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Taverns were the same everywhere, somehow. Same hearty-looking bartender, same pay they'd give him for his music, same sloppy, only half-aware smiles his audience gave him after their third and fourth rounds of drinks. The same free drink at his elbow, as he sat propping his knee up on the same stool to hold his lute. It had been like this in Augustria, and among the villages to the north, and then in Silesse - which almost felt strange, as he'd never noticed so until he left.
Lewyn found it comforting. Familiar, almost, after these few years spent traveling from town to town. He never had to worry anymore about how he conducted himself in the presence of new people, or whether maybe this one would be different. It never was.
His lute was especially light in his hands today. It was his preferred instrument at times like these, when he needed to play above the din of a crowd. He especially needed it now; though they had shown up later than the common townsfolk, Sigurd's army was still trickling in to take their turn at the bar. He saw a flash of green hair in there, even, and not Silvia's telltale updo.
That was not the same. He felt his chest tighten a little, wondering if he'd improved enough over those few years for anyone to notice.
Lewyn idly plucked at the strings at his fingers. It was time to pick a new song. The last one had been a casual thing, more of a rolling ballad to pass the time without catching anyone's focus. But it was late, and some of his audience would grow sleepy if he tried that again...
He tapped his boot on the floor, to the rhythm in his head. There was an old song he missed, and one he knew the people here would appreciate.
"Oh, my dear, my dear," he began, and he saw a few heads turn.
"I know the ev'ning's long..." he continued, drawing the vowels out into a song. His lips turned up slowly into a smile as he saw those few begin to catch on.
"But our time is growing short," he sang, "and soon you may be gone," and a stray voice had joined his in the chorus already. The joys of an old song that everyone here seemed to know by heart. It took Lewyn back to the times he would escape his lessons by running into town and hiding among the people. A time when blending in like that lifted his mood more than anything, because for a moment he would be only one of them and not a prince at all.
"Now the snow is falling heavy, / and the fire is dying slow..." That was the feeling he brought to life now, with the strumming of his lute that he added behind the chorus. He wanted some energy. He needed it, really, he'd been sitting for hours and his foot tapping turned to clapping his heel on the floor to punctuate his words. "So take my hand and step with me, / don't stop 'til morning's glow!"
The tables of Silessian townsfolk, drunk as some of them were, had caught on by now. The foreigners from Sigurd's crew were at least following along. Hands clapped, enough sang, and with his lute underlying it all he could fill in the gaps.
This was it. This was the feeling he missed. Too much, all at once, a little ale adding a warm rosy feeling to his chest, to his smile, to the smiles of everyone else watching -- he could eat it up all night, the way they watched him. Listened to him. He needed this.
"--Oh, the skies are growing dark--" He clapped his heel to the floor, "--And wind whispers 'tween the trees--" and with a start hopped to his feet. "--All these secrets of mine!--" A flourish of his hand, and a final chord struck out of his strings. "--'Fore I have a chance... to... speak..."
The last words trailed slowly, sadly out of his mouth, as his audience watched with bated breath. He had them wrapped around his finger, he could tell.
He loved it.
"So--!" He clapped once, then again, bringing the rhythm back. Scattered claps and stomps and snaps began to fill in around him. "The snow, it's falling heavy--" a clap, "--and the fire, it's dying slow." Another clap. He glanced across the faces in front of him, but they barely registered over the euphoria of--
...No, one caught his eye. Lewyn found himself staring, then grinning, in the way he knew Erinys called foolish.
She was quiet as she always was, over there in her corner. The raucous singing hadn't reached her the same way it had everyone else. Now that Lewyn thought about it, the two of them had barely spoken since their reunion in Augustria. Maybe he'd become more used to being alone in the time he was gone.
But this evening, he was full of nostalgia and a longing for times when things were simpler. Times Erinys was there.
His lute was left on his chair -- there was no need for it with everyone present carrying the tune. "...Oh, take my hand--" as he took hers, "--and step with me?" a question to her, as he met her surprised gaze with a confident smile. "We have 'til morning's glow...?"
Lewyn watched, his own breath hitched, as Erinys hesitated. He knew what he'd done, suddenly. He had done so little to consider what his time away had meant to her. If she said no, it would be on him. He so hoped she wouldn't. That this might be a start.
Her fingers slowly curled around his. As she reached to place her hand gently on his shoulder, he broke into a laugh and spun her up out of her chair.
He caught a covert smile from her as he tugged her away from the table. They both knew the steps -- nothing fancy, not for a song sung in taverns among those deep in their drinks. Erinys had been there, though, whenever Lewyn stole away from the castle. He wondered if she missed those times. He guessed, at least, that she liked this one.
He didn't need to sing now, with everyone else doing it for him. But he wanted to.
"Oh, the night is wearing thin," he sang, for Erinys. The steps took them both around the tables, and for the number of feet and chairs in the way they still made it through. "So my dear, I'm glad t'have you--" was the next verse, and it was true. "--Beside me through the cold--" he added, and began to have an idea. "--Together 'til the day is new..."
One more spin. Lewyn shifted his weight, took a deep breath and an extra step, and with two taps of heels on chair he'd taken Erinys with him up to the vantage of the table. He heard the gasp from her -- unexpected, he knew -- and the riotous cheer from those singing along. They didn't matter, really. It mattered only that Erinys held tighter to his hand.
"...Well, the snow is falling heavy," began the last round of the chorus, and though the crowd was nearly yelling Lewyn still sang for Erinys. "And the fire is dying slow... / You'll take my hand and step with me--" They were stepping between glasses and mugs now, and if Lewyn kicked one or two he didn't care. "--Until the morning's glow!"
With those final words drawn out he leaned forward, tipping Erinys back yet following her until they were both tipped over the edge of the open table. His eyes were only on her, and her surprise, and for a moment he thought he'd failed.
It was the laugh he heard as he pulled her back up, despite the din of applause and the remnants of discordant song, that told him he was wrong.