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When Raederle was nine years old, the High One's harpist came to Anuin and presented her with a simple wooden flute by way of a late birthday gift.
Not shy by nature, the idea of demonstrating a lack of skill where others might overhear or see had still left her unexpectedly and rather inconveniently tongue-tied and unwilling to voice her desire to be taught. It did not help matters that her brother Rood was getting at an age where teasing was considered a higher art, while her brother Duac had reached an age where he appeared dignified and miles beyond her in both age and wisdom.
After an evening of harping, Deth asked Mathom of An for a double boon: to be permitted to visit the pig-herds of Hel, and to take with him Mathom's daughter, 'for company', he said.
Mathom, after due consideration, granted his request.
Thus: "Worry not," Deth said, and there was a twinkle to his eyes, "as far as audiences go, it's hard to find one harder to displease than a herd of pigs."
He might have been teasing, or exaggerating. The latter seemed more likely than the former.
"Have you really harped for pigs?" she asked, to make sure, and also, because the idea at once fascinated and amused her. "What sort of songs do they like?"
"Yes to your first question. I fear I have no answer to your second one." Deth sighed. "They seem to enjoy being inscrutable - at least in my company. Perhaps you will be able to wrest an answer from them."
"Oh, surely not," she said, as she felt she should. "Not if you can't, when everyone says that you are the very best harpist there has ever been."
"Well, but those are humans," Deth said, shrugging. "Pigs might feel rather differently, don't you think? Maybe they simply don't care for harping. Perhaps, had I been a flutist instead, I might have gotten them to sing for me."
The idea of singing pigs struck her as charming and more than a little hilarious. She imagined Rood's face, if her fluting were able to make pigs sing, and then Duac's.
"Let's start with something a little less ambitious, shall we?" Deth smiled. "A human song. Which would you like to learn?"
Once, Liadan of Aum decided to steal some pigs of Hel. Under the cover of night, he and his men crossed the border and unseen by any man of Hel, they made their way to where the pig-herds were known to be.
Arrived, Liadan sent out scouts, to tell him of any guards. They reported finding none, and Liadan ordered his men to proceed.
None of them were ever heard from or seen again, but three days later, Liadan's wife Aoife was attacked by a wild boar while out riding. Her guards managed to drive the beast off without much trouble, coming close to killing the beast but not quite succeeding.
She heard the harping before she spotted the harpist: Deth, sitting under a tree, his only audience the pigs, who took as little notice of him as if he had been a tree.
Two trees removed, the pig-woman sat, smoking her pipe. Raederle wondered how close the harpist had been when he had sat down, if they had spoken to one another yet - now, or some time past, when she had not been here.
"That is the High One's harpist," her companion said. Men called her the Rose of An, the most beautiful woman in the Three Portions. Two-hundred years from now, she might be the subject of a riddle.
Raederle called her 'friend'. "Yes. He once told me pigs make the easiest audience, because it is near impossible to displease them." At Mara's stare, she added, "I think he was joking. He later told me that he suspected they didn't much care for harping either way."
"Did you know he was going to be here? Is that why you chose this place?"
Raederle considered the saddle-bags, stuffed with food. It would easily suffice for the four of them, and leave something for the pigs, should they deign to join them. "Perhaps I had a feeling."
"Ah," Mara said. "Like your father has, although I'm sure he doesn't call them that."
Deth had seen them, and risen, leaving his song unfinished. Raederle had not recognized it. The pig-woman looked uncertain if she wanted to stay or slink away and risk missing Deth's harping.
"My father enjoys sounding mysterious, I think. My mother says it's so that when he wants something simply because he wants it, nobody will question him, instead assuming that there's some higher reason for it. He didn't deny it," she went on, "although of course that doesn't mean it's true."
"Or not true."
"Quite."
After Connal of Hel broke a promise made to one of his allies, he was cursed and his sleep was haunted by the accusing voices of those whose death he had caused. For three months and three weeks, he sought for someone to break the curse, but within the borders of Hel, he found no-one.
When word was brought to him that one of his sows was about to birth a speaking pig, he returned home and, after the birth, he asked what might grant him the rest he so desired.
"Death," was the answer he received. In anger, and against the protests of his pig-herder, he ordered the pig slaughtered, though none would eat it. After this event, he fell into despair.
When a harpist arrived in his castle, Connal asked the man to harp for him, thinking the music might ease his spirit for a while. The harpist refused. Connal asked again, offering gold and jewels, but still he was refused. Grown angry, Connal asked a third time, changing his offer from gold to threats.
The harpist made no reply, but he took up his harp and walked out of the door and when Connal, at this point besides himself, ran after him, bellowing, he stumbled and broke his neck.
"You named one of them Aloil," Raederle said. Grief made her head feel heavy.
Nun shrugged. "He wrote me some truly atrocious poetry. It seemed the least I could do. Mind, it was very sincerely meant atrocious poetry. I was flattered. Not many people would have had the courage to put their name on something like that."
"And yet you're here, instead of in Lungold."
Nun smiled, putting down her pipe. "Well, flattery will only get you so far. So what's your excuse?"
"I wanted to spend some time in a place where I could be alone, but not lonely," Raederle said. "Does that make sense?"
Nun sighed. "When I first came here, I couldn't understand what Madir had enjoyed so much. I was just looking for a place to hide. A place where nobody would think to look for a wizard."
"You didn't want to be a tree?"
Nun scowled.
Raederle felt an echo of a smile, tugging at her mind. It enabled her to ask, "Did you ever suspect that Yrth might be ... ?"
"Never," Nun said, in a voice that brooked no argument. "Neither one of them. I should have suspected when he made you that flute, but he was clever. It was pretty, yes, and well-made, but it was also easy to look at and dismiss as something that was nothing more than that."
"Tell me," Raederle said.
Nun picked up her pipe again and lit it. "About Yrth? Why not? Although I should warn you, I didn't know him all that well. Liked him, sure, better than some, even, but there was always a part of him that was just out of reach, some part of him he'd never let you find, no matter how hard you looked for it."
"Tell me," Raederle repeated.