Chapter Text
There’s a whisper among the streets of Tosun, under the beck and call of everyday life. A story told and twisted, a handful of names and words staying true, a string of such catching the ears of two.
The first, a lone man in the street, his first day leaving the only place he’s ever known- except, he thinks, he’s certain that he’s known another place. The cold upbringing that fills his memory doesn’t match with the echoes that reach him now and again- Someone calling his name- he’s certain it’s his name, even if he can’t remember all the syllables- like it’s a lifeline. A kind hand through his hair. A voice singing praise that lights his chest like kindling. Strong arms around him, holding him tight- those thing don’t come from a life spent in an cruel orphanage. That feeling of another soul yearning for his own- that doesn’t come from a life uncared for. When he hears those words, he reaches under his shirt and pulls out half of a locket. In its rusted frame, a face that looks haunting like his own rests and yet he’s entirely certain it’s someone else. He has no proof for that fact. His fingers trace the edges of the outside, where the hinges snapped, separating it from its matching half. He thinks, without consciously calling to the thought, that he can relate.
It’s that errant thought that sends his ears snapping up in search of where the sound had come from, in the direction of a path just off the bustling central street of the city.
The second is a man lost in his thoughts. He’s not alone, his confused friend with him. It’s not that he doesn’t like or trust the man- of course not, he’s certain he might be the only one he can say he does, actually- but sometimes he rambles off in a string he’s not even sure his friend is following and his own attention drifts. He remembers a different place- a castle, lit by light and filled with warmth. A family of seven that cared for their people and a people that cared for them. He remembers a face like his friend’s on a boy he knew there long ago, but he tries to force down. No one survived, he tells himself. He tried for otherwise, he truly did, but no one survived. It’s not him- what are the odds? When he hears the words, though, he knows in his gut that sometimes the world is full of terrible odds. It twists his gut, at first, but then, almost as quickly, it begins to twist in his mind. It’s not the first time the plot has come to mind- he knows exactly the details that they’d need to pull it off, and he and Barry really do need to make it out of Tosun before they get themselves killed with their schemes. Those words strike him with inspiration to say, “Come on, I’ve got an idea,” before chasing down the voice.
See, there’s magic in a bard’s song, and it’s called inspiration. That’s exactly the force that strikes these two now, sending them from opposite directions to meet in the middle. Even though Kravitz is right- the world is full of terrible odds, after all- the world is also full of magic. It’s this everyday magic that wills this tale to be on this on this day, even if the origins of it reach back to a night a decade before and then days earlier than that still.
The bard in question knows none of this, though. He wasn’t even meaning to grant inspiration, and he wasn’t even singing, but sometimes, the most mundane whispered story told to another outside a store front can change everything.
“Hey, you know that music box that you found in the castle?”
The merchant squares him with a look. “Yeah? What about it?”
“Do you think it could’ve belonged to the prince?”
The merchant rolls her eyes. “Oh, gods, you’re on about that again?”
This is the mistake that sets this story in motion- he says, accidentally loudly enough to echo through the street, “What, come on! Everyone knows the rumor that Prince Taako really survived!”
The last fragment is what catches the aforementioned sets of ears. The lonely man moves, maybe faster than he should, through the sidestreet to approach the bard and his friend. He reaches the pair just before Kravitz, with Barry in tow, can.
“What rumor?” he asks.
The bard and the merchant share a look, the merchant’s almost pleading. It’s fruitless, though. The bard breaks into a dazzling grin and turns to the lonely man. “Why, haven’t you heard?” he calls out in the voice of a showman.
Kravitz and Barry stop a few feet away, listening in as a few stray eyes turn to do the same. It’s not the first time the bard has put on a show like this.
The man’s eyes narrow. “Uh, what else would I mean by ‘what rumor’? No, I haven’t.”
“Ha,” the bard laughs dryly. “Who among us haven’t heard the whispers that Prince Taako of the Royal Birds lives?”
“Me!” the man calls back at him as the bard jumps on top of the merchant’s stand, using it as an impromptu stage to speak to the growing crowd. “I literally just said I hadn’t heard the rumor!”
The bard takes his complaints easily in stride. “Well, a decade ago, before the revolution, there was a family that ruled over these lands. They weren’t like anything the rest of the world had ever seen- and, if you ask me, that’s why I believe that they were so feared. Their difference, though, won them the heart of Tosun. At least, for a time. The Royal Birds were a family like no other- ruled by Kings Davenport and Highchurch, the Birds were comprised of brilliant children, orphans like so many of this fair city, that the kings had taken to. Back in their hayday, there was a rumor that they couldn’t help but take them in- that even Davenport, the stricter of the two kings, had a bleeding heart for those like them trying to overcome the world that had tossed them aside. A family of misfits? An anomaly. A royal family, though? This was an innovation.”
The story is old and familiar, it dawns on Kravitz. It fits across his shoulders like an old sweater. It’s worn and well known, but by the looks across the faces of the crowd, it seems to be a welcome retelling. Even Barry, who claims to have no memory of the time of the Royal Birds, seems to find comfort in the beginning of this old tale.
“Besides the two kings, there were five children. The oldest, a brilliant and driven studier of the arcane arts, unparalleled in the scope of his knowledge even at such a young age. He was the first they brought in. After him, a young brute yearning for battle with a heart of gold. His heart for justice and his loyalty towards those he loved struck the kings, and soon, he, too, was apart of this grand family. Then, soon after, the youngest, a writer who spun stories as effortlessly as she did spells came along, and the power of her words, even despite her shyness, won her too a seat in this home. The final two, however, were a pair. Twins! A girl and a boy, both as beautiful as they were powerful in their magic.” This is when the bard looks down to the lonely man for the first time since he began to spin his tale. His eyes squint slightly as he gets a good look at the lonely man. “Beautiful, quite like you, I might add.”
The lonely man smiles brilliantly but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Kravitz stares at him and realizes, just as no doubt the bard has, that the resemblance the man has to- No. It’s too perfect. What are the odds? Kravitz’ mind reels, a plan beginning to take shape.
“Well, your flattery is both appreciated and completely correct,” the man says. “Continue the story.”
The bard obliges, but he rolls an insight check. The roll is high. “Well, the girl, Princess Lup, was a firebrand to say the least. She was always a bright burst of light in the city, a fast friend to Prince Magnus in their shared love of taking action. The boy, though, Prince Taako, was beloved by all that met him but it was said that he was always one to put up a front, a quick defense of humor to hide the bright heart that shone in him like all the Birds. A gem pretending to be sequins. Sound familiar, beautiful stranger?”
The lonely man’s smile doesn’t falter but his eyes narrow. A few members of the crowd giggle.
“Well, regardless, it was a tradition among the Royal Birds to throw a lavish ball for their newest members on the third anniversary of their official introduction of the family- but of course, Taako and Lup had been at home with them for much longer than that. However, on the night of what was supposed to be a grand and happy affair, a plot was brewing. The Royal Birds had always had enemies, yes, for they willfully spat in the face of much of tradition in the name of love and joy. They were strong, though, and in their home they were loved so they believed they had not much to fear. However, beneath all of their noses, one of their most trusted had gone against them. King Highchurch’s most trusted advisor, a man named Hunger, had arranged a plot to see the family destroyed. In the halls of the Bird’s castle, the ball was interrupted- and we all know the story,” and it’s with these words that the crowd feels the cold of the winter around them. “The kings were slain. Blood, a bind that the Birds had so outrightly rejected, ran through the halls. Only two survived- Prince Magnus and Princess Lup had escaped, fleeing to friends in Neverwinter. They were twelve and ten years old, and all that remains of their once great family.”
The bard pauses, and the crowd’s frozen breath is all that fills the alleyway. They know this story. The lonely man’s smile is long gone from his face. He reaches down to the broken locket resting against his coat and clasps a hand over it.
“However,” the bard begins again, catching the crowd and pulling surprise from them, even those that had spread the rumor themselves. “Princess Lup, even in her far off new home, believes that this isn’t true. She says that, even if her adopted fathers are dead and even if the children she had called her family were slain, she says that she can feel that Taako is still out there. Their bond- whether forged by blood, or by their powerful magic, or just by the love that they share by each other- has given her hope. She still believes that her twin is out there. She keeps his picture in half of a broken locket, smashed in the violent upheaval of the Royal Birds, around her neck even to this day. She offers a reward to whoever can bring her brother home to her in Neverwinter. Ruler Hunger says, now, that this cannot be true- that It’s simply a rumor that the expat Birds have begun to bring the long-forgotten past to pull down a future- but I think we all know that that’s not quite true,” the bard tells the crowd. “I think, though-” The bard turns to look down at his merchant friend, who is outright glaring at him.
“Are you going to get off my counter now?” the merchant grumbles.
The bard’s act breaks for a moment. “Please? Please can I have the music box?”
“What? No!”
The bard falls to his knees in pleading. “Come on, please? Big finish! Pleaaase!”
The merchant shakes her head regrettably, reaching under the table to pull out the fine, red box. “You owe me.”
The bard elates, taking the box from him and widing it up as he turns back to the crowd. “I think, though, we all know that Prince Taako still lives. That even if the land the Kings built for the children they loved was torn from them, even if they lie deep underground, now, the Birds still fly.”
And with that punctuation, the bard finishes winding the music box and opens it, revealing an picture of the painting that hung in the Royal Hall before it was burned to ash. It shows all of the Birds, smiling in the frame, and at the center, Taako is hugging Lup tight and the lonely man can hear her laughter in his ears.
He gasps when the music twinkles through the crowd. He knows this song. It drags up a feeling in his gut, burning with familiarity. Something pulses in his chest- hot and loving- and he’s frantic because he’s missing something.
Barry stares shocked down at the picture, seeing fleeting memories of something long shoved down, covered up by trauma both emotional and, well, blunt, cross his memories. He- He remembers the careful, long strokes of a brown hand pulling a brush masterfully across the page, and he- he grabs his head-
Kravitz knows the notes like they were written on his soul- E, G, G, B, A, B, E- and tries to shove down the sentimental cry of ‘Maybe they are?’ that rings out in his mind.
And just like that, without even knowing it, their fate was sealed.
The story ends and the spell is broken. The crowd cheers and then disperses. The merchant shoves the bard off of the counter, catching the music box as it flies out of his hands. The bard grumbles but his friend just shakes her head at him, about done with his antics for the moment.
The lonely man rushes forward. “Hey! Wait!”
The bard turns back to the man and grins. “Oh, hello again.”
“Is that story really true?” the man asks. He’s shocked by the sound of his own voice, how… Desperate it sounds. He recovers- “Just. Historically- er, wise, I mean.”
“It is. Well, embellished a little, but-”
“I need that music box.”
The bard gapes at him and the merchant pulls the box tight to her chest. “Not a chance! I found it!” she calls to him.
“Please?” the man asks again, growing frantic as he feels his head start to pound. “I don’t- Look I just-” He grabs the side of his head as his vision begins to swim. His heart in his chest is pounding. The heat that he felt warms and he suddenly feels like he’s burning. It’s a blaze, now, warring against the pounding in his head to stop just stop thinking about it STOP. “I’m- Sorry, darling, uh, what were we talking about?”
“Are you all right?” the merchant asks, pushing the music box into the bard’s hands as she steps closer to the man.
The man looks between the pair in front of him. “I’m- Yeah, I’m not gonna lie, I have no idea what we’re talking about so I’m just gonna-”
And with that, the man turns and walks away.
Kravitz rushes up to the pair as he sees the man leave. “How much for the music box?”
“I already told the last guy, I’m not se-”
“Ten platinum.”
Kravitz and the merchant both look, shocked, at Barry. He pulls out a bag that he dumps into his hand. Sure enough, ten pieces of platinum tumble out into his open palm.
“Where the fuck did you get that?!” Kravitz asks, shocked.
Barry shrugs. “Good question? Uh-”
“Don’t care, it’s a deal,” the merchant tells him, and the bard holds out the music box.
Barry hands her the platinum and takes the box. Kravitz swears loudly before grabbing the hand without the box and dragging Barry down the side road and onto the main street after the lonely man.
The bard and the merchant look on, absolutely flabbergasted.
“Do I get a cut?” the bard asks.
“Yea, and it’s paid towards renting my stand as a stage.”