Arn couldn’t sleep. He’d decided to take a walk to clear his mind. Things weren’t good at home, but then they never were. Every day it became more and more difficult to talk to his father.
He stopped suddenly. He thought he heard a voice. A melodious voice sang in the distance. It was as if the very forest itself sand in harmony with the singer. Arn yearned to hear more.
Arn quickly followed the sound. It led him to a sheltered grove. A dark, hooded figure sat on the ground, its head upturned to the midnight sky. The figure’s face was slightly visible in the moonlight. Although Arn was no judge of men, he
could see this one was very handsome.
Arn quietly sat down in the dewy grass of the grove, trying to be silent. But the singer stopped mid-verse. The hooded man turned to where Arn sat dreamily on the grass.
“[Here I have scripted some Elfish. No kidding.]”
The language was unfamiliar to Arn. It sounded like the falling of a waterfall or the buzz of a bee.
“I do not understand,” Arn said, hoping the harper was as fluent as he.
The hooded face looked directly at Arn. All Arn could see of him was the gleam
in the harper’s eyes. “Come you in enmity or peace?”
“I come to hear your song, whether that be in peace or enmity I know not,” Arn said with a slight chuckle.
“Ah,” sighed the harper. “A riddler. Is that what thee be? A
riddler?”
“I’m but a troubled boy. Who be you, fair harpist?” Arn asked, obviously trying to peer into the hood.
“It has been a long time since someone has called me fair,” The harper said sadly and distantly.
[This goes on, but not for much longer thankfully. We never learn the harpist name, though CLEARLY these two troubled boys are headed for a romance. I’m not sure I knew that at the time, but then I am no judge of men.]
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