Autumn 4994, date unknown...
He didn't know where to go, what to do, but He knew He couldn't stay here. The tower was gone. He'd done his best not to destroy it, but half had crumbled in on itself in His escape nonetheless. All those books they would let Him read while He healed... All that fascinating history... Gone.
"Fat lot of good it's doing me now..." He muttered under His breath. It had been at least a week since He'd escaped, and all He'd found was the ocean. Which told Him absolutely nothing about where He was in the wider world. Why hadn't Perla told Him where He was before returning the power He'd needed to get out? "Because you didn't ask. Damn it," He told Himself, wishing He had someone to talk to.
His stomach growled, and His scabs itched. But this was still better than His tower. Anything was better than that. He flinched as He tried to pull His shirt off His scabs. It had only been a week, and it would still be a few more before His scales grew back. Meanwhile, the twisting, spiraling stripe that curved around His body -from His left foot to His left cheek and down His right arm- seeped and itched and stuck to His clothes.
He followed a stream inland -knowing that the saltwater would be better for the wounds but not wanting to face the sting just yet. He sipped at the water every few yards as the sun set. Testing its freshness and searching out a deep enough pool to soak so He could more easily pull the cloth from where it stuck all over.
He found one as the moon rose over the trees, their multi-colored autumn foliage washing out under the silver light. He had just sunk to His waist -shivering in the frigid water that would be too cold for anyone without his power- when He heard something that made His heart stop. Voices.
They were indistinct, so far enough that they might not hear Him if He left quietly. He bit back a groan, pulling Himself from the pool and holding His breath, but then He heard something else... something beautiful...
He intended to walk away, back downstream towards the ocean, but His feet carried Him instead up, towards that strange sound. Music... is this music? But it didn't sound like the humming He was used to. Nothing like that sweet soprano Perla would sometimes hum as she stroked His right cheek while dabbing the blood from His left.
He drew closer, and a new sound merged with the first. This one was humming. But the voice was different, richer. Somewhere, just beyond a pile of boulders, someone was humming to the music.
"Give it a rest!" a new voice shouted over the tune.
He flinched, dropping low and hugging the solid stone. His heart pounding hard enough that He almost couldn't hear the melody anymore.
The humming stopped with a laugh even more musical than the song that continued to play. "Practice makes proficient, my good Sir," the beautiful voice called to the shouter. "It sounds to me like you need something a bit more chipper." The music shifted, the beat quickening, almost like a skip.
"Blasted Bard, this isn't some festival!" the shouter snapped.
But He didn't want it to stop. The song was fascinating, somehow both invigorating and soothing all at the same time. He turned to lean His back against the stone and closed His eyes, imagining fields of grass and flowers waving to the beat in the sunlight. The music surrounded Him, and He lost Himself in it. For a few blissful moments, He wasn't tired and sore and hungry anymore. He wasn't lost and alone.
He was free.
It wasn't about pain and leaving it; it was about freedom and gaining it. He felt the joy of it again, just as He had on that first dawn after He'd dug his way out. Freedom. He wished He could sing like that lovely voice.
The humming voice laughed again, closer.
He opened His eyes, His heart pounding in fear again. The singer was just on the other side of this bolder. But how? When the music was all around Him. He turned frightened eyes to His left just as a glow rounded the side of His hiding place.
The person danced and played in a field of glowing flowers, their red-gold hair flowing in long sheets down their back as they spun. The hem of their dress passed right through the glowing flowers that shot from the ground, blooming as He watched.
Magic. An illusion crafted by the music. Long delicate fingers danced over the strings of the instrument, and the Bard resumed humming, though only for a moment before He was spotted, frozen in awe, still leaning against His rock.
"Oh." the Bard stopped playing, and the silence rang like a death knell.
They'd found Him; they would take Him back to the tower, back to the Mages who would rip out all His scales one at a time as soon as they grew back.
He hissed, pounding His fists onto the ground and sending a wave through the stone earth toward the musician's feet. He didn't want to hurt the Bard, but He didn't want to be caught either. The Bard was flung into the air as He stood, stomping His foot and sending a pillar of stone rocketing from beneath the musician's feet to throw them still higher.
The Bard didn't scream in terror as they flew, merely letting out a surprised "Eep!" before spreading their arms wide. The gown's long billowing sleeves fluttered in the wind that suddenly intensified enough to push Him back against the rock, and slowly lowered the Bard back to the ground.
His jaw dropped in shock, and the Bard brushed the dust from their skirts, whispering in a voice that would carry to Him alone, "Well, that was surprising. And impressive." They smiled, and their vibrantly green eyes twinkled, "if you wanted a different tune, you could just make a request." Their fingers danced across their instrument again. A lute. He'd seen drawings in some of His books...
"I..." He swallowed -the Bard stepped closer- He lifted his chin defiantly, "I won't go back..."
The Bard stopped walking but didn't stop playing. "Back where?" they asked, then squinted, "You're hurt..."
He couldn't move, didn't want to. If He did, then He wouldn't be able to hear the music anymore... He shook His head to clear it, feeling the magic for what it was, and growled, "They won't hurt me again." He slammed His fist on the rock beside Him and sent a stone pillar shooting from His side toward the magic musician.
They sidestepped the attack, and the song shifted again. "No. They won't." There was a threat in that lovely voice as they spoke, but it was soothing as they started to sing.
He groaned. He hadn't eaten in days, had only slept in fits and bursts, and had used too much magic to escape. His eyes grew heavy. He could feel the magic in the song but could do nothing to fight it. Darkness claimed Him, but within was still the song, a lullaby, and with it the voice, "No one will hurt you again..."
***
He woke up to something cool on His cheek.
His eyes shot open, searching the dark and finding the Bard, and behind them the moon, not far from where it had been when He passed out. "Shhhh," they shushed Him gently, slathering more cooling salve on the open wounds on His neck. "I would have asked the Paladin to heal these, but I get the feeling you don't want to be found by any authority figures."
"Paladin?" He asked, staring at the Bard's serene face and realizing He was resting on their lap. The Mages of his tower would never work with Paladins of any kind... He tried to sit up.
"Shhhh," the musician shushed Him again, resting a soft hand on His brow and holding Him down gently. "Yes, a Paladin of Horsa is escorting me across Gasha. And until I know your story, I would rather not subject you to their questioning..."
The Bard leaned over Him and smiled, their natural beauty enhanced by delicate colors painting their eyelids and lips. And their voice, so lovely... "What is your name, mystery-man?"
"I don't have one..." He answered, His eyes locked on the Bard.
The smallest of frowns graced their lips, "Well, that won't do. What shall I call you then?"
He thought of all the things the Mages had called Him. 'Blue' for His scales sometimes, 'Brass Boy' for His hair others. Though mostly they had called Him 'Earthwyrm.'
The Bard didn't give Him time to answer, sitting up again and waving a hand in the air dismissively, "I suppose first I should ask if you're a criminal."
"No, I... I don't know..." He'd destroyed His tower and probably killed some of the Mages there. So maybe He was...
The Bard actually giggled, the sound like bells, "Well, that isn't one I've heard before..." Something twittered above them, and the Bard's head shot up. He followed their eyes and saw a little lizard, bright blue with rainbow wings like a butterfly, perched on the stone, looking away.
"Oh bother," Quickly but gently, the musician shifted under Him, making to stand, "I'll distract them, you hide."
The Bard hadn't managed to stand before He was taking a deep breath, and they both started sinking. "Wha-" the Bard began to protest, but He exhaled, and the earth came up to swallow them. Hiding them both in a cave of rock. Just another bolder in the pile.
"Well..." the Bard's voice was nervous for the first time, and He could feel them shift again, returning to their kneeling position and feeling around His face in the dark, "that's one way to do it."
From just above them, He could hear the shouting voice from before, "Where did that blasted Sorcerer get to? Where's your human?"
The Bard whispered, "Stay calm, my lovely, I'm alright..." and the fairy dragon chirped from outside their hole.
"Well, at least he's finally shut up..." the shouter said, and He could feel the man's footsteps through the earth as he walked away again.
The Bard snickered, and a breeze brushed over His skin, "I think you're safe, mystery-man. But am I?"
He nodded, looking up and studying the Bard's face in the dark, His slit eyes widening and seeing in the darkness as though it were lit by stars on a moonless night.
"He?" He found Himself asking, then felt Himself blush.
The Bard giggled in answer and leaned over Him again. "Yes," the Bard answered, "Though I promise not to poke you in the back of the head, no matter how handsome you are."
His blush deepened, and He was glad this beautiful man couldn't see it. The Bard giggled again, "My name is Vinrin by the way, Bard of the College of Glamour, and air Sorcerer. That lovely little dragon you trapped outside is my familiar, and its name is Iris."
"Iris?" There was so much more He wanted to ask, wanted to know. Not the least of which being why this stranger was helping Him at all -especially when they thought He might be a criminal.
"Yes, it is quite a lovely flower, and so is my little fairy dragon, so I thought it appropriate," Vinrin answered.
An indignant gasp escaped against His will, "Flowers have names?" But flowers couldn't speak; they didn't have to just 'know their name' like the Mages insisted He would eventually. And didn't Vinrin also just say that they had given the fairy dragon its name? And yet He couldn't have one?
Vinrin nodded in answer, reaching down to stroke His uninjured right cheek and spoke what He'd been thinking, "And yet you don't..." He turned His head away, and though Vinrin wouldn't be able to see it, he would be able to feel it. "Do you want one?" Vinrin asked.
He looked back up to see the Bard smiling once more, the constant wind circling his skin rustling both their hair gently. "How?" He breathed the question, wanting nothing more than a name in this moment. Something of His very own. That no one could take from Him.
"Well... first we look for inspiration..." Vinrin lifted their hand to tap their lips, and He missed the touch instantly. Then the Bard asked, "What's your favorite song?"
"I don't know any..." He answered in a whisper, then asked, "What was that one you were playing? The one that caused flowers to bloom at your feet?"
Vinrin grinned, "Gladiolus Rag," they leaned over Him, bringing their lovely face closer to continue, "Gladiolus is also a flower. One of my favorites..."
