“Let us adjourn to my solar, my lord.” Tanil invited, gesturing towards his large villa, “I am sure your journey has made you thirsty for something far stronger than water, perhaps.” “Indeed it has, your highness.” Chortled Barator, never a man to turn down an offer of wine or ale. The Dunyar were known for their creation of a most unique form of ale called Rukir, a much sought after imbibement for those of expensive taste which was exported to various parts of the world. Being himself quite partial to it, he could not help but hope this would be served. A few moments later the three lords were seated at a large round table under the shade of several tall trees, a welcome reprieve from the heat of the day. The terrace was lined with ornately sculpted balustrades of white marble, yet another reminder of the expert handiwork of the High Lord of Din Serenth. From across the table, Barator took a moment to study his gracious host. The prince seemed to be of a congenial nature yet there was an intensity that hung about him, a magnetism that radiated from him like heat from a fire. It was a fitting description, he thought to himself, that he should be collated with anything to do with fire or light, be it the golden quality of his hair or the flaming forge within his soul that drove him to create so masterly as he did. Barator wondered with a tinge of envy what it might be like to hone marvels of renown from the mere fancies of one’s mind. “I suppose you are wondering, Master Barator, why I have sent for you?” Tanil’s voice brought him out of his musings and back to the business at hand. 

Taking a polite sip of his Rukir, Barator responded with a nod. “I had assumed your lordship wished to discuss the business of trade, as I am aware that in recent times you have invested great interest in the resources of our fair isle, which we of Adarlan are most grateful for.” He ventured, though he did not believe this was truly the motive for this rare invitation. Chuckling, Tanil put down his own glass of Rukir and leaned forward on his elbows and,  balancing his chin on his knuckles, began to state what could only be the true purpose of the Soldier’s visit. “While I always welcome the opportunity to trade with any of your fair kind, it is not for the purpose of trade that I have desired your presence here. As I’m sure you are aware, we are on the threshold of the thousand year commemoration of the defeat of Aslar at the hands of our kinsmen. The occasion, I am sure you will agree, presents a most unique opportunity to celebrate this great victory as well as renew the bonds that hold both Dunyar and Olaniri together.” It was an endearing proposal, Barator thought, a much needed one considering the recent decades of increasingly tense relations between various Olaniri dominions and Dunyar lands to the South, tensions born of mutual interests in mining, spice trade and the  gathering of precious moonstone. Several small skirmishes had arisen and while no fatalities had ensued they had left their scar on the once jolly relations between the races. “I am moved by your desire to see our people fully united once again, my lord.” Barator replied, “I too share the notion that we have far more in common than not, particularly our love of peace and prosperity.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Does your highness wish to mark this upcoming occasion by means of a summit of sorts?”

 Nodding, Tanil stood from his seat and proceeded to pace back and forth in front of the table, as if struggling to find the right words to proceed. “Yes, but I rather envision it as a grand reception, so to speak, as opposed to a political summit.” He said after a moment, slowly, his eyes cast to the ground as he continued pacing. Glancing up briefly, he nodded towards his son, Adilar, who was seated next to Barator and watching his father’s every move with boyish fascination. “It was the princeling’s idea, in fact, that it should not be a political council.” He continued, smiling with just barely contained  fatherly pride as he spoke, “Initially I had believed the recent unfortunate events between our people signaled a time to simply speak as men of government do, but all though such talk is vital, it is also necessary to be reminded of the goodness that still exists within our bond. My son promptly reminded me that the alliance of the Dunyar and Olaniri was born of mutual affection for one another and that we are all, at the end of it, children of the same father and that this alone was reason enough to celebrate instead of gathering together to determine who is the mightier. After all, we are all equal in the eyes of Garyad’tanri, are we not?” 

Barator could not argue with the last part despite feeling that Tanil was subtly implying more blame upon the Olaniri than perhaps was necessary. Ignoring a tinge of irritation, Barator smiled, acknowledging Adilar beside him with a nod. “Your son is wise as well as kind, your highness.” He said, the compliment a genuine one, “While I am not master of my people I can assure you that they also would welcome the opportunity to mark the defeat of our great foe as well as recommit themselves to the ideals of peace and unity. Does my lord have a location in mind for this observance?” Tanil, still pacing about, looked ready to give an answer when suddenly the loud sounding of a ship’s horn blew in the air, causing the attention of all three men to turn away towards the harbor below. Hurrying towards the balustrade, Tanil appeared to be distracted, hands gripping the marble rail as his eyes searched the landing below for someone or something. He was muttering to himself, too low for Barator to hear. Standing, Barator followed suit with young Adilar and joined the High Lord at the balustrade, both curious to find what he was looking for. “Is it she, father?” Asked Adilar excitedly, his eyes filled with excitement as he stood beside his father. Without meeting his son’s gaze, Tanil continued scanning the shoreline anxiously. “It was her ship’s horn that called out….” 

Of a sudden the songster’s words ceased and his gaze was fixed on something in the distance Barator had not yet seen. Following his host’s gaze, he saw the object of Tanil’s attention.  Below them, standing along the shoreline, was a lady, hair the color of fire tangled with earthen brown, clothed in a gown of green and gold. Though she stood at a distance, Barator perceived her to be beautiful, celestial even. She wore a circlet of some sort on her brow but he could make little else of her person out from the height they stood. It is she, he realized internally, the Lady of Din Serenth. A woman of fabled beauty and power, so much so that Barator felt he were dreaming, that this rare privilege of looking upon her was all a figment of his imagination. He glanced at his host, an almost boyish curiosity rising up in him to catch a glimpse of a love that had become legend.

The expression of Lord Tanil was one of complete rapture, a smile of an almost smug nature written across  his face, his complexion slightly flushed and his eyes shining  as if he had swallowed the sun and its rays of light were seeping through the cerulean cast of  his eyes. For a moment Barator could not help but think longingly of his own wife, recalling her own beauty and nobility with a ghost of a smile. “Forgive my departure from our conversation, Lord Barator.” Spoke Tanil once more, softly, as if he were slowly returning to the present from some distant world, “You bear witness to the enchantment placed upon a besotted lord by his lady. She has been some time away from Din Serenth, visiting the house of her kinsmen in the west, and has only recently returned today. This is the first I have looked upon her in what has seemed all too long an absence.” His voice contained a slight tremor, yet it maintained a mellifluous quality befitting of the poet he was, spoken in a manner implicit of immense fondness. 

Casting his eyes towards the lady once more, Barator could not help but marvel aloud at the sight, though he did so partly out of reverence for his host. “The Lady is among the fairest I have ever had the privilege of looking upon. You are most fortunate, my Lord Tanil.” He remarked with genuine admiration. The golden headed lord chuckled lightly at this, eyes still shining bright as he continued to gaze upon his lady wife from afar. “She is loveliest of all Garyad’tanri’s creations. Perhaps you think me exceedingly partial but I assure you I speak not only as a husband devoted to his wife but as an artist well acquainted with the concept of beauty.” Barator smiled at this. “Not at all, I should scarce believe you to feel contrary to her beauty. It is well known to my kin the love you bear the Lady of Din Serenth.” He contributed warmly. Still not turning to meet his or his son’s gaze, Tanil paused thoughtfully before continuing. “Yes….but they shall never truly understand how I love her. It is not merely love for her beauty, celestial it may be in my sight and worthy of praise, but evermore her goodness. She is kind as a smile, wise as a crone, strong as the tide, and tender as the night. That is why I love her.” His emphasis signified a desire to clarify the nature of his love, as if some may dispute his affection for the lady as shallow in quality. Clearly this was not so. 

“How did you come to know her, my lord?” Ventured Barator, seizing more and more of this chance to better understand a far different side of his host. “I came to know her at the dawn of my three hundredth year upon this earth. I dreamt of her before I knew her, so well and so often that I felt I may go mad. Then one day I was sitting in the gardens of my father’s house and looked up to see her standing before me, luminous as the sun and smiling. So great was my shock that I could not move, nor breathe nor even utter a single word for fear she would disappear from my sight. It was at that moment that I came to love as I had never loved before. The world in all its glory could have fallen at my feet and yet I would have wanted only her. By the grace of Tanri Eternal she returned my love and we made our pledge to one another beneath the trees of that very same garden and for the last two hundred years I have been the happiest of men if not the most fortunate, for to be loved by so wise and fair a lady is more than I deserve. I am blessed beyond all worthiness.” The songster spoke with such earnesty it inspired a feeling of pride in the soldier, who in that moment considered himself proud to be in the presence of a man capable of speaking so openly and skillfully of internal matters most men would be loath to speak of aloud to each other. 

Looking to the princeling, who too appeared transfixed by his father’s story, Barator inquired “Have you any other children than young Lord Adilar?” At last glancing away from the square below, Tanil acknowledged his son beside him with a proud smile. “Yes, I have been blessed with seven sons in all.” He answered, to which Adilar smiled in return. Barator silently considered this for a moment.  “Seven sons…..a great achievement, my lord!” He remarked. Clapping his youngest child on his shoulder, Tanil chuckled. “One of my greatest, if I may say so myself.” He said, though his smiling expression stuttered for an extended instant. Could it possibly be disappointment, Barator wondered?

As if he could read Barator’s thoughts, Tanil removed his hand from his son’s shoulder back to the balustrade, his eyes returning out towards the sea. “Do not mistake my placing them second for lack of love, Master Barator.” He began almost apologetically, “Theirs is an excellence crafted not only by myself but by their lady mother, to whom they owe such bearing. Her’s was the masterstroke that brought them thus into this world. No, my finest creation is not yet wrought. When it is, it must be of my own skills, born of my own blood and sweat, and tears if it should prove so daunting a task.” The songster’s admission betrayed a hint of frustration, though it did not seem to bother the princeling at all, the boy no doubt being all too familiar with his father’s ambitious disposition. As for himself, Barator could not help but feel a pang of pity for the princeling and his elder brothers. To be the offspring of great men was not entirely enviable, he perceived, the reality of it all at once exhilarating and intolerable.  “Your ambition is commendable, sir. Would that I had the desire to create within me.” Offered Barator after a moment, though the envy he’d felt  earlier for his host’s talents was long gone. 

Turning his attention back to Barator, Tanil looked upon him and, with a kindly smile, responded. “Oh, but you do, my lord. The desire to create, nay, the ability to do so, lives within us all. Perhaps not in equal capacities, but it exists all the same. To create is inherent to all who draw breath, whether it be the tending of one’s flocks or gardens, crafting cities from stone, creating harmony in the midst of rancor, the begetting of children….even, dare I say, the throes and blows of war are themselves a creation of sorts.” The last part of his entreaty appealed to the soldier in Barator, accepting it as a compliment of the highest regard, as there were those who found the art of war to be without skill, a crude, artless endeavor carried out by brutish men. “Well said, my lord.” He responded, his opinion of his host slightly regained for the present.

Heaving a small sigh, the songster let his gaze fall to his hands, which were still gripping the balustrade in front of him, momentarily lost in another artistic musing. “Though I know myself to be greatly blessed with sons, I would have given my right hand for a daughter or two. The beauty of their fair kind far exceeds that of song and to father such beauty is the highest honor of any creator.” He confessed softly, though he did not speak from bitterness or contempt for the gift of children he already possessed, “Have you any daughters, Lord Barator?” “Three, your grace!” Replied Barator enthusiastically, “I too share the opinion that they are indeed the fairest creations of this world.” “My heart is glad to hear this.” Responded Tanil with a nod of his head, his eyes turning up to meet Barator’s again affably, voice conveying unfeigned happiness for his guest’s good fortune.