[EDWARD'S POV]
December 22, 1337
Navigating life becomes more challenging when laden with responsibilities. Upon assuming the role of Warden, I was granted a private office, comparable in size to my study in Wymondham. The privilege extended to the liberty of selecting two assistants to aid me in the daily grind of paperwork. Unfortunately, I have yet to identify suitable candidates here, prompting me to dispatch Zephyr to Norwich with a letter to Osbert, tasking him with the responsibility of finding two capable men for the job.
Rising from my chair, I stepped out of the office and headed to the royal garden to savor some fresh air. The proximity of my office to the garden was by design, a personal request I had made. Plants possessed an uncanny ability to soothe my spirits, and trees had been steadfast companions throughout both my current and past lives. Since childhood, whenever confronted with sadness or stress, I sought solace in the nearby woods. I even had a treehouse, a cherished creation from my father. Ah, the nostalgia of bygone days.
A refreshing breeze carried my thoughts away as I ventured deeper into the expansive garden. It sprawled over at least a couple of acres, and, being mid-afternoon, the place was deserted. The usual crowd frequented the garden during the mornings or evenings.
A sudden, haunting melody reached my ears, catching me off guard. The voice resonated like an angel's lament, a siren's cry. Unable to resist its allure, I followed the sound to its origin. The haunting voice grew more potent as I drew near. Eventually, I discovered a young girl, barely an adult, with fair skin, blonde hair, and striking green eyes. She sat beneath the peaceful shade of an oak tree, cradling a wooden lute in her hands, fingers dancing gracefully across its strings. Silently, I positioned myself on the opposite side of the tree, the oak's trunk providing a discreet separation between us. There, I surrendered to the enchanting strains of her song.
"In a hamlet small, 'neath the stars' soft gleam,
Lived a farmer true, with a heart agleam,
He toiled in fields, from dawn's first ray,
Dreaming of a life, far from his hay.
His calloused hands and his weathered brow,
Told tales of labor, from dusk to now.
But in the twilight's hush, as the owls took flight,
He'd weave a dream in the silent night.
Sing, oh sing, of the farmer's dream,
Beyond the furrows, where the meadows teem,
Of a life unbound by the plow's embrace,
In whispered wishes, his heart did chase.
He dreamed of a cottage by a crystal stream,
Where laughter echoed, a fanciful gleam,
With orchards blooming, in the golden light,
And fragrant blooms, 'neath the stars' delight.
No more the toil 'neath the scorching sun,
Nor the weary chores when the day was done,
He'd dance with joy in the meadow's grace,
In this dreamer's world, a far-off place.
Sing, oh sing, of the farmer's dream,
Beyond the furrows, where the meadows teem,
Of a life unbound by the plow's embrace,
In whispered wishes, his heart did chase.
So, let the bard's song carry afar,
The simple dreams of a humble star,
For in each soul, a yearning gleams,
A farmer's dream, spun in silent streams.
Sing, oh sing, of the farmer's dream,
Beyond the furrows, where the meadows teem,
Of a life unbound by the plow's embrace,
In whispered wishes, his heart did chase."
The girl continued strumming her lute for the next few seconds, each note resonating through the peaceful shade of the oak tree. Captivated by the melody, I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to move for what seemed like an eternity. As she stopped and let out a soft sigh, I gathered my thoughts and, sensing she remained seated, spoke in a calm and appreciative tone.
"In each soul, a yearning gleams, a farmer's dream spun in silent streams," I echoed one of her lines. "Truly inspiring, I must say." Pausing for a moment, I added, "May I have the pleasure of knowing the name of such a melodious bard?"
We sat in silence, the air heavy with tension. It took her a moment to gather herself, and then she spoke in a voice that was as soft and comforting as honey, "I am Vascalta, my lord."
I could hear the sound of rustling grass as she stood up and brushed off the dirt from her clothes. I followed suit and faced this bard, Vascalta.
In the afternoon sunlight, her blonde hair seemed to glow even brighter, and her deep green eyes were captivating. As I observed her more closely, I noticed that she had an impressive stature for a woman of this time, standing nearly 5'5". I myself had grown to 5'9" in the past few months. Her curvaceous figure only added to her beauty, and the azure one-piece dress she wore left no room for disappointment among her admirers.
"Milady, do I have the pleasure of your acquaintance?" I inquired, a smile gracing my lips.
She returned the gesture with a smile so captivating, it momentarily rendered me speechless. "I'm not a lady, milord. And indeed, who hasn't heard of your highness? You're quite the topic of conversation in the capital, what with your accomplishments and striking looks. And I must say, you are rather appealing."
Had I been an ordinary young lad, her compliment might have brought an immediate blush to my cheeks. However, with decades of experience under my belt, such praise came with a certain ease. While her beauty was exceptional for this era, one could find such allure more commonly in the modern age.
What captivated me most was her gender relative to her profession. A bard, it appeared, given the lute in her hands and the songs echoing common folks' daily lives. Her presence here in the royal garden, free to wander, indicated her significance as well.
Her lyrical choice was notably elevated, I must admit. In my previous life, I was an ardent author and poet, with two published history books and numerous poems to my name. Yet, I can confidently say that her work would have caused quite some sensation on the internet.
While no significant event demands my attendance at court as of now, my curiosity about this girl really compels me to seek further information. Her presence is intriguing, to say the least.
The sun cast a warm, golden hue over the royal garden as Vascalta and I continued our conversation. Her presence amidst this serene setting was captivating, her words weaving tales that echoed the essence of life itself.
"Vascalta," I ventured, curious about her background, "your songs, they resonate with such authenticity. Are you from a family of bards, or is this passion something you've cultivated on your own?"
She met my gaze with a soft smile, her eyes carrying the weight of untold stories. "My origins are simple, milord. I come from humble roots, raised amidst the fields and streams. Music and storytelling have been an integral part of my life, a cherished legacy passed down through generations in my family."
Her response piqued my interest further. "Your songs speak of experiences, dreams, and aspirations. What drives your passion for music and storytelling?"
There was a flicker of emotion in her eyes as she spoke, a depth that hinted at hidden tales. "The stories of ordinary folk, their struggles, their joys, and their unspoken yearnings are what fuel my passion. I find solace in weaving their tales into melodies, giving voice to the unsung heroes of our land."
Her words resonated deeply within me. "Your perspective is insightful and profound. It's remarkable how you bring the essence of everyday life to life through your songs."
The gentle breeze tousled Vascalta's hair, adding an ethereal quality to her presence. "Milord, your accomplishments at such a young age are admirable. May I inquire about your journey and the motivations that drive you?"
I smiled, sharing snippets of my past, carefully choosing stories that aligned with the life of a noble-born youth. I spoke of aspirations, trials, and a passion to serve the kingdom and its people, all while concealing the truth of my origins.
Our conversation flowed effortlessly, the time slipping away unnoticed as we meandered through the garden paths. Vascalta's simplicity and depth intrigued me, her genuine interest in the world around her an enchanting quality.
As the day waned, painting the sky with hues of orange and gold, I extended an invitation. "Vascalta, would you honor us with your presence at the castle's feast tonight? Your songs would add a special charm to the evening's festivities."
Her eyes lit up with surprise and delight. "Milord, it would be an honor. I shall try to illuminate the feast tonight with my songs."
With a promise to meet at the feast, we bid farewell, a connection forged amidst the tranquility of the royal gardens lingering in the air.
—---------------
Hours later, the castle came alive with preparations for the grand feast. The Great Hall, adorned with banners and flickering torches, exuded an aura of celebration and regality. Guests, nobles, and courtiers gathered, their vibrant attires adding a splash of color to the majestic hall.
As I made my entrance, clad in formal attire befitting the occasion, I scanned the room, searching for Vascalta. My eyes soon found her, standing at the edge of the room, the simplicity of her attire contrasting with the opulence surrounding her. She wore a modest gown of deep blue, embellished with subtle embroidery that accentuated her natural beauty.
Our eyes met, and a smile graced her lips as she approached, carrying her lute with a grace that drew the attention of those around her. Her presence was magnetic, commanding attention without the need for grandeur.
"Milord," she greeted me warmly, her voice carrying a melodic tone that resonated with a gentle elegance.
"Vascalta, I'm delighted that you could join us," I replied, offering a courteous bow. "Your music has been much anticipated."
She returned the gesture with a nod, her gaze warm and appreciative. "It is an honor to share my songs with such esteemed company."
The feast commenced, and as the evening progressed, Vascalta took center stage, her mellifluous voice filling the hall. Her songs wove tales of love, valor, and the mundane lives of common folk, captivating the audience with each verse. The guests listened in rapt attention, the enchantment of her melodies casting a spell of tranquility over the bustling hall.
Throughout the night, our eyes would occasionally meet, exchanging silent acknowledgments amid the revelry. Her presence brought a sense of serenity amidst the grandeur, a reminder of simpler times and genuine connections.
As the feast drew to a close, I approached Vascalta once more, expressing my gratitude for gracing us with her artistry. "Your songs have breathed life into this celebration, Vascalta. Your talent is truly extraordinary."
A soft blush tinted her cheeks, the faintest hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Thank you, milord. Your kindness is greatly appreciated."
The evening concluded, leaving behind a lingering sense of camaraderie and a foundation for newfound connections. As the guests departed and the castle quieted, I found myself reflecting on the enchanting memory of Vascalta, a bard whose simplicity and depth had left an indelible mark on my heart.