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“Is that… music?” Cerelle pulled a single sheet of paper free, one whose edge and corner had appeared from below the pile.
Music.
“Put that back.”
“Oh, it is!” She turned it around, this way and that. “And it bears your writing.”
Ormund stood up - jumped up - prepared to rip the thing from her, but just as he was but a step away from her, the flat of her hand suddenly pressed into his chest. Both her arms were stretched out; one keeping him at bay, the other holding the paper as far away from him as possible.
“It is a ballad… of Nimueh Starlight.” Her voice was, despite all his expectations, full of glee. “I didn’t know you were interested in Westerlander legends.”
“I am not.” He pulled a grimace. “My daughter is. This is meant as a nameday present for her, seeing as I cannot attend in person this year.”
“So you wrote her a ballad?”
“I am in the means of doing so. But as it is not finished, I request you return it to me. Now.”
Cerelle finally relented, pulled her hand back, yet still made no inclination towards releasing the sheets back to him. Instead, she began reading - not merely the words but the notes as well, mouthing along, moving one of her fingers up and down to guide her along the correct pitch.
She smiled. “This is very well done.”
“I appreciate your words.” Ormund attempted to step closer. “So, you can sing?”
“As all noble women can.”
He chuckled. “I have met enough of them to know that is far from the case.”
Cerelle gnawed on her lip. He made a mental note to work on that issue.
“Bad things happen when I sing.”
“We are at war. What is the worst that can happen?”
News from King’s Landing of three dragons and an army having left the city to march towards them, as it turned out. But Ormund would sacrifice much more than their malleable feeling of safety if only it meant getting to hear her sing one more time.
He dreamed of her voice, still.