He sat strumming away at his mandolin, idly churning out an aimless tune. The others sat around the campfire, each doing their own mindless task, each enjoying the melodies that emanated from the thief and his instrument.

Oliver was reading the tale about the very first Clarion- created by four brothers to return peace to the world. He recalled the completion of the flute, the banter that ensued after. They were all so excited to finally move forward in the effort to defeat Shadar. Every remark seemed so quickly passed over in his memory as they all were consumed in awe of both what they had just witnessed and their newfound capacity to save the world.

Everyone had come together to complete it. The entire world- well the rulers from all the countries as well as their own former royal of a companion had helped bring it together. They had seen the recreation of a powerful magical artifact. They had seen the bond of two brothers reform in the effort. Both of which brought incorrigible grins to everyone's faces.

Now, as the boy read the book, he thought back to what everyone had said earlier, banter and all… "I'd love to play it, but I'm tone deaf," one line of dialogue struck him. He sat up suddenly. With it, the thief's music stopped. "…I'm tone deaf," he replayed in his mind. He blinked in confusion as he looked down at the ground in thought. How? How could he play so well? He shouldn't have been able to play his beloved mandolin at all…

He turned and looked in bewilderment at the ever-observant Swaine. He looked down at the mandolin, the same mandolin that had been so beautifully played just moments before he came to the realization.

"Oliver," he asked, leaning over the instrument in his hands. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Swaine… You're tone deaf," he pointed out. He turned his body to fully face the jacket-clad man. "You- you shouldn't be able to sing…" He gestured towards the string instrument. "Or play the mandolin."

Esther looked up from tuning her own instrument. "He has a point, Swaine." She tilted her head. "It is kind of weird."

"Oi! What's the trick, mun," the fairy piped up. "You're trying to pull a fast one on us, are ya?" He stamped a tiny leg towards the thief in question and raised an equally tiny fist.

The man stared wide-eyed at the three. He hadn't quite expected them to remember that little comment. He felt himself smirking then he began to laugh.

The two kids and a fairy exchanged confused glances. What was so funny…?

"You lot really think- after all this time- I wouldn't have a hope in hell at this?! You must be joking." He leaned forward with a cocky grin. "I've learned to compensate," he admitted. He let loose a few stray giggles. "You seem to forget- I've been playing this thing since Marcassin was small." He raised the mandolin by the neck. "And learned to sing along with it."

"So wait…," the girl began. "Is it the only instrument you learned how to play?"

"Yep. The only one I can sing with, too. I can't play anything else- I'd sound awful." He shook his head as he placed the mandolin down in his lap.

"So, you really can't hear the notes," Oliver exclaimed, amazed. "But…," he started again. "You must have sounded pretty bad as a kid, then."

"Well, everyone sounds bad when they start," Esther replied. "I probably sounded worse than Swaine."

The thief leaned back in shock. "Oh? Humility," he jested, smirking as he received a well-deserved glare from Esther. He shook his head. "I wasn't always tone deaf. I kind of lost it as I got older." He held out a hand. "Let's just say using a pickpocketing gun has its flaws." He shrugged. "But it hasn't stopped me from playing her." He picked back up the instrument and strummed a few chords. "And I wouldn't play anything else." He sighed and cast a warm smile down at the mandolin. "…of all the notes- these are the only ones I can still properly hear."

"Why'd you stop playing, then," a voice from behind him asked.

The thief jumped and a strangled note pierced the air. He turned to find his brother staring down at him. Swaine lowered his gaze to avoid his younger brother's. "I just… couldn't."

Marcassin sat next to him as Pea, who had gone with him to explore the surrounding forest, sat next to Oliver. "Brother. Was it because of father?"

The others remained silent as they watched the two of them intently- all except Pea who fiddled with some blades of grass.

Swaine cleared his throat. "Yeah," he choked out, gripping the mandolin tighter. "Father… He gave me this instrument before you were born. I remember sneaking off to where the royal musicians would practice and listening to their pieces." He shrugged. "It was the only other thing besides tinkering I could escape to." He looked over at the sage with a fond smile. "Well… that is until you came around."

"Hah! I remember! You used to get us in so much trouble, Gascon," the younger prince cheered. His smile fell as he looked down, realizing the reason he had quit. "It must have been hard, not being able to play."

He nodded in agreement. "After hearing about what happened, it was like I lost touch with reality. The notes just weren't right." He idly plucked at the strings. "I believed I had gone completely tone deaf." He looked over at the group. But these three… "I think… I think after all we've been through, after accomplishing as much as we have…," He sighed and strummed a couple of triumphant chords. He smiled at the sound- the only musical sound that would come to him, that he had become so familiar with, he could go completely deaf and still know it's voice. "I think my hearing has recovered in full."

"We can move forward," Pea proclaimed. "Silly bean! You were so sad, you couldn't hear the music. Now you're all better!" She raised her hands above her head and spread them out. "All better!"

The thief smirked at the girl. She may have had a point.

"But you still can't play anything else," Esther reminded him. "You're still tone deaf."

He growled as he glared at her. "And you're still not getting it. I've put in so much practice in this, that it doesn't matter! I've learned to work around it- the same way I've learned to work around not having a single shred of magic!"

"Yeah, by becoming a thief," Esther shot back.

Oliver got to his feet. "You two cut it out," he demanded before the thief could retort. He turned to the familiar tamer. "I mean, Swaine wasn't entirely right becoming a thief, but I kind of understand what he means. He worked hard to be as strong as he is." He glanced back at the man. "Whatever it is, it takes effort and practice! That's something we've all had to do! Whether we have magic," he looked between the three magic users in their party. "Or we don't," he concluded, looking back at Swaine.

At that, Marcassin looked away. He seemed suddenly lost in thought. "That's… not entirely true…"

"Hmm?" Swaine looked over at his brother. "What do you mean?"

"You have a little. It's just been never enough to cast spells," the sage observed. "I'm sure you remember when we tried to fight an ogre- it wasn't long before you left and before…," he trailed off, realizing that their father's demise wasn't long after. He shook his head again. "You tried to correct my casting by grabbing the scepter." He held back a chuckle. "There was a small surge of magical energy- your magic."

"Er… No. That was all you if I recall," he corrected, rubbing the back of his head. "I've never been able to muster up a spark."

"Maybe its conditional," the young wizard suggested as he held a hand to his chin in thought. "Maybe it's only at its peak when you're trying to help. Maybe it's like your ability to play music- you're only able to do it when you're at your best."

"Which I wasn't, might you remember?" He focused on Oliver intently. "I was at odds with myself at the time-"

"You still knew what you wanted, though," Esther reminded the man. "You said that once you make up your mind about something you see it through." She held her hands in front of her chest.

At that, the thief looked down. He glared at the ground. They were bringing up old history yet again. "Just drop it- it doesn't matter, alright?"

"Swaine," Esther prodded. "It does matter."

The thief got up, using the mandolin as a bracer. "Let it go," he warned. "No sense discussing the past. I had very little magic. That's it. That's all there is to it."

Oliver groaned and shifted uncomfortably. He looked sympathetically up at the second eldest in their little group.

"No it's not," the harpist shouted, standing up abruptly. She stomped her foot. "You can't just keep running from it! You need to talk about it-!"

"I said drop it," Swaine snapped as he gripped the neck of the instrument tighter. "I don't want to talk. I don't need to."

"Esther, I really think we should leave him alone about this…," the young mage cautioned, seeing the irritable look on the cad's face.

The ruler nodded at the girl. "It might be for the best. It's a sore subject," Marcassin advised, now standing, too.

She shook her head, squinting her eyes shut. She opened them and stared at the rest of the group. "Yes. He does!" She looked back at the man she was arguing with. "How else are you going to heal?!" She thrust her hands toward the ground in frustration. "You're such a coward! All you ever do is run away from your problems, Swaine!" She gestured angrily at the mandolin. "That's all that is! It's just you running away from something you need to talk about!"

"Esther-," both the younger prince and the savior began to counter her, trying to rush to the thief's aid- or at least prevent him from an inevitable enraged fit.

"I said shut up," he roared, leaning towards the girl. "You haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about!"

"I do," she snapped back. "So put down the mandolin and talk! Gees, your so- so-!"

"So what," the thief interrogated her. "Cowardly? Foolish? Stubborn? …Rude?" He stepped forward, gripping the instrument so tight that his knuckles began to actually show through his skin. "Go on. Say it. Tell me what I am, hmm? Since you seem so knowledgeable about me!" He pressed his free hand to his chest. "Tell me what I am, Esther! Tell me! Cause I haven't a god damned clue," he spat, breathing deeply as he seethed with rage.

The girl winced as she leaned away. He was standing less than a foot away. She stomped her foot and then glared at him despite her intimidation, staring him right in the eye. "Difficult!"

He raised an eyebrow and leaned back. "'Difficult'," he parroted. "How the hell-!"

"Every time any of us tries to connect, Swaine. Every time you have the chance to finally open up, you shut down! You make stupid little comments! You hide! You're so closed off!"

"Oh! Oh, that's rich! Outside of my history, I've been pretty honest with you lot," he scoffed, wagging a finger at her.

"But it's your history, Swaine! You need to address it! It's been long enough!"

He stared intensely at her. Long enough, huh?! In a brief moment of mania, he did what he never had dreamed of doing. He raised his prized instrument and threw it in the middle of their campfire. He turned to it and watched as it burned.

"No, no, no! Gascon! What are you thinking," his brother pleaded after a moment of stunned silence at the action. He dove for its head, wincing as the flames scorched his skin. He carefully set it down. He took off the cape around his neck and used it to put out the now damaged mandolin. Cringing again in pain, he cast Healing Hand on his arm to treat his burns. He would have to magically mend his clothes later.

"You're right…," the thief whispered. "It has." He looked over at his brother, at the instrument. He felt a tear escape his right eye at the sight. "The past should stay in the past, Esther." He turned to the familiar tamer. "I know it happened. I know what I've done. I've accepted it. So…," he heaved a gruff sigh. "I see no sense talking about it. My father's dead. I'm a thief. I've already avenged and protected the Empire- the world! And, hell, I'll do it again in a heartbeat."

He walked back to his spot and sat down next to Marcassin. He looked up at the others and cast a small sad smile. "There's really nothing to address." He looked over at Esther. "So, when I say drop it, I mean you should really drop it."

They were all quiet as they took in his words... His actions…

The sage sighed heavily. He stroked the burned wood and examined the frayed wires. He looked over at Swaine who seemed to be lost in melancholic thought and now bowed his head with his eyes closed. He cast Rejuvenate on the instrument.

"Wha- what are you doing," Oliver asked him, Pea hiding slightly behind him out of fear.

Marcassin raised a finger to his mouth.

"Gee, are you sure," he whispered.

"He said, 'quiet', didn't he," the fairy scolded from nearby.

Esther watched quietly and intently as the scene unfolded before her.

The ruler perched the mandolin carefully in his lap. He tried humming a tune he had heard his brother play before as a child- perhaps the first tune the thief had ever been seen practicing by his younger brother. He attempted to play it, messing up on several occasions.

Swaine opened his eyes at the sound. He slowly raised his head and looked over. He heard Marcassin curse under his breath occasionally when he misplaced a note or lost the rhythm and had to stop.

"What… what are you doing," he asked him quietly. "I threw that on the fire for a reason- to make a point."

"No," the emperor began. "You threw it on the fire because you were mad. You'd regret it later…" He exhaled in frustration when he realized he was playing out of key. "You love this mandolin- you always have. It was one of the best things father ever gave you. I couldn't stand to watch you destroy it." He smiled despite the fact that he had to stop once again to correct himself. "It holds a lot of good memories of the past. You know that better than I…" He sighed and stopped playing altogether. He handed his elder brother the instrument. "And I believe you wouldn't be the same without it."

As the thief took it, he rubbed the instrument as he admired the designs. The scratches and scuffs from years of use had been removed. The mandolin looked even better than before he had decided to destroy it. "Marcassin… I…,"

"Gascon, please." He met his brother's gaze. "Let this be a reminder to move forward. Do not let it be a reminder of your past mistakes." He chuckled at the thief. "Besides, only one of us could ever play that thing! I don't even know where to begin!"

As a small relieved smile crept up on the rogue's face, he heard Esther say, "I'm sorry…" He turned his attention to her. "I shouldn't have been so pushy…," she admitted, ringing her hands in front of her.

"I shouldn't have yelled," Swaine shot back. He smirked and straightened up a little. He looped the instrument over his person. "You know what, as an apology, what would you like to hear?"

"Huh? Y-you're letting me choose," she asked, beside herself at the sudden occasion. "Um, er… The Babana King," she blurted out.

His eyes widened, and he failed to hold back a chuckle. "The… 'The Babana King'?"

"What," she snarled.

"Isn't that a nursery rhyme," he questioned her.

"It's a good song," she whined, slumping down defeatedly as she pouted.

"Babana King! Pea knows that song," she cried. "Play it and feel better, bean man!" She began to chant, "Play it! Play it!"

The others, except the boy wizard and the thief in question, exchanged a unified nod and began to chime in on Pea's chant- even his younger brother seemed to join in, to his disbelief. What were they, six? He rolled his eyes.

"Looks like you're outvoted, Swaine," Oliver laughed.

"Yeah, it seems so…," He shook his head with a defeated smile. "Alright, alright. I'll play 'The Babana King'. Keep your hair on." And then, for the first time in a while, he played with an eagerness he hadn't felt since he was a kid.

~.~.~

Author's Note:

I saw something… Something during a friend of mine's playthrough…

Swaine's tone deaf! He states it just after the completion of the Clarion. He says that he'd play it but he's tone deaf. How did I not see this? All this time. So… tying in with the whole idea that somehow somewhere Swaine may have gotten over his past, I decided to write in a work around of how he could possibly play the mandolin!

Cause damn it! I want to believe Swaine can play a mandolin! I won't let continuity stop me! I'll just take the continuity and use it to make this thief better! Cause I can do that!

Anyway… thoughts? Critiques?

I hope you enjoyed this… (I can't, for the life of me, stop writing about Swaine… I think I have a problem…)