The fire crackled in the corner, fighting to hold off the night wind's chill that has crept into the tavern’s walls as the door opened and a group of patrons came inside. 'Dockyard workers', they were. I have seen them many times yet knew nothing of them either. Goes on to show how much I linger in this damp, loud place for the ale, not for the company. I swore that I would leave this town and head north after resting for a day… that was nearly three months ago since I stopped at this town to weather one heavy rainy day, only to end up working for the fletcher. I needed coin, and the fletcher had work. 'Why not for a few days?' I thought, for I knew the craft, and the fletcher was overjoyed to pay extra because he need not take on an apprentice so here I am… I took another sip from the tankard.
“Tis too bright, I thought to myself, even though I was in the windowless, dimly lit corner of the tavern. Perhaps it was the ale’s doing, but my eyes hated bright light, even the sun, these days.
-and too loud.” The room was alive with noise—the clink of glasses, the murmur of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter. But I’m not really part of it. I have always been a man of few words, but it seems I have even less these days—so much so, people in the town part think I am mute and perhaps deaf too. People would often look and whisper about me when I started frequenting, and some even approached back in the first week, but I couldn’t stomach it, not the men nor the women. No wonder they deemed I was mute—it is for the better, after all. Also, since the town itself was made around a port, there were no lack of strangers from all around, and that helped with not raising annoying questions from anyone who had the curiosity.
Yet, I hated silence even more, for inside the tavern until dawn, I could drink and sleep with loud voices around me. As uncomfortable as it is, I would dream of nothing, and that was the only sleep I could bear to have. Only the ones without dreams. Sure, I would still stink and reek by dawn, and when I go to the fletcher, he would nag about it, but it was nothing compared to dealing with those ghosts that visit me whenever I find myself in a good, peaceful sleep.
I raised the tankard to my mouth, yet I couldn’t feel anything, and I found it empty. ‘Too soon,’ I thought. I ought to call ‘Siiro,’ the boy who helped around the tavern. There were two other barmaids and the tavern owners a couple themselves, but I didn’t interact with them apart from the tavern master to pay the coin. But ‘Siiro,’ the lad, was the one I met first when I came here to weather out the rain. The boy was clever too, for he was curious about my bow and the quiver with the handful of arrows I had, which were among the last precious possessions of mine. I didn’t talk much with him, but when he asked whether the feathers were ‘geese,’ I gave a nod out of courtesy, for it was rare for a boy to recognize it as such. It was also he who told me about the fletcher’s work the next morning when I was about to leave.
As I waved my hand, the boy ran to me with the jug and poured it. “That makes 4 for today,” he said. Well, ale was paid by the tankard in this town, but I couldn’t care less. I nodded, and he left.
I took another sip, trying to ignore the laughter around me, the warmth of the fire, the flickers of light. It all felt so distant, as if it belonged to someone else. The taste of the ale and the feel of it battling the chill in my bones was enough, I thought to myself. But then, the voices started to dim down. It was gradual, and after a few moments, it was silent, which lasted for a blink, maybe, because an applause and cheering replaced that silence. I looked and blinked a few times to adjust to the brightness of the hearth fire at the center of the tavern to see what was going on, and I cursed my luck. For it was that singing fool.
The bard comes around every now and then and sings and plays the stringed board and the flute. The men here like him enough, though most women fawn over him, so I doubt every man likes him, and I was no different. I hated this foul-mouthed singer, hated his voice, hated his playing, hated his smile, and hated his songs even more, for all of them were about some gallant knight saving a princess or a king waging a war, and I hated all of them. It ruined the taste of the ale too. So much for a fourth drink. I clunked down the rest of the tankard and got up, deciding it was enough for the day, for now, I could neither drink nor fall asleep with this clown singing. I would rather drop dead than listen to it… perhaps I ought to drop this fool off one of these days, and at least some husbands and fathers will get a good sleep over it. I think about it every time he comes, though I forget about it when I drown myself in ale the next day.
I walked over to the tavern master, put up two coppers, and tossed another to the boy. I guessed the tavern master's lady didn’t like the idea of giving the boy that much. Perhaps he doesn’t even get paid that much. She had no smile or greetings for me, but the tavern master always did.
“It’s not the usual one, if it makes a difference,” he said. I guess he knew I hated the singing too. I looked at him and turned around. I couldn’t really see a difference, not from this angle. The dress was the same, I guess. Either way, they’re all the same because they sing the same damn thing. I walked toward the door and heard the master saying, "Go’d night, Master Fletcher." I nodded and was about to open the door when I felt a chill—not from the winds, but the sound of the stringed board. It wasn’t the usual rhythm but rather a slow and pulling one.
The room fell silent, and I felt the pull of the song as soon as it started, for the voice was rich with sorrow, filled with a depth that I felt I knew too well.
“In the shadows of an alehouse, where the lanterns dimly glow, A man sits with a tankard, drowning sorrows, feeling low. With laughter all around him, he can’t join the cheer, For the ghosts of his past haunt him, each drink and every tear.”
Oh, the weight of steel and honor, turned heavier each night. So he traded them for a tankard, passing each night, In the haze of empty glasses, where his memories collide. He’s trading his dreams for nightmares, from which he wants to run, For he is lost in darkness, cloaked in grief he hopes to hide.”
The words strike me like a fist, heavy and unforgiving. My throat tightens, and I felt the taste of the ale I had earlier, like ash and fowl. It almost feels like it was aimed at me. I turn around again—this time, I didnt blink—and I notice this isn’t the usual singer. Nor is it a man; it’s a woman, a stranger, but I couldnt shake the feeling of familiarity. She had a red cloak over her shoulders, matching her auburn hair draped to one side. She is comely to look at, though it’s not her looks but her voice that made me uneasy.
“The tales shared by the firelight remind him of the past, When he stood proud and fearless, with a bond that was meant to last. Now he drowns in bitter ale, each sip a silent plea, To forget the weight of failure, to find some kind of peace.”
"Oh, the weight of steel and honor, turned heavier each night. So he traded them for a tankard, passing each night, In the haze of empty glasses, where his memories collide. He’s trading his dreams for nightmares, from which he wants to run, For he is stuck in darkness, in a tankard he cannot hide.”
That got on my nerves, as it felt like each word was thrown at me, though she didn’t even look at me. I wished it was that singing fool who was here today, for I could just curse and leave. If given a chance… I would rip…
“As the tavern door swings open, laughter fills the air, A voice that spoke of freedom, and an oath too hard to bear. With a sigh, he lifts his tankard, toasting to the ones who fell, But deep inside, he knows he’s lost, trapped in this self-made hell.
Oh, the weight of steel and honor, turned heavier each night. So he traded them for a tankard, passing each night, In the haze of empty glasses, where his memories collide. He’s trading his dreams for nightmares, from which he wants to run, For he has fallen in darkness, courting what he ought to hide.”
'Tis a twisted trick'… As she sings, the memories flood back, faster than I could block them out. The battlefield, endless fields of mud and blood, bodies twisted in grotesque positions. The clash of swords, the screams of men as they fell, the weight of my oaths pressing down on me. The deaths of my friends, my liege’s face... I can still see it as if he were standing before me now. Wise, Just, Resolute—but in the end, it didn’t matter. Fighting for the cause of freedom, his promise, and my oath to him. I remember his eyes, the weight of his command, the promise he wished upon me, which clashed heavily on my shoulders. It was my duty, my responsibility. But in the end, it all fell apart, along with his… family… faces flashed in my mind, their last breath escaping them as the life drained from their eyes.
I grip my fist tighter, so much so I can feel my nails digging into my palm as the song continues. The bard’s voice raised and fell like the wind over a wound that cuts deeper each pass. ‘A self-made hell...’ Yes, that’s where I am left. Along with a heart broken into pieces too small to ever be put together again. The faces of all those I failed haunt me, their names etched into my soul, too many to count. Their deaths were my failure. I couldn’t save them nor could I honor them.
I close my eyes, and there they are—the faces of the dead. My nightmares need not wait for sleep to visit me and reminded me of all the promises I made to them. Now, this woman can conjure them with her words... I failed them all, is all I could think of.
“But the whispers call to you now, can’t you hear them say, When will you let go of your burdens? When will you find your way? There are souls who need your guidance, who are lost and in despair. Will you rise to meet their calling, or remain trapped in your snare?
Oh, the weight of steel and honor need not turn heavier each night. So he need not trade for a tankard, passing each night, In the haze of his nightmares, where his memories collide. He can trade them for a purpose, from which he shouldn’t run, For light he finds in darkness, when he faces what he cannot hide.”
A momentary glance—that’s all it was—but she looked at me straight into my eyes. This… damn… What the hell do you want from me? I wanted to scream, but I held back, for her words tore into me again...
“Souls in need of guidance?” Are you saying it’s not over?... No, it is over because I knew… I carried it on, you damn bard. I fought, even after they passed. The dead were dead, and all I could do was something for the living... in their memory. Fight for what they believed and died for—but to no avail. I couldn’t stop it. All I could do was watch everything my betters worked for perverted, twisted, discarded, and forgotten. Even then, I believed things could change if we kept doing our part in the revolution. But there was no trying, for without hope, without that silver glimmer of hope, what could anyone fight for? So, a compromise—that’s what everyone insisted on. You would say, bard, that they were in need of guidance? No. They wanted a compromise—an end to the war, an end to it so they could live and move on with whatever scraps they had. So I supported them, thinking that was the right thing to do. I guess it was the right thing, at least for some of them. And I left afterward, for there was nothing for me to do but bask in my failure… and 'trapped myself in a snare I made'. Yeah, you’re right about that part… for I promised not to court death until I am too old to walk too old to see and hear and think. So until I’m old, I was waiting. Enough of this… I thought and turned aside to leave.
“So will he linger in the shadows, with a heart that’s bound in chains, A knight who lost his purpose, seeking solace in the stains. But somewhere deep within him, a wish for a flicker to rise, To find the strength to carry on, and turn his tears to smiles.”
Oh, the weight of steel and honor need not turn heavier each night. For I will share it with you, passing each night, In the haze of our nightmares, where our memories will collide. Let us trade them for a purpose, from which we ought not run, For light we find in darkness, together once we come out of hiding.”
The final chords of the song ring out, the last note hanging in the air like a ghost. The tavern is silent, and for a moment, I forget where I am. I forget everything. That’s it… now you’ve done it. Who the hell…? I turned toward the singer, who was lowering her stringed instrument and looking at me. I didn’t move, nor did I say anything, just watched as she walked toward me. I felt the whole tavern take notice of this. I guess it didn’t matter; she brought this upon…
“You better have a good reason, or if not…” I said, but she just looked at me. Her eyes… they were emerald, just like… yes, a twisted trick it was… but still...
“I’ve got a good reason. It took a long time to find you... never I thought in here..." she said like she knew me so well then again...
"But the road ahead is long, and it’s shrouded in darkness, and yes, without hope as you thought, but I still wish to walk it nonetheless to see it through once again even after the failure... that… that is the compromise I have decided on. I can’t walk it alone, and that’s why I hope to walk it with you…” She said, offering her hand to me. I wasn’t sure what to do or what all this was—another nightmare perhaps, but… the sweet ale already left a bad ash and foul taste and all strangers around me was watching with willful eyes its over for me in this place... and despite the dim darkness that I preferred to, I felt as if she were bright and shining… enough to light whatever clouded my mind at the moment. And I took her hand. Her compromise… well, we’ll see…
