The Lion Cub of Cintra

The upbeat tune of his flute mixed with the thumping of the drum and whimsical jingle of the tambourine, added to the raucous atmosphere of the Rosemary and Thyme. Today was proving to be a very good day for Mello and his band. The cabaret was filled with patrons visiting Novigrad to witness Princess Cirilla's coronation. Since the Rosemary and Thyme had a solid reputation for being a den of art and culture, the band had the privilege of playing for an audience of well to do means. The crowd consisted of merchants, tradesman, and even a few nobles. Nearly all of them were generous with the tips, no doubt thanks to the excellent synergy they had as a band. Mello was fortunate to have linked up with Byorston and Sherry when he did. They're instruments were a perfect accompaniment to his flute. Byorston's hand drum gave a much needed base to the sharp sounds of his flute, and Sherry's tambourine filled the sound out with its intermittent jingles. This allowed for a well-rounded sound that truly allowed his flute to shine.

Byorston was a Skelligan skald, tall, thick, and heavy set, with a long bushy brown beard as was characteristic of his people. He wasn't much of a singer but his drum skills were excellent. His large hands produced a resounding sound that filled tavern halls nicely. Sherry was a Novigrad native from the Bits. She was a tiny thing, only reaching up to Mello's shoulders, but she was sprightly, and a virtuoso on the tambourine. Her features were soft and rounded with auburn hair that she kept short, giving her an almost elf-like appearance. Mello wouldn't have been surprised to find out that she had some elven blood in her.

The bouncers at the tavern's entrance kept their eyes on the crowd. A more mismatched pair you could not hope to find. One was a hulking bald brute who stood right up to the ceiling. The other was a burly dwarf with a short ginger beard, he seemed rather young by dwarf standards, but the club hanging off his left hip indicated that he would not tolerate rudeness in this establishment.

From behind the bar Master Chivay, one of the proprietors of the house, filled mugs of ale from the kegs. From where he was standing Mello could only make out the top of Chivay's Mohawk, the rest of his dwarf form was blocked by the bar. Periodically wooden mugs foaming at the brim slid onto the top of the bar, and the serving wenches picked them up right away without missing a beat. They had a certain grace with which they went about their duties. Dodging the pinches and gropes of the patrons, almost as if they were working to the rhythm of the music. Indeed, many of the servers were in fact dancers, and would perform on the stage at special events. Mello often had the good privilege of playing his flute as an accompaniment to those events, from whence he would then have the good privilege of being an accompaniment to the girls later in the evening.

Today, however, the girls were busy fielding the hall and tending to the patrons. That left providing entertainment on the shoulders of him and his band. Not that he was complaining, his music quickened with joy as he saw the coins pile up in the purse that they had left at the foot of the stage. It was quite a sum, even after splitting it with Byorston and Sherry there would be enough coin to last him for days. He might even have enough to treat himself at the bathhouses. Perhaps Sherry would be interested in joining him there.

Mello and his band continued to play for an hour until his lips were dry and lungs could no longer blow air. Byorstan's and Sherry's hands were also getting red. He eyed the coin. It was piled up as high as a horse's droppings. As he considered whether or not this would be an appropriate time to stop, a man wearing a royal purple bonnet with a white feather in it, stepped out from the back of the tavern. Mello noticed the bonnet before anything else. It was either the most famous or most infamous piece of head covering in the world depending on who you asked. Known from the high hallowed halls of Lords and Counts, to the lowest brothels and piss ridden taverns. This was the trademark of Julian Alfred Pankratz Viscount DeLettenhoven, otherwise known as Dandelion. Famed poet, minstrel, and bard, as well as the main proprietor of the Rosemary and Thyme. Mello had grown up hearing recitals by other minstrels of Master Dandelions many acclaimed ballads, his personal favorite being "Winter". Still, he had yet to have the privilege of hearing Dandelion perform live. Judging by the lute that Dandelion was tuning in his arms, it seemed he would get that privilege today.

Dandelion motioned with his hand for them to step down. Not one to leave on a flat note, Mello quickened his pace and began to guide the music towards a crescendo. Byorston and Sherry caught on to what he was doing and followed suit. The crowd latched on adding their own energy to the music with cheers and claps. They brought the instrumentals to a high note, held the pitch for a solid a minute, and then cut. The crowd erupted in applause, many tossed coins at the stage. It took every ounce of his willpower not to immediately scramble for the coins like a peasant. He mused that the others must have felt the same as they took a bow together. When the applause died down, Mello grabbed the bag of coins at the foot of the stage whilst Sherry picked up the stray ones that were tossed from the crowd.

Their earnings collected they stepped off the stage and Master Dandelion stepped on, he was followed by a pregnant woman with golden hair and a lyre in her hands. The women was Master Dandelion's lover Priscilla, also known as the Calonetta. A few years ago she was one of the best trobairitz on the continent, touring from Tretegor to Pont Vanis. Until she ran afoul of some Eternal Fire fanatic who poured scalding fluid down her throat.

Mello had heard her sing once before her incident. Her ballad, "The Wolven Storm", moved him as well as everyone else in the audience to tears. Her voice since the incident, however, was a much lower pitch. Some liked it and even argued it was better, though he didn't quite agree. Her voice now while still pleasing, just didn't resound in his soul the way it did before.

Master Dandelion cleared his throat and made his announcement. His voice immediately took on the gravitas of a trained singer and showmen, "ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the good Princess soon to be Empress Cirilla Fiona Ellen Riannon, the Rosemary and Thyme welcomes you!"

"HERE HERE!" Master Zoltan shouted as he crashed a mug on the counter after taking a swig. Others followed suit to mirror his sentiment. Mello took special note of those who didn't.

"As many of you may or may not know, I have the good fortune to be personally acquainted with the Princess." People in the crowd whooped and hollered, yet somehow those who remained silent managed to stand out amongst them.

"Now I know there are many among you, who do not know the princess, neither personally nor by reputation as the bit of reputation she carries is known only to a select few. I understand that many of you feel apprehensive at this change in regime, not knowing what it means for the future of the Northern Realms. I know many of you still hold a deep resentment towards Nilfgaard, and with good reason. But friends, I implore you, do not let the darkness of the past shroud your eyes from the bright future that lies ahead of us with Princess Ciri on the throne. I realize however that this might be a bit much to ask for those of you who do not know her. As such, as her friend, and most ardent supporter I have taken it upon myself to compose a ballad telling of her life's trials and tribulations." Priscilla began strumming on the Lyre, Dandelion followed with his lute. "Ladies and Gentleman, I give you, the Lion Cub of Cintra!"

Her deep umber voice came to life as Priscilla sang.

"Snow falls shallowly on the little girl's tongue,
Blending seamlessly with her ashen hair.
Sweet lion cub only six years young,
Fated to live a life full of despair."

Then Dandelion chimed in.

"Fields of black, carry a golden sun,
Shining over rivers of red on stones of grey.
Sweet lion cub only eleven years young,
Finds herself changed from the hunter to the prey."

They let their instruments strum a bit letting their lyrics sink in before Priscilla continued.

"The wolf on the hunt finds her in the wild,
Fate demands that he share with her his den.
Sweet lion cub, so tender and mild,
Taught to use her fangs to sunder and rend."

Continuing the pattern, Dandelion took the next verse.

"A lilac raven flits to the wolf and cubs den,
She caws 'little cub you also have wings.'
With all the love of fussy mother hen,
The raven teaches her how to fly and to sing."

Priscilla and Dandelion began to sing in unison. Her umber low pitch voice formed a good base for Dandelion's mid-pitch.

"And so it happens, this wild wayward three,
Bound by fate, become family.
Yet so seldom is the world ever so kind,
Sweet young lion cub once again you must leave your world behind."

"Fields of black, carry with them a golden sun,
The wolf and raven take their cub and flee.
Sweet lion cub only fifteen years done,
Now is the time to play your destiny."

"Amidst a flurry of spells and daggers,
The cub loses herself in an abyss of flame.
Her claws blunted onward she staggers.
Holding nothing more than her wits and her name."

"The sun bears down, unforgiving and cruel,
The pit has nowhere to hide.
Sweet little lion cub, no longer a fool,
Uses the stars as her guide."

"Onward she marches, the heat as prickly as thorns,
On the way makes a friend.
A little horse with a horn,
Bonded in flame, they ride to the desserts end.
Young lioness, now your trials begin."

The music faded out, revealing just how quiet the room had become. Not a sound could be heard from anyone in the tavern. No cheers, no jeers, not even a breath. Then it happened, a single slow clap. Mello scanned the room for its origin, but could not find it until he looked down at his own hands. The one clapping was him. More astonishing still was the fact that he could suddenly hear the sounds of another strong slow clap right next to him. He turned to his left and saw that Byorston had put his thick heavy hands into an ovation as well. Following him was Master Chivay. Then another clap from one of the patrons. Then another, and another, until the room filled with thunderous applause. Suddenly the tavern burst to life, shaking the very rafters with whistles and applause. Mello found himself being lost in the magic of the moment. So lost in fact that he didn't notice when his coin purse suddenly lifted up off the counter and began to float away.