Disclaimer: It's not mine, want some wine? Also, the beggar's song is my translation and also a Faerun adaptation of a traditional one from Odessa. They had a thieves guild, too ;).
Six gold pieces dissappeared in the steel - gloved hand of the gate guard. The Flaming Fist soldier, serving the first evening watch and resembling a statue in his dignity, nobility and dead seriousness noded his head.
'You may pass, citizen.'
A colorfully clad elf, carrying a bow across his back curtsied, a move both gallant and somewhat dramatic. He smiled at the man's helmet. Somewhere beneath the polished metal, he believed, was a face. Most probably a sour one. The wanderer went on, but not before patting the golden back of the dragon effigy that adorned the main gate.
The city of Baldur's Gate. Six gold pieces for entry. Six gold pieces for paradise, for streams of wine and beer, for dozens of inns, hundreds of new friends, all those escapes from nobles' estates, the sweet risque, the thrills and charms of a roguish life... and, last but not least, for the fragile beauty of love.
For Coran, it was home. Today, he arrived triumphant, with two pouches at his belt, one filled with gold, the other with shiny jewels. The crowd embraced him as a mother would, making the elf yet another part of a hurrying, patchy whole of a city. The elf beamed a smile at a young girl who passed him by. She was young and fair - haired, carrying a basket full of empty bottles. Their eyes met. When the maid blushed, Coran saw how beautiful she actually was. Of course, he informed her of this fact - hiding such information from a woman was an unforgiveable crime. She smiled at his exclamation, and the vagabond fell in love. However, everything came to an end when she disappeared in one of the many alleys of the city. His heart was free yet again. Well, he corrected himself, smirking, half - free.
He loved Baldur's Gate. In sickness and in health, in good times and bad. He loved truly, and forever, though stayed faithful to himself where 'forsaking all others' part was concerned. Polygamy, he thought. Always a most convenient arrangement. The city gates welcomed him anytime, like a kind - hearted woman would. He would return there bruised and exhausted, from long hunts in the woods or spectacular fights in the cities. He would return there close to death... of boredom, after a day or two at the countryside. He would return... well, from whenever. But he returned always. And Balduran's Gate waited, never failing to fascinate him. The thief followed a sound of lute strings, plucked mercilessly by the player, and found himself in a narrow alley, facing a beggar who, as it appeared, was trying to sing a song.
The Gate, for all so good, just like a mother should Will hug you, will give a decent place to live,
For all the same it brings, for beggars and for kings,
Though kings will have it easier, that's an obvious thing!
Coran laughed, laughed like he had not in years, seeing the contrast between the lyrics and the circumstances the unfortunate young man found himself in. Was it possible that the boy still believed his own words? Why, yes, it was! Not so long ago, it was Coran who kept such a faith, his only defense against hunger and cold, until the good mistress Elaine had offered her help and her heart. 'Twas great to be young, the elf sighed. But, none of that, he added, I am young still!
'What would your name be, dear lad?', Coran asked.
I can already hear his future tale, he thought to himself. When he becomes a bard, the most moving story ever told by this young beggar will be that of this very day. The ladies at court will cry, the men will start to believe in goodness and charity. My benefactor, the first sentence shall be, was of the Elder Race, wearing the finest garments, with sharp eyes and a ready smile. Imagine my awe at the most unique mixture of sheer joy and dignity this man posessed!
'Name's Aldo.'
'Listen then, Aldo', replied Coran, accepting the mentor's role with grace, 'I could not simply pass your misery by. Though now you can think that there are no people more different from one another than you and me...'
'I'm not...'
'Wealth and poverty, innocence and experience, elegance and, well, forgive me, filth...'
'But...'
'Well, you may not believe it, but what you are now, I was once. Listen to me, Aldo. I have two advices to share. First: never doubt this city, as it will reward you.'
He pulled out his pouch, counted twenty gold coins and handed them to the now wide - eyed lad.
'Thank you, good master!' the beggar seemed to have regained the ability of sentence construction.
'No need to, no need', Coran said, 'However, this gift has an instruction of use, if you do not mind. You shall go to an inn and rent a room for at least two days. After that, take a bath and buy some clean garments. That being done, you should go in search for a work. I would suggest honying your bard skills whenever the time allows. After improving your art, try to impress one or two landlords... and after that, one or two noblewomen. Follow these simple steps, and the first invitation to the court of Grand Dukes will arrive sooner than you expect. And from there... you can go anywhere you will.'
The young man blinked, trying to follow the elf's trace of thought.
'And the second advice?', he asked.
'Ah', Coran leaned towards him and whispered, 'Well, become a thief. 'Tis a good job, and taking some burden of those who can spare it will not keep your conscience awake at nights... You see, there are many songs of those who steal from the rich and give to the poor, and you are poor indeed, by all accounts.'
'Thank you, good master!', the lad repeated.
In a brief motion, he touched Coran's cloak. The elf did not mind - maybe the unfortunate bard believed that it was a way to gain Lady Luck's attention. It must be truly visible, he thought, the way she favours me.
'Well, Tymora be with you, Aldo!'
'Have a good day, and have a good life!', Aldo exclaimed.
After such a farewell, the vagabond turned around and went back to the main street. He looked around, admiring the colorful markets, reading the well - known names painted on the inn signs. He decided to pay a visit to the one called 'Ye Olde Inn'. Hopefully, there was no slime infestation this time... As the bowman paced towards the steps, he gazed at his own sillouhette, reflected on the surface of a large pool of something that was probably bitter black ale. The clothes suited him as always. The elf adjusted his belt, just for good measure. But... wha...
A more through inspection revealed the lack of the jewel pouch. Coran laughed yet again. He could not know wether or not the young beggar would follow his first advice, but he sure as Nine Hells kept true to the second one! Easy come, easy go, sighed the thief and stepped inside the tavern.
It was a tad dark in the main room, but the dim lights only added to the atmosphere. The soft sounds of civil talks and the slow melody of a minstrel's violin were obvious proofs of the fact that this place was one of the most elegant establishments in the city. Good Hanali, thought the wanderer, I am happy. He left his bow by the door. The inkeeper, never making a comment, guided the new guest to the table and gave the colorfully clad elf his usual order: a bottle of elvish wine. Coran toasted him. The man, keeping a stoic expression, simply inclined his head. The vagabond emptied the cup, wondering why would anyone believe silence was a vital component of the ball and chain everyone called politeness. Ah, those humans...
'You are Coran, right?'
The silent, melodic voice made him cringe. I know this sound, he thought. This can't be good. The man turned around, hoping that this won't be yet another of those stories.
Brielbara, he thought, looking into her face. The first shock, however, passed soon, letting reason back into his brain. Briel was not slim. She was not as young as the girl before him. Her eyes were not purple, like his own. Briel... was not a half - elf. Something gripped him with cold, strong fingers. By the heart, by the throat.
'Namara', he whispered.
The petite girl confirmed, nodding her head, making both the violet earrings and her short braids shake. Beautiful, he thought, with a father's pride, so out of place under the given circumstances.
'It's me. I was searching for you, you know? And someone told me you liked to come here, so I, like, dropped in from time to time. Seems this is my lucky day!'
He blinked, confused by the joy in her voice. There was no telling when she would start to share stories of the dreadful childhood of a daughter abandoned, so he downed another goblet, deciding it was better to hear such tales with wine in his stomach than without it.
'Do you... want a drink?', he asked.
The innkeep, always vigil, a true paladin on duty, put another bottle on their table. Desperate for help, Coran looked around. The vitrage windows depicted pretty flowers, yet offered no advice on fatherhood issues. The walls, ceiling, and the few other guests were no help as well. The vagabond gazed upon his daughter, frowning. There is something between us, he had thought, keeping us apart like an invisible sheet of glass... the kind that is not easy to break.
Namara, luckily, wanted a drink. She grabbed the goblet, a gesture so similar to his own, and emptied it at once. It looked like that was no easy talk for her, too.
'How is... Brielbara?', he asked.
'I don't know', the girl shrugged, 'Not living with her anymore. She is probably better off than the two of us put together.'
He counted. Twenty three. A young age for his race, but considering human standards, it would be high time for marriage.
'Where are you staying, then?', he asked, desperately hoping that the girl will not tell him to shove his late concerns.
'Here and there', she shook her hand in a swift gesture, trying to show where 'here' and 'there' was, 'I just, you know, can't stay anywhere for too long. Beregost yesterday, the Gate today. Wherever fate takes me... what's wrong?'
Coran sighed. She could not repeat it after him, these words were not aimed at his heart, were not supposed to hurt, to shock. This expression was just... natural. Just hers, as it was his.
'Oh, nothing, forgive your prodigal father a moment of melancholy', he repeated when wits came into his aid, 'Briel is a noble, I had thought you could be a married woman yourself now, maybe even a mother, that was why I...'
'Who? Me?'
She hit her forehead with an arched palm, showing him her 'are - you - insane?' face. The resonating sound made others look in their direction, but the girl paid no heed. She simply looked at Coran in a way in which one would regard a talking chicken or some other shape or form of a harvest fair freak. As if he had just told her that Helm was taking a stroll along the shore, wearing yellow stockings and cross garters. After a while, she became serious again.
'Sorry, I forgot you don't know me', she explained, with no signs of regret, malice or even sadness, 'I'm not a wife kind of gal. That's why I don't live with mum anymore, I guess. And it was all... so... dull!'
'Believe me, I know!', Coran chuckled, remembering his own upbringing, 'You should have heard the sages of Tethyr! Coran, you have just celebrated your hundredth birthday and should behave accordingly to your years! Coran, have you ever realized how illogical of you it is to worship the godess of love when Corellon Larethian watches over our lives in all aspects? Coran, do you not understand how utterly disgusting it is to steal?'
Namara's large eyes shined with sudden joy. She arched her back, her face forming a mask of a dramatic disapproval. The girl's words and facial expressions betrayed a skilled impersonator, making the elf even prouder.
'Namara, could you just for once remember to keep your elbows off the table? Namara, have you perchance seen my bracelet? I swear I had it on my wrist mere moments ago and I suspect you might be involved in it's mysterious disappearance!'
They laughed, together, in a way so similar to one another's that the shared amusement seemed to have broken the invisible sheet of glass that kept them apart earlier.
'You spend time wasting away the family fortune, I assume?', he inquired.
His daughter shook her head. Seeing her impish smile almost hurt. The sheet of glass was replaced, yes... with a mirror.
'I have my... sources of coin, you know.'
'You became a rogue, then', he winked at her, 'A roguesse.'
'Surprising, eh?'
The vagabond filled their goblets, then drank yet again. The whole world had not enough wine for this situation.
'I like this profession, yes', he remarked, 'But it's small wonder that I would like my daughter to take up something less risky.'
Now you are asking for it, the elf thought to himself. And yet, she was not irate, delivered no deadly looks, no cruel retorts.
'Less risky is not my style', she assured, and her father had to smile at such a display of bravado, 'At first I wanted to be like you, when mum finally told me. So I... tried this and that. And after, it was not for you, but for me. A... good idea, ya know, like when you find out how easy and enjoyable something is. Or like when the last pin in a lock surrenders and...'
The girl giggled, suddenly aware of her choice of metaphors.
'An irrecupperable case, you see', she informed.
'I am afraid I do see indeed', he noded, 'I believe I was born with a lockpick in my hand and a sly grin on my face.'
'And a few years later... the first big one.'
'Aye, aye... I remember mine own as if it all happened yestereve. Sit back and listen, dear daughter, this is one of the greatest stories ever told. You see, there was this noble in Nashkel. Very proud of his cat. Good gods know he had no reason to be happy about anything else, thin as a pole, ugly as sin and more ascetic than a dozen of Ilmaterites put together. He spent most of his time donating to the temple of Helm... it could not have been another church, given how sour this poor fool was!'
Coran paused for a moment, moved by her geniuine smile, her attention. I could have told this story sooner, he realized. And all the others.
'And? What happened next?', she inquired, impatient.
'Well... one day I decided to make a statement in the name of all beggars. I went out at night, sneaked into his estate, opened eight locks, avoided twelve traps, and... I took his cat.'
'No!'
'Why yes, yes! To my credit, I did leave a note. It was so masterfully written that it was all more of a fair trade, listen! Good lord, hearing that you were the paragone of all things noble, I came into your homestead, struck with hunger and despair. Finding nothing edible, I decided to take the cat, trusting in your kind and forgiving nature...'
She laughed almost to tears, rocking on the chair, back and forth. The story teller himself found it hard to surpass his own laughter and finish the tale.
'As you can imagine, the noble helmite was furious. I returned his cat the next day, explaining that the poor pet was far too thin even for a desperate beggar like me. Yes... there was no great prize for this first victory of mine, but believe me, 'twas sweet none the less!'
'Mine did get me a great prize', she smiled, 'Look!'
She buried her fingers in one of many pockets, then produced a silver pendant, almost as big as the half of her palm. His daughter put the thing on the table in front of her father, for him to see. The skilled jeweler created a flower of metal and amethysts. No wonder she never sold it, Coran thought. It is a thing of rare beauty.
'You like?', Namara asked, suddenly serious, as if something important depended on the way he responds.
'If there are things worth risking jail time, this is one of them', he announced, 'A most unusual trophy! I would like to hear all about the way you managed to gain it!'
The girl shook her head. There was sadness in her eyes now, as honest and sincere as the previous merriment.
'Mine was not so funny.'
'That does not matter at all! Please, I am all ears. Will even laugh, if needed.'
'I.. I don't think I have the time. Gotta go, you know...'
He looked at her. I already miss this girl, he realized.
'No, stay, please. We can talk about someone else, if you like, anything at all. Or even... listen, we could make fine companions on the road, making up for the time we... I lost. Namara, I... you do not know what it is like, to see you so...'
So like me, he concluded in thought. So like him that she never answered, only stood up, downed the rest of her drink and noded at him - the only fare - well he would get.
'Namara...', he began, growing more and more desperate.
'Too late', she whispered, avoiding his gaze 'I don't want a revenge, or any of these stupid things, it's just... really too late. Too... strange.'
'Your trophy', he reminded.
Nothing, no word, no deed would keep her in this inn. Coran knew that much. He knew himself, after all.
'It's... it's for you. I want you to have it, okay?'
'Me?'
'Yes, you', she confirmed, still looking at the floor, 'I wanted to give it to you, so you will remember... I'm not mad at you, or her, or anyone, I want you to know it. You would die there, with us, I should know', this time, the smile seemed forced.
She does not know what to do, Coran thought. And neither do I. Neither do I.
'I... understand what you did, and why you did it', she went on, 'It's just... now that I know you...'
The half - elven girl touched his shoulder, an awkward, half - hearted gesture.
'It's just that... it would have been great to have such a father.'
She finished her sentence, spinned around and ran out of the inn, swinging the door shut. The rogue grabbed her gift, her pendant, her prize. She stole it for me, he thought. Just for me.
'More wine, milord?', asked the innkeep.
'Oh, yes. Much more wine.'
finis