It was a little strange—actually, it was a lot strange what with the woman's strange companion lurking—but perhaps the scholars who considered themselves more serious tended to ignore the jumped up minstrel poring over maps and digging up fragments of old stories in the Archives. This woman was speaking to him as if what he had to say carried import, even if they were only his opinions based on what little he had managed to learn in his time. But at least some of the scholars came from wealth and privilege, so he didn't expect to be treated equally, and while he was proud of House Zatrian's patronage, it wasn't as though the Great Lord took him hunting on his dragon every other week-end.
In the end, he was still just Finn from an unnamed village on Lake Udori, trying to make something of himself—preferably a bard.
But he paid her the same compliment, listening to what she said and thinking about it before he responded. It seemed from the mirth in her laugh and in her symphony that she appreciated him as well.
Inspired, perhaps, his reply came in song:
We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams; —
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
He laughed as well.
"I have focused for so long and making sure I had room and board, strings for my lute, and some extra coin for a rainy day, I haven't had much time to devote to preventing the next Sundering, but I hope my work makes the world a better place. I don't think I am rightly fit to do anything else." He might have been a decent blacksmith had he stayed to apprentice at his mother's side, but it hadn't inspired him the way music did and so he had made his choice and, thankfully, his family had supported it.
"I'm Finn, by the bye. Thank you for listening."
In the end, he was still just Finn from an unnamed village on Lake Udori, trying to make something of himself—preferably a bard.
But he paid her the same compliment, listening to what she said and thinking about it before he responded. It seemed from the mirth in her laugh and in her symphony that she appreciated him as well.
Inspired, perhaps, his reply came in song:
We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams; —
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
He laughed as well.
"I have focused for so long and making sure I had room and board, strings for my lute, and some extra coin for a rainy day, I haven't had much time to devote to preventing the next Sundering, but I hope my work makes the world a better place. I don't think I am rightly fit to do anything else." He might have been a decent blacksmith had he stayed to apprentice at his mother's side, but it hadn't inspired him the way music did and so he had made his choice and, thankfully, his family had supported it.
"I'm Finn, by the bye. Thank you for listening."
