her flask from a deep pocket and taking a swig of whatever booze remains. "No offense, Caleb. You know better now."
"None taken," he assures, patting his little friend between her bony shoulders before looking back to Ro.
If he was found as he describes, it follows that he was set adrift from somewhere. For what reason is a mystery. Caleb's curiosity persists, but it seems as if that could venture into quite personal territory. Does he feel abandoned? It sounds like his family loved him very much, but that doesn't erase any difficulties he may have experienced.
"Do you feel this is why you are called to the sea? Because that is where you came from?" he asks, more lighthearted than his musings.
Ro is quiet for a moment, not in a way that suggests discomfort with the question, but to carefully think about his answer.
"Maybe," he says at last. "I used to terrify my parents, I think, because I was so small and I kept running toward something so big."
It would have been very easy to lose sight of a child as small as he was back then. He has vivid memories of his mother's anxiety, the feeling of her arms, or his father's, as they scooped him up before he could get too far.
"Whenever I looked toward the horizon, I just felt like--" He looks up at Caleb. "Have you ever stood in a fast river? Or stream? Something with a strong current, but not quite strong enough to pull your legs out from under you. You stand there, feeling it all rush by you, and... I always felt like I wanted to go with it. Not just passively swept away, but I would've run across the waves if I could."
He looks ahead again, watching the road. "When I finally got on a ship - a real one, not just a fishing boat - I still felt it. A pull, a tide." He glances up at Caleb with a smile, but there's something sad in it. "Haven't found where it ends yet."
Caleb's first instinct, when Ro catches his eye, is to look away. But he resists that urge, brow furrowing, and holds his gaze as he listens. He's had that experience a number of times, but only felt what Ro describes when he was young. So much felt possible then, with his talent and the energy around him; a future away from Blumenthal, onto bigger things. He ran toward that horizon.
But he found the end. It wasn't good.
"I think I envy that," he admits softly, before he can stop his tongue. At his side, Nott's hand comes up and slides into his in a silent show of support. "I used to have it. A pull toward something greater. But as you can see, I am all washed up these days. Drifting." Literally and figuratively. "It is a restless feeling, what you are talking about. Like you can never find what you are seeking. But it is also a purpose, ja? A reason to keep going?"
He can understand the reason for the sadness lingering at the edges of Ro's smile; the loneliness, the frustration of searching endlessly, but never finding. But the way his life has been since escaping Vergesson--it would be good to have anything drawing him forward. But he is wary of it at the same time. Even if he does find that pull again, what if he can't trust it? Can't trust himself?
"I don't know," he admits. It's hard not to think of the number of times he's landed somewhere only to get on another ship going in the opposite direction. "Maybe if I had more direction I'd feel better about it. Most days I'm not sure if I'm running toward something or away from it."
Ro sees the way Nott catches Caleb's hand, and the way he speaks of himself makes something in Ro's chest ache a little. If he knew Caleb a little better, he'd hold his hand, too. He gives the wizard a smile, something a little brighter.
"Drifting is still moving," he says. "The current always feels weak after the wild energy of a storm. But it's still there. You'll find it again. Especially with a rudder like Nott."
He's already said too much. Recognizing Ro's encouragement for what it is, Caleb returns his smile with a weak one of his own and makes an acknowledging noise, neither agreement nor disagreement. Glancing away, he does give Nott's hand a squeeze, which she returns. "She has not steered me wrong yet."
That is one thing he didn't have before, at least. The last few months have been surprising. Her companionship has been welcome, and he's done better with her than he has on his own over the last five years. Perhaps Ro's companionship could be welcome too, at least for a little while.
"Maybe this is not the final stop on your journey," he says, daring to glance back down at the halfling, "but I hope that you find some meaning in it, anyway."
"I don't know if my final stop could be so far inland. Unless something really bad happens," he says with a wan smile of his own. "But thanks. I hope I find something, too."
Ro isn't really sure what he might be looking for, but he hopes he finds it all the same. Despite his heavy answers, the day feels a little easier after that. He tells some stories, just things to pass the time; he's quiet when it seems like Caleb would prefer it and the silence doesn't feel so awkward anymore.
The sun is sinking low when they reach a town large enough to have something like an inn - or in this case, a tavern that has a few rooms for wayward travelers. Ro goes right in and climbs on a stool at the bar to talk to the woman there. He wears an easy smile and talks to her a bit before asking if there's a room available. Thankfully, there is.
Before he pays for the room, he asks if he can play for his dinner - and that of his traveling companions. People drink more when they're enjoying themselves a bit of music can't hurt. The woman gives him a wry smile and says the dinner he can play for - the baths will cost him. Ro decides that's fair enough and pays what he owes up front, then hops down to get back to Caleb and Nott.
"Find a table," he says with a bright look. "Dinner's on the house if I play for a while. And I've got us a room and hot water for baths when we go up."
Modest as it is, a room at this tavern will be the nicest place Caleb has laid his head down in weeks, and the meal Ro intends to play for the best he's had in at least that long. When the halfling tells him the good news--that they have a place to sleep and food on the way and even baths--he can't help a relieved, grateful smile. It almost feels like Ro is doing too much for them, and the discomfort of an unbalanced transaction threatens to put him on edge, but then he remembers helping him escape a jail cell only a few days ago. That's more than worth a bed and a meal.
"I'll skip the water." Nott has her hood pulled up and her face tilted down, her little porcelain mask secured over her jagged-toothed mouth, so her voice, already lowered to remain inconspicuous, is muffled. "But the rest sounds great. Get singin'! Caleb, make sure you order something better than watered down ale to drink. Get me some whiskey."
Caleb gives a huff of gentle laughter, putting his hands on her shoulders to ensure she doesn't scamper to the bar without him. "Ja, ja, we'll get some real booze in you, don't worry." He turns the soft remnant of his smile on Ro again. "Thank you for this, friend."
They find a table positioned with a good enough view of the door and out of the way enough for Caleb's comfort, so both he and Nott can relax a bit. He orders food and drink at the bar, asking them to hold off on Ro's until he is done playing so his meal will be hot. Then, like the other weary travelers filling this room, he settles in to enjoy the music.
Even though he only knows some of the songs, it makes him miss dancing. But tapping his foot along is good enough, and the food (and the beer, which is not watered down), the comfort of a warm, dry communal space where he is mostly anonymous, and the promise of a bath and a bed puts him in a good mood. He snaps Frumpkin out to lay in his lap and smiles at Nott slipping her mask down to sip at her glass of whiskey, swaying in her chair to the music.
Several songs in, Caleb goes to the bar again, procures another stein of frothy beer, and brings it to Ro.
"Here," he says, noting how much larger the tankard looks when it passes from his hand to Ro's. "To save your voice."
The smile from Caleb feels worth a few hours' work. Ro grabs his lute and hands off his pack to Caleb as he and Nott go to find somewhere to sit. He sits on the low stage and puts out the bowl he typically uses to collect alms (when he even bothers) and tunes the lute before he jumps into the set.
He keeps it light for the most part - maybe not everyone will know all of the songs, but there's enough that are familiar that some can sing along or tap their feet to familiar beats. After a few songs, someone from the village joins him with a hand drum and the pair of them make a good go of it.
Ro is a cleric, but he sings well and he can command a crowd on a good day. His smile is easy and bright. Once or twice, he seems to pick someone to sing to - including one of the serving maids as she delivers food to Caleb and Nott.
"From Westrunn way to the Open Quay, from Emon to Ank'harel, no maid I've seen like the fair cailín that I met in the Marrow Vale." Ro winks at her and is gratified with a roll of her eyes and a smile as she passes by again. He grins and turns his attention elsewhere to get more of the crowd going.
Whatever evenings are like in the village, tonight at least the tavern is lively. Ro looks up when Caleb appears with a stein and he flashes a grateful smile when he realizes it's for him. He stops playing so that he can take it and Caleb barely has time to pull his hand away before Ro takes a drink. It's cool enough to be perfect and it soothes the dry feeling in his throat.
"Thank you," he says, heartfelt. "Haven't had to sing over a crowd in a little while." Ro sets the stein close, but not where it might get knocked over. He looks up at Caleb again. "Think I'll wrap this up in a few more. I'm getting hungry."
Ro's smile is genuine enough that it stirs an answering one from Caleb, a bit shy. He feels a little heat rise in his cheeks, but blames the beer. This is an entirely normal interaction, there's no reason to be flustered. Stay on task, Widogast.
"You have earned it," he says warmly, "singing for our supper. Come and join us soon. I will tell Miranda you are ready to eat." He nods toward the barmaid who's been serving them tonight, the same one Ro singled out during his last song. Caleb makes it a habit to learn names. It's often useful, and with his memory, a trifle.
He thinks to comment further--on Ro's singing, on how much he'd enjoyed the last song especially--but realizes he's taking up time where he could be playing, finishing his set so he can get to his dinner. His flush deepens, and he takes a step back. "The last one was, ah--I liked it a lot," he says quickly, aware of his awkwardness, but unable to help it. Rather than make it worse, he retreats.
At their table, Nott gives him a sympathetic pat on the knee as she finishes her whiskey.
Ro's smile gets a little softer and warmer when Caleb offers the shy, slightly awkward compliment. He doesn't respond other than the smile, taking his cue to get back to his set. He takes another long drink from his stein before he starts playing again, something appropriately rowdy for the drummer to shine. It's been a while since he had the chance to play with other musicians, and Ro harbors some hope that he'll run into more opportunities in Deastok.
Before the end of the song, Ro's standing on the chair he's been sitting in, just so he can be seen by more of the tavern.
The next few songs keep the energy up and the drummer joins in singing those. If he closes his eyes, Ro thinks he could be home. If he closes his eyes, it's enough to ache for it. So he opens them again to appreciate the people here and now. He closes the set with something that'll wind down the energy a bit, something that saves him a bit of singing. When he finishes, he stands on his chair again to take a bow and thank the tavern for a good time. The drummer keeps on, but Ro hops down and collects his alms bowl: there's several coppers and a few silvers, so he'll take it. He splits it, leaving half for the drummer before he goes to join Caleb and Nott.
Aware the table isn't quite made for small folks, even though he's sure he saw some halflings in the crowd, Ro kneels on the bench rather than fully sitting. His voice is just a bit scratchy when he thanks Miranda for delivering his food. He looks a bit shyly at Caleb and Nott.
"The pair of you don't have to wait for me, if you don't want. I'm sure the room's ready."
Nott gets more whiskey, but Caleb continues to nurse the same beer throughout the remainder of Ro's set. The mood in the tavern was comfortable but quiet when they arrived. Now, with the addition of music, it is lively. The chatter of other patrons is louder, and as Caleb observes, more relaxed. It's nice. A good atmosphere for watching and fading into the background. There are moments when he wants to do more than that, when he wants to dance, which he hasn't in a very long time. That won't happen, of course. But Ro is good at this, and Caleb lets himself enjoy listening, at least. Quietly, inconspicuously.
When Ro finishes up and joins them, quickly receiving a hot plate for his troubles, Caleb smiles tentatively at him across the table. Nott, who is kneeling so she can peer over the surface of the table, shrugs. "Eh, I'm good," she says mildly. "I'm still drinking."
"We do not mind keeping you company," Caleb adds, the husk of his accent more pronounced as he speaks just loudly enough to be heard. "You are the reason we were able to eat tonight at all."
"Yeah, those were fun tunes," Nott pipes up again. Well into her second glass, she is noticeably less high-strung than usual, her normally twitchy body language relaxed. Good for her. Ever since Caleb's known her, she's needed booze to be anything less than a tiny green ball of anxiety. In many ways, he can relate.
Caleb's beer has gone warm, but there is less than half left anyway. He takes a measured sip. He doesn't need an excuse to linger, but having one gives him some plausible deniability. It isn't just that he wants to remain with his new friend. Maybe he, like Nott, is still drinking. "It is also your room. Enjoy your meal. We will go up when you are ready."
Ro rolls his eyes and smiles a bit. "Our room," he insists. He didn't just get it for himself, after all, when Caleb and Nott more than earned a soft bed at his expense for springing him from the jail.
That's the most fight he puts up, though. He's glad for the company and he focuses on filling his belly before he gets distracted. He puts away a good bit of food for such a little guy, but then he just burned a considerable bit of energy. He doesn't rush, though, allowing himself to enjoy the feel of the tavern now that it's buzzing with the drummer still playing in the background. Ro takes a moment to look around, and if he lets his focus go hazy, he really could be home.
When he does finish, he sits back a bit, resting on his heels as he nurses his drink until that, too, is gone. He feels warm and comfortable for the first time in days, and he knows there are baths in the future. With an empty plate and mug, he looks at his companions.
"Shall we?" he asks as he slides off the bench. Nott waves them off, saying she has more drinking to do. Ro's glad when Caleb gets up, though.
"Do you want the bath first?" he offers on their way up the stairs.
Caleb isn't surprised that Nott wishes to remain downstairs, given access to a bar for the first time in several weeks. But he does warn her to be careful, and to come up right away if anyone starts giving her second glances. Only when she promises to do so does he feel comfortable downing the last of his beer and joining Ro in heading up to their room.
He feels Nott's absence immediately. With her around, there is a bit of a social buffer. Alone with Ro, his awkward, nervous energy can't slip under the radar as easily. He scrutinizes his own behavior, which in turn makes him more self-conscious. It's been a long time since he's concerned himself with what another person thinks of him. Normally he keeps interaction to a minimum and tries to be forgettable. With Nott, they were both obvious outcasts. There was never any reason to pretend at normalcy with her.
"Nein. You should go first," he insists, because of course Ro is polite enough to offer, but he must refuse. He is frankly pretty filthy, and Ro deserves clean water. Caleb will be glad for the chance to wash up at all. "I would like to set up my Alarm, and that takes a few minutes."
The room is nice, by Caleb's estimation. A little better than a typical roadside inn, even. Nothing fancy, of course, but it is a solid structure with four walls and a roof, it is clean, and the fire already burning in a modest hearth counteracts any draft there might be from the small window. The space is small and the furniture sparse, but sturdy. A bed large enough for an adult human (not a problem; Ro and Nott can share, and he will be fine on the floor), a woven rug, a little table with a single chair, and a truly beautiful sight: a good-sized metal tub filled with steaming water. There is even a simple privacy screen set up beside it.
Caleb closes the door behind them and allows himself a single soft sigh. A hardy meal, a beer, a private room, and a bath. It feels like luxury.
"This is very good," he says, half to himself, shrugging off his coat. The fire has already heated the room to a comfortable temperature, so he won't have to wear it tonight. Reaching into his component pouch, his fingers automatically find the spool of endless silver thread.
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He can't know what the words mean, but as he begins to sing, Caleb notes right away that his pronunciation is quite good; a useful skill, and probably a fair bit of practice. It's only a few lines before Caleb recognizes the song. Oh, he happens to know this one quite well.
The first time he heard it was in Blumenthal, when he was young, but it wasn't uncommon in the taverns and beer halls of Rexxentrum, either. It's been years, but he still finds himself humming along before he can think better of it, quiet but resonating. It's a bit melancholy in the way that many Zemnian songs and stories tend to be, but with an underlying sweetness. He remembers it in Wulf's low voice, the vibration through his wide chest as Bren pressed his ear against it, pleasantly beer-drowsy, the three of them tucked into a corner table as the bard sang.
Ro's voice couldn't be more different, but the feeling it conjures is also both melancholy and sweet. Caleb's expression is soft, though his eyes are a little distant, as he sings along in his head. For most of the song, at least. Toward the end, the words change to ones he hasn't heard before.
That stirs him from his half-reverie. This new ending outlines the futility of the hero's death, killed fighting for the sake of a more powerful man who will never acknowledge his sacrifice. It makes the grief of those who loved him loyally stand out starkly. The criticism of the Empire itself in the change is not veiled. This is the sort of thing his training taught him was worth keeping an ear out for, perhaps even a little digging, just to see if the bard might share more than sympathies with one of the underground resistance groups.
In many ways, it hits a little too close to home now.
Caleb claps again when Ro reaches the end, and offers, "Gut gemacht. That was very good. Your Zemnian, also. That song is fairly well known in the part of the Empire I am from. Though someone has altered the ending since the last time I heard it." Which, admittedly, was a long time ago.
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"Thank you, I've been practicing. It'd be embarrassing to sound bad singing a song badly in a language other people actually know," he says with a wry look. He tips his head when Caleb says the ending has changed since he last heard it and that makes Ro wonder. "How has it changed? If you don't mind my asking. And uhm. What's it about?"
The bard he learned it from had only given a gist, and he's picked up what he can from just singing it over and over again, but there's only so far he can get without knowing the language.
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"Ja, so first of all, you could get arrested for singing that one," he says, blunt but informative. Just getting that out of the way first. Helpfully, Nott gives a low horrified shriek. "That last verse, anyway. I am surprised the bard who taught you did not warn you about the anti-Empire sentiment."
Concerning, actually, what could have happened if Ro performed this casually at a crossroads inn some evening.
"Most if it is equivalent to the original that I grew up with, which is a bit gloomy in the way of many Zemnian tales. Three ravens discuss making their next meal of a fallen hero who lies wounded after a great battle. The hero's dog never leaves his side and his hawks keep the carrion birds at bay, but his lover is far too late, and he is dead long before she arrives. She buries him, and dies by the end of the day herself. Love and loyalty, and so on. The ending of this new version, though--well, I will give it a rough translation for you."
And he does. Easily recalling the words in Zemnian, he approximates their meaning in Common as best as he can in a rather flat recitation.
And again a faithful man lies in the moor
A hero who lost everything for no reason.
A new grave for an old war
For the dear tale of glory and heroic victory.
For the short rage of a nobleman
Who once thought highly of revenge.
For a king he didn't even know
He now lies dead in a far country.
"So you can see the problem," he finishes. "But, ah...at least it is only Nott and I you have played it for?" He hopes, at least.
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He sits back, the contemplative frown still fixed in his expression as he listens - first to the general gist of the song, then to the final verse. He absently plucks a tune, even if Caleb's recitation is flat. It gives him something to do with his hands while he thinks.
"Mm, I see," he says after a moment, if only to acknowledge that he understands why he would get in trouble for it. Ro is quiet for a few seconds more, considering what would make a person change a traditional song possibly well-known by so many. "Well, I can't say I don't like the verse as the bard taught it to me. But maybe I just keep this one to myself until I'm out of the Empire."
And off places where most people might not know the language he'd be singing in anyway. He looks at Caleb, searching him. Even Ro isn't quite sure for what.
"Thank you," he adds as his expression finally smooths into something that at least seems happier. "The rest of the song sounds... well. Nice isn't the right word. But it's a good ballad. I'll be careful," he adds. "Be a shame to undo your good work trying to earn some coin."
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It unsettles him because it reminds him of another life, where he could have been the one ordering the arrest--or worse. Of lives lost needlessly in service to a false patriotism. Proof that the message it conveys works.
"It...completes the song with a gravity the original ending did not."
Suddenly self-conscious, he glances away from Ro, looking down at his boots instead before he reaches for Frumpkin to drag him back into his lap.
"Thank you for playing for us tonight," he says, talking to Ro but looking at Frumpkin. "I would gladly hear another from the sea, if you are inclined."
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"Happy to oblige." And he is, Ro picks up a song he learned in Emon, something more upbeat with significant innuendo but nothing that's outright dirty - a song for plausible deniability should an establishment want to avoid anything to ribald. Just something to lighten the mood. If he gets Nott laughing, he'll call it a victory.
Ro plays a few more songs, winding down to quieter ones as Nott starts to nod off and as he starts feeling drowsy himself. He murmurs a goodnight to them both before disappearing beneath his cloak, curled against a nook in the tree roots that is about halfling-sized. He doesn't want to presume that Caleb would be okay with cuddling again for warmth, especially when it's clear Nott already had that idea.
Morning comes with a low mist and chill, but no clouds: hopefully the sun will burn it away as it rises higher. Ro feels stiff, but nothing worse than any other night on the road. Ro isn't the best morning person. Not surly, but quiet for the first hour or so as they all get ready to hit the road again.
"Should we stay off the road?" he asks, only a bit uncertain. He imagines, hopefully, Caleb and Nott might have a better idea of the risk.
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In the morning, he appreciates the quiet as he scatters the evidence of their campfire and they get ready to move again. Nott is especially sleepy today. He winds up hoisting her up piggy-back so she can keep resting for a little longer, and feels her yawn against the back of his shoulder.
"No no, I think we will be good from here," he decides, automatically starting off in the direction he knows the road to be. "We made good headway yesterday. The sooner we can get behind city walls, the better." He offers a small half smile, glancing over then away again.
As they get moving and the sun climbs higher, the lingering chill in his extremities fades into the pleasant warmth of exertion.
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It's nice enough that Ro ends up putting his cloak back into his pack when they stop in the afternoon. After a rest, it's back on the road. Ro's actually hoping they find a town tonight.
"Are you both from here? The Empire, I mean." Ro figures Caleb must be with the accent and the fact that he seems to be a native Zemnian speaker, but Nott could be from anywhere. Hopefully he doesn't hit the paranoia he's noticed in both of them; he really is just trying to make conversation.
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Travel is faster and easier once they hit the road, and eventually Nott slides down from his back to walk on her own, thankfully for his arms. Caleb unwinds his scarf at the same time that Ro packs his cloak away. He removes his coat while they stop to rest, but dons it as they get moving again.
The question Ro ventures is general enough that it doesn't set off any alarms; it's easy enough to tell by his accent where he is from, and he certainly couldn't pretend otherwise even if he wanted to. He gives an affirmative hum and looks down at the newer of his two small companions.
"I am, ja. The northern part, closer to the capital. I have spent my whole life here." Probably best to deflect a little anyway, just so he doesn't encourage deeper digging. As ever, it's better to seem unremarkable. "So your life of travel is very interesting to me."
Nott, who has had her hood up all day, looks up as Caleb gently taps her shoulder. "Oh, yup!" she exclaims, a little too shrill. Caleb knows what nerves look like on her; like him, she doesn't like discussing her past. It's part of the reason they work so well together. "Me too. Born and raised! But like, by goblins, so mostly just in woods and caves and stuff."
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"I grew up in a little fishing village." Well, he can talk about himself a bit. He doesn't have a lot to hide, at least not regarding where he's from. "My mother found me on the shore and I grew up with a family of humans. Five brothers and sisters."
As he speaks of them, he misses them. He can already imagine faces if or when he ever tells them about being arrested. It won't be the most dire straits he's ever found himself in, so it should make for a decent story if he embellishes a little here and there.
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"So you came to your family from the sea?" he asks, at the same time that Nott squawks, "Five?!"
There is a warm and genuine curiosity in Caleb's expression, understated as it is, as he looks down at the halfling. A little fishing village seems like it might have a few things in common with a little farming village.
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"Washed up in a cradle that floated like a little boat," he says with a small, distant smile. "At least, that's how she tells it. They already had two children, so keeping me as a third wasn't trouble. Especially being so small--Oh, they're all human," he adds by way of explanation.
"My little siblings all outgrew me by the time they were toddlers." That had been hard, just as it had been difficult to always be the smallest child in the village. A runt, no matter how loved. "I'm sure I caused my parents a good deal of anxiety, especially when I got it in my head that I needed to--prove myself to the other village children."
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"I bet those big folks didn't know what hit 'em. They always think they know what to expect from us." She glances up, pulling her flask from a deep pocket and taking a swig of whatever booze remains. "No offense, Caleb. You know better now."
"None taken," he assures, patting his little friend between her bony shoulders before looking back to Ro.
If he was found as he describes, it follows that he was set adrift from somewhere. For what reason is a mystery. Caleb's curiosity persists, but it seems as if that could venture into quite personal territory. Does he feel abandoned? It sounds like his family loved him very much, but that doesn't erase any difficulties he may have experienced.
"Do you feel this is why you are called to the sea? Because that is where you came from?" he asks, more lighthearted than his musings.
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"Maybe," he says at last. "I used to terrify my parents, I think, because I was so small and I kept running toward something so big."
It would have been very easy to lose sight of a child as small as he was back then. He has vivid memories of his mother's anxiety, the feeling of her arms, or his father's, as they scooped him up before he could get too far.
"Whenever I looked toward the horizon, I just felt like--" He looks up at Caleb. "Have you ever stood in a fast river? Or stream? Something with a strong current, but not quite strong enough to pull your legs out from under you. You stand there, feeling it all rush by you, and... I always felt like I wanted to go with it. Not just passively swept away, but I would've run across the waves if I could."
He looks ahead again, watching the road. "When I finally got on a ship - a real one, not just a fishing boat - I still felt it. A pull, a tide." He glances up at Caleb with a smile, but there's something sad in it. "Haven't found where it ends yet."
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But he found the end. It wasn't good.
"I think I envy that," he admits softly, before he can stop his tongue. At his side, Nott's hand comes up and slides into his in a silent show of support. "I used to have it. A pull toward something greater. But as you can see, I am all washed up these days. Drifting." Literally and figuratively. "It is a restless feeling, what you are talking about. Like you can never find what you are seeking. But it is also a purpose, ja? A reason to keep going?"
He can understand the reason for the sadness lingering at the edges of Ro's smile; the loneliness, the frustration of searching endlessly, but never finding. But the way his life has been since escaping Vergesson--it would be good to have anything drawing him forward. But he is wary of it at the same time. Even if he does find that pull again, what if he can't trust it? Can't trust himself?
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Ro sees the way Nott catches Caleb's hand, and the way he speaks of himself makes something in Ro's chest ache a little. If he knew Caleb a little better, he'd hold his hand, too. He gives the wizard a smile, something a little brighter.
"Drifting is still moving," he says. "The current always feels weak after the wild energy of a storm. But it's still there. You'll find it again. Especially with a rudder like Nott."
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That is one thing he didn't have before, at least. The last few months have been surprising. Her companionship has been welcome, and he's done better with her than he has on his own over the last five years. Perhaps Ro's companionship could be welcome too, at least for a little while.
"Maybe this is not the final stop on your journey," he says, daring to glance back down at the halfling, "but I hope that you find some meaning in it, anyway."
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Ro isn't really sure what he might be looking for, but he hopes he finds it all the same. Despite his heavy answers, the day feels a little easier after that. He tells some stories, just things to pass the time; he's quiet when it seems like Caleb would prefer it and the silence doesn't feel so awkward anymore.
The sun is sinking low when they reach a town large enough to have something like an inn - or in this case, a tavern that has a few rooms for wayward travelers. Ro goes right in and climbs on a stool at the bar to talk to the woman there. He wears an easy smile and talks to her a bit before asking if there's a room available. Thankfully, there is.
Before he pays for the room, he asks if he can play for his dinner - and that of his traveling companions. People drink more when they're enjoying themselves a bit of music can't hurt. The woman gives him a wry smile and says the dinner he can play for - the baths will cost him. Ro decides that's fair enough and pays what he owes up front, then hops down to get back to Caleb and Nott.
"Find a table," he says with a bright look. "Dinner's on the house if I play for a while. And I've got us a room and hot water for baths when we go up."
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"I'll skip the water." Nott has her hood pulled up and her face tilted down, her little porcelain mask secured over her jagged-toothed mouth, so her voice, already lowered to remain inconspicuous, is muffled. "But the rest sounds great. Get singin'! Caleb, make sure you order something better than watered down ale to drink. Get me some whiskey."
Caleb gives a huff of gentle laughter, putting his hands on her shoulders to ensure she doesn't scamper to the bar without him. "Ja, ja, we'll get some real booze in you, don't worry." He turns the soft remnant of his smile on Ro again. "Thank you for this, friend."
They find a table positioned with a good enough view of the door and out of the way enough for Caleb's comfort, so both he and Nott can relax a bit. He orders food and drink at the bar, asking them to hold off on Ro's until he is done playing so his meal will be hot. Then, like the other weary travelers filling this room, he settles in to enjoy the music.
Even though he only knows some of the songs, it makes him miss dancing. But tapping his foot along is good enough, and the food (and the beer, which is not watered down), the comfort of a warm, dry communal space where he is mostly anonymous, and the promise of a bath and a bed puts him in a good mood. He snaps Frumpkin out to lay in his lap and smiles at Nott slipping her mask down to sip at her glass of whiskey, swaying in her chair to the music.
Several songs in, Caleb goes to the bar again, procures another stein of frothy beer, and brings it to Ro.
"Here," he says, noting how much larger the tankard looks when it passes from his hand to Ro's. "To save your voice."
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He keeps it light for the most part - maybe not everyone will know all of the songs, but there's enough that are familiar that some can sing along or tap their feet to familiar beats. After a few songs, someone from the village joins him with a hand drum and the pair of them make a good go of it.
Ro is a cleric, but he sings well and he can command a crowd on a good day. His smile is easy and bright. Once or twice, he seems to pick someone to sing to - including one of the serving maids as she delivers food to Caleb and Nott.
"From Westrunn way to the Open Quay, from Emon to Ank'harel, no maid I've seen like the fair cailín that I met in the Marrow Vale." Ro winks at her and is gratified with a roll of her eyes and a smile as she passes by again. He grins and turns his attention elsewhere to get more of the crowd going.
Whatever evenings are like in the village, tonight at least the tavern is lively. Ro looks up when Caleb appears with a stein and he flashes a grateful smile when he realizes it's for him. He stops playing so that he can take it and Caleb barely has time to pull his hand away before Ro takes a drink. It's cool enough to be perfect and it soothes the dry feeling in his throat.
"Thank you," he says, heartfelt. "Haven't had to sing over a crowd in a little while." Ro sets the stein close, but not where it might get knocked over. He looks up at Caleb again. "Think I'll wrap this up in a few more. I'm getting hungry."
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"You have earned it," he says warmly, "singing for our supper. Come and join us soon. I will tell Miranda you are ready to eat." He nods toward the barmaid who's been serving them tonight, the same one Ro singled out during his last song. Caleb makes it a habit to learn names. It's often useful, and with his memory, a trifle.
He thinks to comment further--on Ro's singing, on how much he'd enjoyed the last song especially--but realizes he's taking up time where he could be playing, finishing his set so he can get to his dinner. His flush deepens, and he takes a step back. "The last one was, ah--I liked it a lot," he says quickly, aware of his awkwardness, but unable to help it. Rather than make it worse, he retreats.
At their table, Nott gives him a sympathetic pat on the knee as she finishes her whiskey.
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Before the end of the song, Ro's standing on the chair he's been sitting in, just so he can be seen by more of the tavern.
The next few songs keep the energy up and the drummer joins in singing those. If he closes his eyes, Ro thinks he could be home. If he closes his eyes, it's enough to ache for it. So he opens them again to appreciate the people here and now. He closes the set with something that'll wind down the energy a bit, something that saves him a bit of singing. When he finishes, he stands on his chair again to take a bow and thank the tavern for a good time. The drummer keeps on, but Ro hops down and collects his alms bowl: there's several coppers and a few silvers, so he'll take it. He splits it, leaving half for the drummer before he goes to join Caleb and Nott.
Aware the table isn't quite made for small folks, even though he's sure he saw some halflings in the crowd, Ro kneels on the bench rather than fully sitting. His voice is just a bit scratchy when he thanks Miranda for delivering his food. He looks a bit shyly at Caleb and Nott.
"The pair of you don't have to wait for me, if you don't want. I'm sure the room's ready."
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When Ro finishes up and joins them, quickly receiving a hot plate for his troubles, Caleb smiles tentatively at him across the table. Nott, who is kneeling so she can peer over the surface of the table, shrugs. "Eh, I'm good," she says mildly. "I'm still drinking."
"We do not mind keeping you company," Caleb adds, the husk of his accent more pronounced as he speaks just loudly enough to be heard. "You are the reason we were able to eat tonight at all."
"Yeah, those were fun tunes," Nott pipes up again. Well into her second glass, she is noticeably less high-strung than usual, her normally twitchy body language relaxed. Good for her. Ever since Caleb's known her, she's needed booze to be anything less than a tiny green ball of anxiety. In many ways, he can relate.
Caleb's beer has gone warm, but there is less than half left anyway. He takes a measured sip. He doesn't need an excuse to linger, but having one gives him some plausible deniability. It isn't just that he wants to remain with his new friend. Maybe he, like Nott, is still drinking. "It is also your room. Enjoy your meal. We will go up when you are ready."
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That's the most fight he puts up, though. He's glad for the company and he focuses on filling his belly before he gets distracted. He puts away a good bit of food for such a little guy, but then he just burned a considerable bit of energy. He doesn't rush, though, allowing himself to enjoy the feel of the tavern now that it's buzzing with the drummer still playing in the background. Ro takes a moment to look around, and if he lets his focus go hazy, he really could be home.
When he does finish, he sits back a bit, resting on his heels as he nurses his drink until that, too, is gone. He feels warm and comfortable for the first time in days, and he knows there are baths in the future. With an empty plate and mug, he looks at his companions.
"Shall we?" he asks as he slides off the bench. Nott waves them off, saying she has more drinking to do. Ro's glad when Caleb gets up, though.
"Do you want the bath first?" he offers on their way up the stairs.
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He feels Nott's absence immediately. With her around, there is a bit of a social buffer. Alone with Ro, his awkward, nervous energy can't slip under the radar as easily. He scrutinizes his own behavior, which in turn makes him more self-conscious. It's been a long time since he's concerned himself with what another person thinks of him. Normally he keeps interaction to a minimum and tries to be forgettable. With Nott, they were both obvious outcasts. There was never any reason to pretend at normalcy with her.
"Nein. You should go first," he insists, because of course Ro is polite enough to offer, but he must refuse. He is frankly pretty filthy, and Ro deserves clean water. Caleb will be glad for the chance to wash up at all. "I would like to set up my Alarm, and that takes a few minutes."
The room is nice, by Caleb's estimation. A little better than a typical roadside inn, even. Nothing fancy, of course, but it is a solid structure with four walls and a roof, it is clean, and the fire already burning in a modest hearth counteracts any draft there might be from the small window. The space is small and the furniture sparse, but sturdy. A bed large enough for an adult human (not a problem; Ro and Nott can share, and he will be fine on the floor), a woven rug, a little table with a single chair, and a truly beautiful sight: a good-sized metal tub filled with steaming water. There is even a simple privacy screen set up beside it.
Caleb closes the door behind them and allows himself a single soft sigh. A hardy meal, a beer, a private room, and a bath. It feels like luxury.
"This is very good," he says, half to himself, shrugging off his coat. The fire has already heated the room to a comfortable temperature, so he won't have to wear it tonight. Reaching into his component pouch, his fingers automatically find the spool of endless silver thread.
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