Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back when I’m done.

Author’s Note: I’m terribly sorry for the long pause. It seemed that as soon as I posted the last chapter, finals were upon me, and then I had to find a place to stay for the summer, then move, then find a job, then go home for my birthday, then train for work…But finally I have a chance to update. Ironically, I’ve had this written for a while, but not typed up. Enjoy!

Chapter Six: In Which There Are Musicians

As Eldarion had thought, his father knew exactly where to find the musicians that he had hoped for. What was even better, Aragorn had been looking for an excuse to go incognito among the people for ages now, and so as Arwen turned a blind eye, the legendary King and his young son donned simple clothes and slipped off into the night.

The Haradric exiles lived in the Third Circle, in a district that had been granted to them by the Stewards years earlier. Since the end of the War, its numbers had doubled, and the district was a rambling but well-kept area. They were highly skilled people, keeping up a steady trade of fine swords, inlaid furniture, and jewelry. Their neighborhoods were kept in good repair, and the air smelled heavily of wood smoke and spices that reminded Eldarion of Seraphine’s house as they walked along the smooth road. This district was a bit different from how Seraphine had described Harad, but then, this was a different place.

Eldarion and Aragorn walked through the Haradric neighborhood, the hoods of their light spring cloaks pulled up despite the warmth of the night. Eldarion followed his father to a small café that spilled light and music out into the street. Inside, many denizens of Harad sat on embroidered cushions around low tables of dark wood, laughing and talking as a small band played on a small platform. Eldarion followed his father to an empty table that the proprietor pointed them to. Aragorn doffed his cloak, and though a flicker of surprise passed through the man’s eyes, he did not say anything. They sipped water flavored with cucumbers, watching the musicians.

“Is this traditional Haradric music, Father?” Eldarion asked quietly.

Aragorn nodded. “Yes. This is the sort of music that they would play in times of celebration.”

Eldarion nodded, listening intently. This music was bright, full of trumpets and drums. It made him want to jump up and dance. When the band, which consisted of five men who looked to be related, finished playing, Eldarion stood up and walked over to them. Aragorn watched as his son bowed to the musicians, hands clasped in front of him in a direct imitation of Lady Seraphine. They bowed back, and listened closely while Eldarion spoke. His earnestness was obvious in his very posture. At length, an agreement was reached, money changed hands, and a delighted-looking Elda wound his way back to the table.

“You have a fine son, majesty,” the proprietor said to Aragorn.

The King smiled. “Thank you.”

*****

The next evening, Seraphine lay on the soft couch in her parlor, a book in her hand and a pot of fragrant tea on the table next to her. Eldarion had not been by that day, enabling her to visit the bookseller and acquire several new volumes of literature. She had spent a lazy day reading, which had been both relaxing and quite stimulating. It was pleasant to lounge back on the soft blue velvet cushions, unbothered by any noises save the wind in the trees and the songs of the birds outside. And the books had kept many of her darker thoughts at bay.

As she lay there, close to the end of her chapter, the late-evening sun drenching the room in a golden glow, loud music began to play outside of Seraphine’s window. Haradric music. Puzzled, the princess got up and went to the window, her long skirts trailing gently across the floorboards behind her. She opened the window and laughed in sheer pleasure at what met her gaze.

Outside, dressed in the bright clothes of their country, stood a Haradric band, playing one of the celebratory songs of their-and her-homeland. Nearby stood Eldarion and, surprisingly, the King Elessar. Eldarion was grinning from ear to ear.

Seraphine stood rooted at the window as the band played. They played a set, and then bowed to her, all of them smiling. Seraphine laughed as she clapped, utterly delighted and touched at the gesture.

“Thank you, all of you!” she cried. “It has been too long since I heard the music of my people.”

The bandleader, who was in fact the father of the clan, bowed low to her. “It is an honor, princess. When the young master here told us how you missed the music, we could not help but come and play for you.”

Seraphine looked over at Eldarion. The boy was leaning against his father, who had an arm around his shoulders. There was a hopeful look on his face.

“Thank you, Eldarion,” Seraphine said. She was more touched by this child’s thoughtfulness than she had ever imagined she could be. “Thank you, truly.”

“You’re welcome,” Eldarion replied, grinning.

“You ought to come to our people’s district, majesty,” the leader said respectfully. “You would be welcome among us. We were all sorry to hear of your loss.”

Seraphine bowed to him again, wishing that he had not mentioned the past. There was no sense in bringing it up. But she could tell that these people meant nothing but kindness and sincerity in their words, and that warmed her heart. She had not thought it possible, and she found that she could barely speak around the lump in her throat. She inquired his name.

“Azra, majesty.”

“Master Azra, I do believe I will come.”

*****

Later, after the musicians had played more for Seraphine inside her house, and after the housekeeper had stuffed them all full of good food, and after the King had carried his extremely full and sleepy son back up to the palace, Seraphine took herself to bed. She lay under the quilts for a long time, pushing her thoughts around, trying not to think about the one thing that kept surfacing. But Azra’s words kept echoing in her mind.

We were all sorry to hear of your loss.

‘Tears are cleansing to the soul,’ Seraphine thought, and let the tears flow down her face until, at last, she slept.

TBC