It was a quiet and blissful evening in the Hanging Gardens. The skies above her were clear and bright as the sun began to set in the distance. It was a perfect evening for a private concert and Aisling Melianme was more than happy to oblige.
The young half elf had only recently been accepted into the Bard College that was located in the magnificent floating city of Tarishtar, and it had been a great day indeed for her. She had hardly been at the college more than a day, and already she had collected a smattering of fans. It was truly any bard's dream. As a matter of fact she was there that night to perform a private concert for… well, if she had to guess, he had to be an elvish Lord or noble of some sort. He had been impossibly beautiful, even for an elf, and he had been there listening to her play outside the College. When he asked her to perform a private concert for himself and a couple of his colleagues, Aisling had jumped at the opportunity. It was every bard's goal to gain a following, and to make their name known throughout the lands, and private performances for nobility were some of the best ways to do just that.
She was rather grateful that she had decided to be a little more practical in her dress that night, for climbing to the very top of the Hanging gardens might have been quite the feat wearing fancy shoes. But it seemed that she was ahead of the game for she had arrived before anyone else. She took the initiative and got all set up with her instruments and picked up her harp and began playing softly.
She was sitting and playing for a good little while, and Aisling began to feel that maybe she had been set up. If this had all been an elaborate prank, she thought she might cry. She was about to give up and trek back down the tower, when the sun finally dipped down below the horizon. Suddenly little tiny ghost lights flew into the air around Aisling, creating a very eerie atmosphere at the top of the Hanging Gardens as they created the floating blue-green orbs of light that hung about the air like lanterns, and created a glowing path down the walkway. Aisling squinted down the path, down into the growing darkness past where the ghost lights gone. As she looked into the dim, figures appeared, walking serenely and talking softly amongst themselves. They were moving so smoothly that they were practically gliding, but at the same time, they were not moving quickly.
Aisling was transfixed as the figures drew closer and moved about the Gardens, talking amongst themselves softly. Realizing that she was neglecting the reason she was even there, Aisling picked back up her harp and began background music for the visitors while they milled around. As she played, she saw the man who had approached her in Tarishtar, and he came close to listen as she played. He didn’t speak, but just stood there and watched her play for a few moments until another man approached him and gave him a nod. “It’s time, Thaliborne…”
The first man turned and raised his hands and everyone turned to pay attention almost instantly.
“Friends, we are here because I have discovered what I believe to be a true talent. So I ask, please listen with open minds and hearts, and perhaps she will touch you as she has me. I present for your listening pleasure, Aisling Melianme.”
Aisling stepped forward and looked about at the faces that stared at her intently, expectantly, and she felt the twinge of nervousness. She squared her shoulders and began playing her harp, the sweet sounds of the strings she plucked lifting upward into the air and sky. She opened her mouth, and the her voice carried clear and strong in harmony with the tune she played, the lyrics telling a story of a woman asking her true love to remember her whenever he saw white roses.
She sang for hours, but time seemed fleeting, until finally, she began her final song.
“Her father lived in the north-country, and he had daughters 1, 2, 3
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
As daughters walked by the river’s brink, the eldest pushed the youngest in.
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
‘Sister, sister! Pray lend me a hand! And I will give you house and land!’
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
‘I’ll give you neither hand nor glove, unless you give me your own true love!’
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam, until she came to the miller’s dam.
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
The miller’s daughter dressed in red, she went to the water to make her bread,
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
‘Father! Daddy! Here swims a swan! It’s very like a gentlewoman!’
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
He laid her on the bank to dry, and there came a harper passing by,
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
He made harp pins from her fingers fair, he made harp strings from her golden hair,
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
He made the harp from her breast bone, and straight it began to play alone,
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
He took the harp to her father’s hall, and there was the court assembled all,
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
He laid the harp upon a stone, and straight it began to play alone,
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
‘There doth sit my father the King, and yonder sits my mother the Queen,’
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
‘And there doth sit my brother Hugh, and by him William, sweet and true,’
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
‘And there doth sit my false sister Anne, who drowned me for the sake of a man…’
The swan swims so bonnie ho…
When the last tones of the song died out, Aisling looked up and about, expecting an applause of some sort. However, she found that she was very much alone, with the exception of the impossibly man, whose name she had learned was Thaliborne. She looked around, confused at how she had not noticed the others leaving, when Thaliborne approached and spoke.
“You have done beautifully,” he said as he came closer. “It has been a very long time since I have heard such talent. I was not disappointed tonight. I do believe that your last song was truly your best,” he said.
Aisling smiled and thanked him. “It really is a tragic tale, though,” she commented. “To be murdered by your own kin simply because they wanted to steal your true love. But then to be turned into an enchanted item that could tell your story to the world… that is a truly remarkable tale,” she said. “I think that is why I decided to perform it.”
“You were truly inspired,” Thaliborne agreed. “Such an item would be unique. Powerful even.”
“If it were to actually exist, I suppose it would be. Maybe even heavily sought after. But surely it is just a story,” Aisling said as she turned to set her harp down.
“And what would you do, if such a relic existed?” Thaliborne asked curiously.
“I would search for it. The journey alone would make for a wonderful epic, I am sure,” she replied.
“Would you bring it back to me, and perform for me again?”
Aisling looked at the impossibly beautiful, her brows furrowed slightly, but she nodded slowly. “Yes, if that is what you would wish,” she said, unsure of how he really expected her to answer. This brought a smile to the man’s face. He lifted a hand and extended to her a golden bracelet, decorated with expertly carved opal roses.
“A token of my admiration,” he told her as he slipped the bracelet over her hand and onto her left wrist. “I look forward to seeing you perform again,” he said with a smile before he turned and vanished vanished down the path without a trace.
After a few stunned moments, Aisling looked to the bracelet and tried to take it off to examine it closer. However, she found that no matter how she tried, it would not fit over her hand, in fact, the bracelet seemed to shrink in size until it could only rotate around her wrist comfortably, and black markings that looked like thorny vines seemed to extend from beneath the bracelet and wrapped around her left forearm. In her mind, she heard clearly the man’s voice, echoing with an otherworldly quality:
“The Pact has been made. The Archfey now has his Warlock. I grant you powers in return for your servitude, Aisling Melianme. Only when the bargain has been fulfilled will you be freed…”
The ghost lights swirled around her, rapidly, and Aisling felt as though she was falling into an icy lake, as she was overtaken by the swirl of blue green. Then the world went dark.
Aisling lay still upon the grass, as though sleeping, her long blonde hair spilled about her like waves of gold thread upon the green that caught the light of the dawn as the sun rose the next morning…
