The Silence of Medair

It was "Faran’s Lament". Telsen had never been satisfied with the melody and had forever been making alterations. Medair hadn’t quite understood what he found to be lacking, and listened as raptly as the rest of the diners. Lathan’s sombre voice transformed the melancholy ballad into something sublimely haunting. The triband was an Ibisian instrument, but could have been designed for Telsen’s intricate style. He would have been pleased.

A soft storm of Ibisian "applause" rose as the final notes died away. Ibis-lar did not clap their hands, but would instead say "ahlau" as a mark of approval, several times if truly impressed. It did, as Jorlaise had once said, sound a little like they were all sneezing.

Avahn looked to her for approval, as if Lathan were a favoured protégé. "He’s remarkable," Medair said, sincerely.

"A true child of Telsen," Avahn agreed, unwittingly replacing Medair’s pleasure with a whole host of ambiguous and conflicting feelings. Did Avahn mean that the Ibisian musician was literally a descendent of Telsen, or merely following his artistic lead? She speculated on the identity of the possible mother of Telsen’s child while Lathan continued to play. The music was more cheerful, wholly unfamiliar, and she did not pay it a great deal of attention. Avahn was probably disappointed to find her not captivated, but he made no attempt to coax her out of her distraction. Servitors came from table to table during the short pauses between each piece, and there would be a brief clatter of noise before Lathan launched into another song.

A difference, a marked tension in the hush which greeted the fourth song, woke Medair from thoughts of paternity. She looked up, and discovered the trio of Kerine on the other side of the table were all watching her with an air of…expectation. A glance at Avahn found him troubled, clear gaze also fixed on her.

She shifted her attention to the rest of the room, and saw that the High Table was still empty of royal presence. Then she focused on the words now being woven into the complex melody. It was another Telsen – she recognised his style from long familiarity, though the piece was new to her. A ballad of unrequited love, it seemed, poignant and starkly beautiful. Quite possibly one of his best, a masterwork, but she could not see–

They were all watching, and so all had the pleasure of observing the sudden stillness, the widened eyes, disbelief, chagrin, dismay and anger which marched in careless progression across her face. When she reached the point of fury, she remembered herself enough to shut down all expression.

A song of unrequited love. A tale of a man in pursuit of an elusive woman, as unforgettable as the song with which he had immortalised her.

I found the words, laid bare my soul.

To the lady fair.

Now I stumble lost, heart echoing;

In the Silence of Medair.

That Telsen had taken her name and rewritten their brief relationship, Medair might have eventually been able to forgive. But he had not stopped there. Instead, he had used his talent as a song-smith to depict a time of war, where Medair seemed to be enacting a role far more risky than what she knew personally of Heralds. The song made Telsen out to be constantly worrying about Medair’s safety, not to mention jealously convinced that she’d started a romance with someone else.

The refrain altered slightly with each repetition, but always closed with the phrase the Silence of Medair. The final line saw the singer standing on the walls of a besieged city, staring vainly south, waiting for a woman who had become the only hope of victory. This was truly Telsen’s masterwork. She could almost see him, on Shield Wall perhaps, gazing towards distant mountains, straining to catch some glimpse of a lone woman returning from a quest of endless peril, to hear the voice of the Horn of Farak lifted in triumph, but hearing only…

"The Silence of Medair," Surreive said. Medair was staring blindly at her plate. "Undying hope. I believe that song might well have become an anthem for those who take her name, if only it had been set to a simpler tune."

"A little too melancholy, surely," murmured Mylar.

"A little too close to the bone, you mean," put in Adlenkar. "It hints too broadly at the truth."

"What truth is that?" Medair asked, around the hurt and anger in her throat.

The Ibisian lordling looked surprised. "Why, that they were lovers of course."

Medair shook her head, uncomprehending. "Telsen had many lovers. What does that matter?"

"Not Telsen." Adlenkar’s eyes were wide and curious. "The Herald and the Niadril Kier."

Medair stopped breathing, sat helplessly as the words forced themselves upon her consciousness. Herald. Kier. But it wasn’t just the words, it was the tone, it was the of course.