The Gold Saucer crowd didn't quite seem to know what to think of the song, and he couldn't really blame them - it wasn't the usual kind of piece one heard from minstrels. But that's why he'd played it. Variety kept one fresh and vigorous, after all. Still, there was something to be said for giving the crowd what they wanted, and he opened up to tell them so.
"Perhaps you'd care for something a little more tender? This piece is mine, unlike the first, and it was my answer to a question someone very near to me, in more ways than one, had been trying to pose."
The lute was again put to its use as a stringed instrument, plucking out a soulful, slow melody.
"I remember one violet evening, though I've tried to pack its memory away.
It's a memory of violets wilting, but it's left me with one more thing to say.
When I look up to the sun, and think of all that we had done,
Was it better to have run, and have her spend her winter crying?
But winter always comes, anyway."
"I was waiting for the road to change her, but the change I needed, I could never see.
We pretended that all was blissful, I'm not sure if I fooled her, or she fooled me.
For when we looked into the sun, and thought on pleasures almost won,
That's when the stroll became a run, with no more duets for singing,
And winter killed the violets that day.
So I sing this sad song to you, love
To explain to you the travail that I had
Though it started as a sad song,
I give you a chance to make the music glad
So let us look into the sun, and though it may be the same one,
Perhaps a new song has begun, and we can find our summer
For summer always comes, anyway.
Now, let us look into the sun, and dream of all that can be done,
And I will walk from wilted violets and seek a woodland blossom,
So let your rose unfold for us today."
The crowd applauded more this time, as he stilled the lute. Was it out of greater appreciation, a more familiar topic, or because it was less... cheeky? He had time for one more, and there was a favor to repay to a good friend.
"Thank you! Let me leave you with a little something I put together for several friends who gave a ruddy-faced rogue a chance when he needed time to figure out who he was. They just finished construction of their beautiful little tavern in the Lavender Beds, and I promised them a little play when they had done so. I can find no better way to tell about it than in my usual way."
The lute twanged out a jauntier, bouncier tune as he played the encore.
"I know of an inn, in the Lavender Beds,
Where you can find liquor and rest for your heads.
The tavern is cozy, and the wenches are beauties,
And they'll never fail at their tableside duties.
So come right on in, and find you a seat,
Get warm by the fire and put up your feet.
Just look for the Tonberry King on the rug;
At the Wanderer's Lantern, come fill up your mug.
Whenever you're finished with your latest quest,
And you've seen many inns, come and try out the best.
Just ring the front bell for a tankard of ale;
We serve it up fast, every time without fail.
Bring over a friend for a hot round of cards,
Or look to our stage for live music from bards.
Whatever you hope for, no matter your sin,
The Wanderer's Lantern is your kind of inn."
"Perhaps you'd care for something a little more tender? This piece is mine, unlike the first, and it was my answer to a question someone very near to me, in more ways than one, had been trying to pose."
The lute was again put to its use as a stringed instrument, plucking out a soulful, slow melody.
"I remember one violet evening, though I've tried to pack its memory away.
It's a memory of violets wilting, but it's left me with one more thing to say.
When I look up to the sun, and think of all that we had done,
Was it better to have run, and have her spend her winter crying?
But winter always comes, anyway."
"I was waiting for the road to change her, but the change I needed, I could never see.
We pretended that all was blissful, I'm not sure if I fooled her, or she fooled me.
For when we looked into the sun, and thought on pleasures almost won,
That's when the stroll became a run, with no more duets for singing,
And winter killed the violets that day.
So I sing this sad song to you, love
To explain to you the travail that I had
Though it started as a sad song,
I give you a chance to make the music glad
So let us look into the sun, and though it may be the same one,
Perhaps a new song has begun, and we can find our summer
For summer always comes, anyway.
Now, let us look into the sun, and dream of all that can be done,
And I will walk from wilted violets and seek a woodland blossom,
So let your rose unfold for us today."
The crowd applauded more this time, as he stilled the lute. Was it out of greater appreciation, a more familiar topic, or because it was less... cheeky? He had time for one more, and there was a favor to repay to a good friend.
"Thank you! Let me leave you with a little something I put together for several friends who gave a ruddy-faced rogue a chance when he needed time to figure out who he was. They just finished construction of their beautiful little tavern in the Lavender Beds, and I promised them a little play when they had done so. I can find no better way to tell about it than in my usual way."
The lute twanged out a jauntier, bouncier tune as he played the encore.
"I know of an inn, in the Lavender Beds,
Where you can find liquor and rest for your heads.
The tavern is cozy, and the wenches are beauties,
And they'll never fail at their tableside duties.
So come right on in, and find you a seat,
Get warm by the fire and put up your feet.
Just look for the Tonberry King on the rug;
At the Wanderer's Lantern, come fill up your mug.
Whenever you're finished with your latest quest,
And you've seen many inns, come and try out the best.
Just ring the front bell for a tankard of ale;
We serve it up fast, every time without fail.
Bring over a friend for a hot round of cards,
Or look to our stage for live music from bards.
Whatever you hope for, no matter your sin,
The Wanderer's Lantern is your kind of inn."
"But in the laugh there was another voice. A clearer laugh, an ironic laugh. A laugh which laughs because it chooses not to weep."
![[Image: 3610850.jpg]](http://assets-cloud.enjin.com/users/1266293/pics/original/3610850.jpg)
