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The leper had brought him a violin. It smelled of seawater and brine, the wood having somehow avoiding being horribly warped, though how, Sarmenti doesn't know. It's unpolished and the grain is rough. But it's somehow still in one piece. The giant had mumbled something about "Maybe finding it useful" or something along those lines. The jester can't remember. He huffed and puffed, but he had taken it. Even if he had the nagging feeling that it was a bribe for something.
"Violins are like horses," Sarmenti grumbles, still fiddling with the tuning pegs of the instrument. "Damn things…"
The leper hums quietly at that, silent for a moment.
"How so?…" Is the question that is eventually asked to the jester, who rolls his eyes.
"Of course a royal wouldn't know." He snaps, flicking a wrist as he speaks as if to shoo away the question.
But still, few others really cared enough to even humor him, the jester letting out a long sigh. Its someone to listen to his inane ramblings. Turning the fragile thing about, he runs a finger along it's back, chuckling when he finds a crack along the grain. Entirely unshocking.
"The damn things love the break their backs at the slightest provocation. Like a horse dying 'cause it ate bit of sour grass. It gets hot, it splits. It gets cold. It splits. You drop it from a little too high, the back splits And the bridge files off somewhere. Looking for ways to make itself a waste of money and effort. I'm shocked this one isn't in worse shape given where you got it."
Gloved nails start to pick at the crack, needing something to busy themselves with. There isn't even a half decent luthier in the hamlet anyways. And Sarmenti doesn't care enough about the thing to even try to fix it.
"Like I said. A horse. And gods above, don't even get me started on the rest of thing." The wood cracks more under his fingers, barely casting his eyes down as it spreads up from nearly top to bottom.
There is an urge to press it against his knee, split the damn thing in half. But he resists, grumbling again as he turns it about once more. It's ruined either way but, the strings could maybe be useful…
"You can't just use a bow, No, the damn things need rosin as well to properly sing. But not to much, ugh. Needy little instrument. And gods help you with getting the rosin dust off it. Gods help you." He knows he's talking mostly to himself at this point, loosening the strings enough that he could maybe salvage them for his lute. Unlikely, but… Maybe. "The bows even use horse hair. They really are just a horse in another shape."
He glaces up, and is surprised to find Baldwin still intently focused on him. Sarmenti hurriedly snaps dark eyes back down, hating how he feels his face get a little hotter. He's not used to this sort of undivided attention. Even Campbell or Barristan often has something else on their minds when they spent time with him. This royal… He was utterly focused on him. It made him feel watched in a way he hated, but… It was also… oddly nice.
"Fragility doesn't take away from its beauty." The words are clearly carefully chosen, and Sarmenti has a feeling the royal's talking about more then horses and violins. "Nor does it mean that strength can't be found alongside it."
The jester mutters to himself again, finding himself embarrassed for reasons he can't put a finger on. But the damn king is right. About the horses at least. Sarmenti has the scars to prove it after all. He finally manages to free the high string, the E note he thinks it's called.
"Yeah, yeah. Of course your royal highness would speak with pride of impractical things." He likes the way Baldwin cringes at the raking thorns of his words.
But he doesn't relent. Doesn't shrink or pull away. He stays. Like so few others have.
"They inspire the ones around them. Leave others in awe of them." Sarmenti's face gets even hotter, not know how his mask isn't glowing with the heat.
The leper's trying to stroke Sarmenti's ego, and he hates how it's somewhat working. Compliments being a rare thing given to him. Or at least he thinks that's what the king is trying to do. Or, like always, the jester is pinning a idea to somewhere it doesn’t belong. That Baldwin really is just talking about horses.
"Flatter." The fool snaps back, almost angry at himself how that's the best he can come up with.
Baldwin chuckles quietly, Sarmenti realizing he had never committed to memory a time the leper had laughed at anything. And before the jester can linger on that, he finally manages to undo another string. Something to keep his hands busy. Something to keep his mind off the feelings starting to swirl inside him.