Chapter three: To live again

She really *was* a muscian, was the first thing Bronte' thought when he stepped into the tavern, a small establishment with the smell of fresh roasted stew thick in the air. Soliel was up on stage performing to an entranced crowd.

Her voice was so gentle, and the words poignant and deep. She was no mere Trubadore, Bronte' realized, she was real talent.

Soliel finished her performance and gave an elaborate bow as the crowd cheered. Bronte' hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. He did not want to make a great scene with the commoners and villagers, him being a royalty showing up in a place that was rightfully theirs. Finally he began to slowly mount the steps to the stage that Soliel stood on. She had her back turned to him, trying to work out a loose string on her lute.

"Soliel?"

She turned at the sound of his voice. "Bronte'!" Dropping her lute with a loud clattering she rushed at him and threw her arms around him. Bronte' laughed out loud at her exuberance and no care to making  a scene, and it felt good to laugh.

Everyone was staring and at that moment he didn't care.

"Bronte'!" Soliel exclaimed, "I thought you wouldn't come!"

"I needed to," Bronte' said simply "I needed to see normal  life again."

Soliel took his hand and started to lead him off the stage, "Come. Have Ale - good strong commoners Ale and I shall  play and we all shall dance." She shouted to the patrons, "WE SHALL DANCE TO OUR KINGS VICTORY!"

There was  shouting and applause.  Before Bronte' could protest, an Ale was shoved into his hand and Soliel had her lute out and began playing, wild, rousing songs. Seeing her there, so full of life...it made him realize how dead he had become. To survive the war he had simply stopped feeling. The patrons stood and began to clap and dance. Bronte' swallowed the mead, then another...and eventually he too was dancing...

He wasn't sure how late it was when Soliel finally called her Tavern shut. He had somehow managed to stay sober...atleast he thought he had. As he was leaving, Soliel pulled him aside. She looked at him with deep eyes, full of care and worry.

"What is it Soliel?"

"Bronte' you do realize the war is over, don't you?"

"It's stalled, not over."

"But the point is, right *now*, *this* moment you are not fighting. There is peace. And yet...you still dress like a warrior and wear your hair like one. Bronte' the war is over and, yet. you are still fighting. You are Lord now, surrounded by knights and guards and servants. There is no more fighting."

Bronte' looked down feeling, the weight of her words.

"Promise me you will learn to live again," Soliel spoke.

Bronte' could only nod softly and brush past her out the door. As he walked the path back to his castle, the lights of the tavern spilling onto the trampled grass, he thought of Soliel's parting words. The fighting was over. As he walked he felt the heaviness of his chain mail, and the burden of  his warrior's sword. Maybe there was truth in what Soliel spoke. How had she become so wise? Wasn't he supposed to be the leader?

It was  late by the time he reached the castle. The main throne room was long deserted and the fires  nothing but glowing embers. He assumed no one would be awake, so was startled to find Taran waiting for him in his bedroom.

"Did I give you permission to be in here?" He snapped at the old misinthrope.

"You were at that wenches tavern."

"She is no wench.She is a professional musician. And did you send someone to spy on me? I am no child Taran!"

"No you are now Lord, ruler of this kingdom. I sent sir Renault to watch and protect you."

"Old Renault? Like he would be much help."

"You know he takes his job seriously."

Bronte' became quiet at that. The jab at the knight was unjustified. Yes he was arrogant and pompous and everything Bronte' hated in royalty, but it was true that he did take his job seriously...atleast when he wasn't complaining about his royal garbs not being properly pressed, or refusing to wear chain mail because it chaffed, or the many other quirks the old Knight had. Thinking of the knight and how he had tried to train him as a teenager to fight properly almost made Bronte' smile, but then Taran chose to speak again.

"You will not marry her Bronte, be sure of that."

"I will marry who I please!" Bronte' snapped, losing patience and still heady from all the Ale,"And it is *Lord Bronte'!*"

Taran scowled at the new Lord. "The child servant can call you by your given name, but I must address you by your title?"

"Yes. The child knows his place and you do not. It is *Lord Bronte* now Taran. And I shall marry who I please. And tomorrow...tomorrow send a barber and seamstress. Now I am going to bed so leave my chambers."

"Very well, *Lord* Bronte." He turned and walked out, composed though Bronte knew anger seethed underneath. He ignored the loudly closed door and the heavy footsteps walking down the hall. He was Lord now, and with the responsibility also came privilge. He would take Soliel's advice. He would learn to live again. With that thought he looked into his mirror and thought of a changed look, one of royalty and not warrior.