Chapter Two:

Home, Sweet Home

A/N: It would appear this fic may have been visited by the kudos bot. For now I restricted the fic temporarily, even though I do not want to limit my audience. But yeah, if you're out there, just say hi in the comments so I can get an idea how many people are actually reading. If they persist I'll have to lock it down longer, more than likely.

Anyways, here's another one for ya. Also, I have never written the word "magpie" in my life and yet used it twice in this story with two totally different contexts, so that's interesting.

The Hound + The Fox remind me very much of what I believe Dandelion and Priscilla would sound like. The song featured in this chapter is "The Parting Glass." I will link a place to listen here: watch?v=twoe6SUdlGQ

The Chameleon - Present Day

The other end of the portal - a swirling, onyx-black mass - opened up in the center of the ceiling, directly above the dining room at the Chameleon.

It happened to spit Dandelion out carelessly from a ten-foot drop onto a table that was currently frequented by guests who had simply been minding their own business. He landed hard on top of the wooden table with a loud crash. His left foot landed in a gentleman's soup, splashing everywhere. His right elbow landed on a plate of mutton.

His back, however, landed directly on a ceramic serving dish that shattered under his weight.

The lively, joyous music coming from the stage cut off abruptly and the group enjoying their meal only moments ago screamed and scattered from the fallen man that came out of nowhere.

The wind had been knocked from Dandelion's lungs and he struggled to breathe.

"I always knew that witch hated me," he wheezed painfully as he attempted to roll onto his side, removing himself from the various food items and goblets that he'd sent flying. He gingerly sat up, his back aching like someone had taken a dwarven hammer to it.

"Welcome back, ya ol' whoreson!" Zoltan's voice bellowed across the hall. "Ya always did know how to make an entrance, eh?" He laughed heartily. Zoltan's thick hand pounding against Dandelion's back hollowly didn't help him catch his breath, and he let out a rasping cough. Dandelion looked up from the hair in his eyes to see blank, confused stares back at him from the patrons of The Chameleon.

"Come on, now!" Zoltan yelled out to the crowd, gesturing to avert their attention back toward the stage, "Let's get on with it. Nothing to see here…" After some initial hesitation , the music started again and things resumed as they had before Dandelion had made his sudden fall from thin air.

"Thanks," Dandelion was able to mutter, sheepishly. For someone who normally craved to be the center of attention, he certainly didn't prefer it in this case.

"Dinnae expect to see ya falling from the sky like a downed goose!" Zoltan laughed again, helping Dandelion to his feet. Dandelion pulled his hat from his head, dusting off the bits of food caked on it.

"Yes, well… luckily the sharp cutlery cushioned my fall," he jested with a sideways grin. He then winced as he rolled his already-aching shoulder, gently massaging himself.

"So, then. How was the duchy?" Zoltan asked, hesitantly. "I hafta admit I almost thought ya weren't coming back…"

"What, and leave all of this behind?-" Dandelion gestured broadly, croaking out a forced laugh, "-never." He began somewhat limping towards the stairwell, "As much as I'd like to catch up, my friend… My bed is calling my name. Portals are no picnic - I have all the exhaustion of a full week's travel with none of the time. Besides, there's a certain trobairitz I need to see -"

"Erm, Dandy…. " Zoltan began, rubbing the back of his neck, nervously. "Prissy… isn't here at the moment…"

Dandelion was both saddened by this revelation, but also slightly relieved. He had planned on using the ride home to figure out just what he was going to say for himself and his recent transgressions. Being worm-holed through a portal instantaneously didn't give him much time to figure out the best way to tell the love of his life that he'd been unfaithful to her.

"Oh," Dandelion breathed, standing up a bit straighter now that he could. His stomach sank a bit and his jaw clenched as he swallowed. "Sure, of course," he nodded, trying to brighten his voice. "When can we expect her back? Where did she run off to?"

Zoltan hesitated for a moment, rubbing his hand against his beard.

"Well…" he sighed, looking up and staring at the ceiling. His inability to look Dandelion in the eyes was unnerving, to say the least. It certainly didn't help when the next thing he disclosed was, "It's kinda complicated…"

Dandelion frowned, trying not to be irritated by Zoltan's slow, cryptic response to what should have been a simple question. He understood. After all, Zoltan was the kind of man who waited a solid couple of months before he told his mother that his own father was run down by a sword and killed. He wasn't particularly fond of being the bearer of bad news.

"Well? Out with it. Speak." Dandelion said impatiently, the irritation in his voice coming out anyway.

"Priscilla went to visit some of her friends over at the Kingfisher…"

Dandelion blinked a couple times, then breathed a shaky sigh of relief. After a pause, he shook his head and brought his hands to his face. "Oh, gods," he chuckled into his hands and then rubbed his face exhaustedly, "why didn't you just say that?"

Dandelion left the stairwell to instead go find something strong to sip from behind the bar. He reached down below the counter and pulled out a 1254 Chateau de Conrad Cabernet and popped the cork. He tipped the bottle, splashing the vibrant red contents into a goblet, "you know, Zoltan, we really need to work on your delivery. What you lack in tact you make up for in suspense, that's for sure-"

He laughed again softly, bringing the cup to his lips. Before he could take a sip, his eyes fell back to Zoltan, who still looked uneasy.

"What? What is it?"

"...that was three weeks ago."

Dandelion's stomach dropped with this news and his heart began to pound against his chest like a drum.

"Ah. I see ," he choked.

"Could you really blame her? You were gone without a word for so long, she couldn't just wait around forever-"

"I know," Dandelion cut him off, his face turning a bit pale. Abandoning her was really the least of his sins he needed to repent for. He suddenly felt dizzy and had to sit down on a stool - Geralt was right about the vertigo.

"Ah, don't worry, Dandy. I'm sure she'll be back," Zoltan tried to offer, but he didn't sound very confident. Dandelion still appreciated the gesture. Zoltan gave a small shrug, "She's a romantic to begin with, but she's also an artist. This is just what you artists do - you wander. You of all people know that-."

Zoltan didn't know that given how Dandelion had just spent his time while he was out ' wandering ,' his words were much less comforting than he knew.

"Was she…" Dandelion's words trailed off when he didn't know how to even ask what he already knew. He didn't have to - Zoltan already knew.

"Oh, she was right pissed. Angry as a bear with his cock trapped in a hornet's nest-"

" Charming ," Dandelion deadpanned.

"-but then, after a while… she wasn't angry anymore. Just sad. That was worse. Much worse. I didn't have the heart to convince her to stay, lookin' so miserable-"

"Yeah, I got it," Dandelion snapped, but without malice. He wasn't about to shoot the messenger. He stared into the swirling liquid in front of him before he quickly knocked it back and took a long swig, almost finishing it off. He swallowed heavily and stared at the floor, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic. It was true that Dandy was a bit unpredictable, but previously he'd never gone so far as to vanish for months on end. Especially when things had been going so good. Sure, he'd gone out to get wine and never returned here or there, but this was entirely different.

Maybe it was all just too much commitment - the cabaret, his relationship with Priscilla... On one hand Zoltan was right - artists do have a tendency to wander. It was Priscilla vocalizing that she was thinking of going back on the road that made Dandelion dive head first into the cabaret to begin with. He figured it was something that would bring them together - and keep them together.

He did this all for her and then he just... left.

Dandelion knew he should push for more information, ask Zoltan more questions but he was just too distraught to talk about it more right now. He wanted to be alone.

….and very, very drunk.

He tipped the goblet back and finished off what little was left of his first glass of wine, repouring immediately. He almost sat the bottle down, but instead decided to bring it with him as he stood and made his way back toward the stairs.

"Dandelion-" Zoltan called out to his back, "are you going to be alright?"

"I'm…. fine ," he finally said after a moment, looking back at his friend over his shoulder. He tried to give Zoltan a smile, for his sake. "Or… at least I will be fine. I think."

Dandelion ascended the stairs, his boots thumping against each wooden step like a heavy but dying heart.

For he knew what awaited him at the top of those stairs; an empty room. An even emptier bed. Despite knowing this, he took his time, not wanting to face the truth: his sweet Priscilla, his muse, the love of his life - was gone.

And he only had himself to blame; he'd ruined everything, just as he always tended to do.

He exhaled deeply, his chest collapsing with the air that left his body. He stood behind the door to the room he once shared with Priscilla. After her attack, it seemed most logical for her to be there with him. Dandelion didn't want her out of his sight, and Priscilla no longer liked being alone. One night she came over to spend the evening with him, and then just didn't leave. Little by little her belongings began to arrive - even though he'd never actually asked her to move in. He didn't have to. It just unfolded organically and the old version of Dandelion might have been startled from the discussion of such a commitment so he just… let it happen. He didn't want to sabotage what he knew was a good thing.

Dandelion slowly pushed open the door to the bedroom suite and it creaked on its hinges. He didn't know what he was expecting, but the only thing he could really notice was the silence. No gentle plucking from a lute. No beautiful voice practicing scales or trying out a new rhyme. No quiet lapping of the water in the bath or humming from the vanity while she brushed her hair. No sing-songy voice, happy to greet him. Hell, he would have even sufficed for an angry call of his name when he'd missed a rehearsal or stayed up too late playing Gwent and drinking too much with Zoltan.

Anything other than this dreadful, heavy, heartbreakingly bleak silence.

The room felt like a tomb - it was, in some ways. It was locked in time, housing the remains of his love affair with Priscilla. Involuntary flashes of memories seemed to pop up from each place he looked.

The memory of her waking up before him no matter how late they'd fallen asleep.

The memory of her tracing letters into his skin peppering his jawline with soft kisses until he woke up.

The balcony, where she loved to lounge on a chaise, taking in the sunlight and the ambiance of the city below.

She said the grittiness inspired her more than the coastline in Kovir, although Dandelion had always doubted that.

He felt the lump in his throat and the mistiness in his eyes grow along with his guilt and his shame that seemed to be multiplying with each passing second. He couldn't remember why and how it had been so easy for him to cast her and their love aside. Why couldn't he have been stronger? Was he really this person? Was he really so incapable of giving and accepting real, unwavering love?

Dandelion had always been able to justify his transgressions with the fact that he just had a magpie spirit - always flocking to what was shiny and new.

He loved love.

He especially loved new love.

He wanted to fall in love hard and often - and he generally did. It inspired his songs and his poetry more than any other topic. But as soon as the novelty - and inspiration - faded, he was onto the next. As an artist, he couldn't be stagnant. He had to move on.

Because ultimately, for all of his romantic years on this earth, there was nothing - and no one - more beloved to Dandelion than his art.

But then he met Priscilla.

She was his equal in every way - wit, talent, sensitivity, good humor. Her beauty was simply indescribable - which was truly frustrating to a wordsmith like Dandelion. She wasn't instantly impressed with him the way others were, he had to work for her.

It hadn't even occurred to him that he was in love with Priscilla until one night when they stayed up laughing and drinking wine, writing songs, and singing silly couplets to one another until the wee hours of the morning. He had never laughed like that with a woman before, never had such effortless conversation. For once in his life he found himself listening instead of talking, waiting to uncover every nuance about her. He'd never been so charmed by the way someone looked in the candlelight, even as the wine began to slur her words and her grace began to leave her.

When he looked out the window of the tavern he saw the golden colors of the sun rising. He'd never wished for a few more hours of darkness so much in his life. Sure, there were nights he'd wished would never end before, he'd be a fool to say otherwise. But what he wanted wasn't carnal or lustful. He just wanted a few more hours when everyone was asleep and the world was still only theirs.

That was the first time Dandelion shared a bed with a woman he hadn't even shared a kiss with.

He'd never before been with a woman that made him feel both invincible and inadequate, all at the same time. Because he wanted to hold on to her heart so badly, but was ever-constantly aware that he was the kind of person who broke things too easily. How could he tell her her heart was safe with him, knowing that so far his past odds were against him? It was selfish of him - and unforgivable - to tell her she could fall but failed to be there to catch her.

Dandelion's eyes found the writing desk in the corner, the one he'd seen her sitting at for hours on end - more than the vanity. When he neared he saw a sprawl of papers and parchment, covering the desk fully. She'd been hard at work - on what, he wasn't sure. But he had a sinking feeling he was about to find out.

The first thing he noticed was the mess - she'd lit a candle and let the wax drip down the writing desk and onto the floor. Partially hidden beneath the hardened wax, he saw parchment and Priscilla's unmistakable penmanship. He picked away at the wax that was hiding the top left corner of the page where she'd scrawled, "Dearest Dandelion," but then she had gone back and brutally scratched out the word, 'dearest.'

It was a goodbye.

Dearest Dandelion -

When you first spoke to me the night we met, I was almost certain it was my imagination - that I'd finally gone mad and conjured up a man who met my desires in each and every way. I also thought you were a bit of an egotistical, self-involved fool, but… even that was still endearing to me. You were also quite beautiful. You had a way of singing, writing, creating, and seeing the world so beautifully - so uniquely - that I never dared believe it was just for me to enjoy. I knew, very early on, that you'd never truly belong to me, no matter how badly I wanted you to.

For you belonged to the world.

I had a terrible feeling about you going away to Toussaint, almost like a premonition. But I've never been superstitious, so I imagined it must have my own self-doubt. After all, you'd done nothing to lose my trust, and everything to show me how much I meant to you since I'd known you. I have to say you'd surpassed my expectations more times than I care to admit - simply because, well… I never should have doubted you in the first place. You always made me feel assured that I was the only one you wanted - the only one you needed.

But then you wrote to me one day from Toussaint, I noticed your words... your heart… It seemed to be so very far away. As though you were not of this earth any longer, but somewhere completely out of reach.

And then I realized, oh my… What a fool I'd been.

Because I know you think you must be as equally in love with me as I am with you.

But I think I'm the only one that's in love.

And I know you fancy yourself an expert, but you still have so much to learn about love.

I don't want to say goodbye, at least not to your face. Because that wouldn't be the end of it, but... that will be the end of me. So I must go before you return to weaken my resolve - because I know I will miss you, but I do believe you're already gone.

One thing I know I've learned is that love never dies, my dear - it grows apart. Love becomes less - it fades.

Someday you'll sing out our love to the world. I promise you that.

But until that day comes, know that I gave it all I had. I wish you'd done the same.

Farewell, Dandelion. I hope you're happy.

Love Always,

Your Priscilla

Dandelion was heartbroken, although he felt he had no right to be. He folded the letter, and resisted the dramatic urge to tear it into pieces.

No… he wanted to preserve what little bit of Priscilla he had left.

The tears he felt forming were unwelcome to him, and the darkness of the room was slowly growing dimmer as the night approached.

"The very minute I see you again," he thought as he walked toward the window, looking out at the city that still bustled below without him, "I'll make it right."

He hoped that when - not if - he saw her again, he would be a different Dandelion - not the one she'd remembered as the one who hadn't loved her as deeply as she did him.

He looked down among the parchments on the desk, wondering if there was anything else to discover, any clue as to where she'd gone. There wasn't… but there was a news periodical, one with a damning headline, " Duchess Anna Henrietta seen in the company of her former lover, Poet and famed balladeer, Master Dandelion. "

The article was much more detailed than the headline itself.

He never would have had to come home and tell her.

She already knew.

Just outside of Ellander - A Year Ago

When Dandelion first arrived in Ellander atop his gelding, he was in a mood most foul.

Crossing the Pontar hadn't gotten any easier than when Nilfgaard had first begun their invasion of Temeria, and now without an entourage he felt like a sitting duck. Where was that silver-haired, sword-weilding brute when he needed him?

He was grateful, however, that Zoltan had decided to tag along - although, not for the poetry. He'd been wanting to expand his Gwent deck and Ellander seemed like a well of untapped potential.

The trek took longer than it usually did, and Pegasus was being unusually finicky. The horse's nerves had only gotten worse now that the sun had set over the Magpie Forest off in the distance, plunging the world around them into darkness.

Therefore, the spectacle of the bright, busy town below (and the promise of food and shelter) put a little more pep in Pegasus' step, and Dandelion welcomed the change of pace as they descended down to Ellander.

"Well, now. Looks like they started the party without ya," Zoltan teased, "Incredible how the show can go on without their guest of honor, eh Dandy?"

"Ha!" Dandelion snorted. " Hardly . Now that I'm here, the real party begins."

The theater in the center of town - and taverns surrounding it - were livelier than ever in what could only be described as a city-wide festival. The music from various taverns were competing with one another, pulsing loudly, and echoing off the Mahakan Mountains. As they got closer to the chaos, Dandelion's annoyance began to give way to excitement. This was always how the city was the night before a tourney - fresh and electric and alive. These were his people: poets, artists, singers, musicians, all ruminating under one roof, anxious for their opportunity to preen and peacock about, showing off even the most mediocre of talents. Dandelion shook off the remaining irritation of being late when he started thinking about the food.

And the wine - oh, the wine…

And the ale.

Or, quite literally, the first thing he could get his hands on.

The streets of Ellander were littered with flyers and pamphlets, all advertising the various bards who were there to compete - even some that weren't. Dandelion didn't even bother having placards made this year, everyone already knew him by sight. He was here more as a guest of honor than a competitor, anyway. But he did notice one flier that seemed to outnumber the rest: The Callonetta. He'd heard of her before; she was a rising star among the bards these days, but he'd never seen her with his own eyes, let alone heard if she was worth all the commotion. Dandelion tended to look at these "up and comers" with skepticism - he'd seen many come and go in his days. Not many stuck.

He was, however, aware that this Callonetta had a habit of covering his songs, in particular. Something that initially started out as flattering, but quickly became irksome, to say the least.

"Here we are," Dandelion said, signaling to the first tavern they came to, aptly named, The Drunken Bard. It happened to be the one inn that wasn't overrun by droves of artists, but it was still bustling just the same. Dandelion peered in through the tavern doors to see two musicians - a roving fiddler and a lute-wielding mandolinist - hammering out a jaunty tune under the vibrant candlelight and lanterns of the stage.

"Right. Some strong booze and bread, then?" Zoltan said, rubbing his hands together, hungrily.

"On second thought, maybe we try somewhere else," Dandelion suggested before stopping in his tracks; he wasn't so sure this place had the ambiance he was looking for tonight. He'd been hoping for something just a little more… refined . He tried to turn back, but Zoltan stood in front of him, blocking his way.

" Ohh , no. I'm not haulin' off somewhere else. We're here now," Zoltan chided. "Now, git inside before it gets ya a foot to your ass, eh?"

Dandelion wanted to object, but his stomach grumbled at him in protest. This wasn't his first choice, but it would have to do.

Dandelion and Zoltan got a pitcher of ale from the barkeep and pushed through the crowded tavern to find a place to sit. They finally spotted an opening and sat down at a table next to the window.

After a few drinks Dandelion found The Drunken Bard refreshing.

Charming, even.

The enthusiasm in the air, the bards creating music together as opposed to competing - perhaps it was simply the artists themselves.

Or, maybe it was just the booze.

Whatever the case, The Drunken Bard's atmosphere was decidedly different from everywhere else he'd been on his previous visits to Ellander for this poetry competition. The other patrons were all having the time of their lives, singing, dancing, and acting like a bunch of fools; some younger children were playing tag amongst the tables, engaging in the festivities jubilantly. He was used to being around the other artists who tended to take themselves far too seriously - this was a welcome change.

After at least an hour of feasting and drinking, Dandelion was in better spirits than he'd been in longer than he could remember. Once the initial discomfort of travel wore off and the alcohol had sent a warm, relaxing sensation down his spine, he was ready to mingle.

There were many beauties here, but Dandelion was tired of the same thing in different forms. He wanted to meet someone new; someone who challenged or excited him - preferably both. It had been a while since he'd felt that unmistakable connection with someone and he certainly wasn't getting any younger - Zoltan always made sure to remind him of that.

"Ya do realize that unlike the company you keep that you do age, right?" he'd always say, obviously referring to Geralt and his sorceress(es).

Dandelion let out a wistful sigh, beginning to think it was never going to happen for him. For someone who talked and wrote a lot about love, he sure hadn't felt it - at least not for some time.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw it - the flash of gold and the sweet trill of laughter, coming from near the bar. His eyes squinted through the crowd of people, trying to see exactly where the lovely sound was coming from.

At first, his gaze was locked on a beautiful, youthful brunette sitting in the corner, looking quite bored. Then the crowd parted and he noticed another woman who had just entered the tavern.

Her hair was the color of spun gold, her teeth while pearls beneath rose-petal lips. People seemed happy to see her, like they'd been awaiting her arrival. She wore beautiful, rich colors and the cloak she removed from herself was a tapestry of vibrancy. She reminded him of Iskra, the eccentric Elven friend that Ciri had described to him from her days with The Rats. Colorful and begging to be noticed.

Dandelion noticed that some of the male patrons seemed a little too eager to approach her. The attention she got - well, it was as if this party were for her and her alone. Like a princess who'd just come down from her castle to visit among her people.

She was, in a word... stunning.

He couldn't quite place her face, but a funny feeling began to rise in his chest. Admittedly, he'd seen women as lovely as her before, but there was something different about her. She was just so intriguing to him, but he didn't quite know why.

"What's wrong, Dandelion? Your face suddenly looks like you saw the devil himself," Zoltan noted with a smile.

Dandelion shook his head, still unable to shake the feeling that she was the girl he was waiting for. He felt the fleeting pull of something inside himself as she laughed, making him feel like he was floating - he wanted to join her in her joyful expression.

He wanted to go to her. He even so much as felt his foot twitch to brace himself to stand but unfortunately, reality wouldn't let the fantasy continue. Suddenly, the brunette who had been sitting in the corner plopped down in an empty seat at his table - she was now directly across from Dandelion.

"Saw you eyein' me from 'cross the room," she smiled at him. And she was beautiful, as he'd surmised before. But there was something very hideous about her smile - it was cold, like there was no light behind her eyes. "M'name's Clementine. I'm here with my troupe..." she paused to sip from a stein of beer, "for the poetry competition, I mean. But you probably already knew that."

"Well," Dandelion began, unable to mask his disappointment. Still, he politely continued, "I see you're having a good time." Clementine nodded lazily, and he could see from her glossy, unfocused eyes she was a bit tipsy. He glanced past her, trying to watch the blonde, colorful stranger who was now sitting at the table that Clementine had just left.

"It's pretty lively here, eh?" she remarked. "A little loud, too. Maybe you should come to my room so we can get to know each other a little bit better."

"It never fails," Zoltan laughed, shaking his head and pushing himself away from the table. "I'm going to give you guys some time alone, do a little exploring."

Dandelion looked at him pleadingly, "no, you don't have to-" But before he could finish, Zoltan was already disappearing into the crowd.

He gulped a swig of his ale, looking beyond Clementine to watch the mysterious blonde woman get chatted up by yet another admirer. He didn't even know her, yet he found himself envious of the man for merely talking to her.

"So, how about that, hmm? Want to come up and... get to know me?" Clementine propositioned.

"Uh-huh," Dandelion replied absentmindedly. His non-committal response made Clementine take pause. She cocked her head back to look over her shoulder to see what was so blastedly interesting behind her that he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of.

Priscilla. As usual.

Clementine turned back to him, shaking her head and huffing out a humorless laugh.

"Well. That's a bit embarassin', innut?" Clementine sighed, slumping down in her seat, disappointedly.

Dandelion gave Clementine a droll stare, a rather puzzled look, "...what?"

She turned around to shout across the rowdy room at her group of friends, "Oy! Pris!"

The golden-haired beauty looked up from her conversation at the sound of her friend's voice, and Dandelion felt his face flush. This was not how he imagined this happening.

"Got someone here who clearly wants to meet you," Clementine called out, teasingly. Dandelion saw Priscilla's eyes narrow and a sly, intrigued smile spread across her pink lips. She politely excused herself as she slipped from the table with her fingers curling around a silver goblet of wine.

Clementine could see the question on Dandelion's face, he didn't even have to ask. She answered anyway, "I'm sittin' right here in front of you, inviting you up to my room, yet you seem oblivious to me," she shrugged, leaning towards Dandelion, her hand pressed against the table to keep her balance. "Figured you'd want to meet the lass you seem to find so interesting."

Dandelion couldn't help but watch the lass in question as she made it to the table. She swayed her hips through the crowd expertly as she tried to keep from spilling her drink. She wore tight, blue and black pants with vertical stripes and high black boots. His eyes were drawn to her decorative, purple leather corset. It cinched a white peasant top that fell off her shoulders, exposing the soft, bare skin. The breast of her shirt was held together by a single button that was hanging on for dear life. Atop her golden head, she wore a blue bycocket that was adorned with a peacock feather.

"Hello, hello ," she greeted in the sweetest voice. She was a singer. Soprano. Dandelion could already tell. "Clementine," she said, not looking at her friend.

"Hi, Priscilla," Clementine replied to her, a hint of bitterness in her voice, but no cruelty.

"And who might this be?" Priscilla mused, snaking her hand around Clementine's arm.

"My lady!," Dandelion replied in mock offense, "I am wounded . You mean to tell me you don't know who I am?" He even made sure to clutch his heart for dramatic effect, which garnered an eye roll from Clementine.

Priscilla, however, seemed a little more playful than her friend. She narrowed her eyes, "Ah, yes. Master Dandelion. I know you."

"Well, that's certain," Dandelion replied with a cavalier shrug. "Most people do. But I definitely don't know you."

"How can you be so sure?" Priscilla tilted her head to the side and her eyes were now wide and full of wonder.

"I think I would remember meeting someone as lovely as you," he replied, rather coolly. Clementine held back a teasing retch.

"I'm bored! " she exclaimed. She slapped her hands down against her thighs and popped up from the table. "This ere's clearly a dead end for me, so I'm going to try my luck with that burly flute player over there," she said, nodding off in some direction that Dandelion didn't even notice, he was too busy staring into Priscilla's ocean-eyes. Neither were bothered by Clementine's announcement of departure.

"Bye, Clem," Priscilla uttered, staring back at him just as intently. Clementine left the two of them alone at the table. "So," she went on, running her finger along the rim of her drink. She cocked her head more to the side, nestling her other hand under her chin. She was still staring, her large, soft eyes devouring his face. She spoke softly, her voice dipping ever so slightly as she said, "what they say about you seems to be true, then?"

Dandelion raised a ponderous eyebrow, "I'm not sure... First you'd have to tell me in which way my reputation has preceded me."

Priscilla's grin spread wider across her lips. She leaned in towards him slightly, her long, flowing hair gliding over her shoulders.

"It's not my fault that you're popular with the ladies," she offered, coyly. "Word gets around." She was curious, he could tell. And truth be told, she was. Of course she'd heard about Dandelion; his adventures with Geralt of Rivia were enviable by all bards, to have such a wellspring of inspiration on hand.

"You think it's my fault I'm popular with the ladies?" he asked with feigned innocence. She laughed again, a lovely sound. "I mean..." He pushed a few strands of his dark hair behind his ears. "I guess…. I've had my fair share of... um, close encounters... That's to say..."

She sat back in her chair, revealing the gentle expanse of her neck. Dandelion was admiring her, already imagining what it would be like to kiss her full lips. The enticing aroma of her perfume filled his nostrils, and he found himself smiling.

' Verbena?' he wondered but did not say.

"Close encounters, eh?" She turned her body towards him, one knee bent to slide her other leg underneath her bottom. "I can't say I've had many close encounters, myself."

"Why? Would you like to? Because I'm quite free tonight," was his brazen response.

" My, my ," she tsked, stifling another laugh. "You certainly seem to be living up to your reputation. Now I believe I have reason to trust what I've heard."

"This hardly seems fair."

"What's that?"

"You seem to know so much about me, and yet I know nothing about you."

She leaned forward again, planting her hands on the table. She was mesmerized by his deep, silvery-blue eyes. And of course, he was quite enjoying the attention.

"Well," she replied haughtily, tossing her hair over her shoulder, "you haven't bothered to ask. I'm starting to think you mostly just like to hear yourself talk. Or flirt."

Dandelion watched her with avid, greedy eyes. Priscilla was staring right back, her full lips pursed slightly as she waited for him to say something else. He considered the challenge, but ultimately decided to wait and see if she had anything more to say.

And perhaps she did, but before she could open her mouth to speak more, an eager, delighted murmuring fell over the crowd. It was then that Dandelion noticed the music had ended and both musicians from before were moving their things from the stage.

"I hear Callonetta is going to play here tonight!" Someone said. Dandelion heard a nearby table excitedly chattering, and his mind instantly went back to the placards that littered the city. More chatting among patrons filled the room.

"Callonetta? Here?"

"When?"

Dandelion and Priscilla were quiet, eavesdropping on the excitement that seemed to now be coursing through the tavern.

" Callonetta, " Dandelion scoffed ruefully into his drink. He shook his head. "Have you heard of her?" he asked Priscilla, but before she could even answer, "you know, I hear she's from Kovir. Well, Poviss. No matter, they are one in the same. What caliber of art can possibly come from Poviss? Don't you remember the old saying? 'Poorer than a mouse from Poviss?' Why, it used to be that instead of telling someone to 'go to hell,' you'd just tell them to 'go to Povis.'

Priscilla crossed her arms over her chest, raising her eyebrows in surprise, "You seem to have quite a grudge with Kovirians-"

"No," he replied pointedly. "My grudge is with that singing siren that's been traipsing all over the continent getting famous off of singing my songs," It was hard to ignore the bite in his tone. Priscilla just chuckled quietly, letting him continue his tirade. Dandelion knew he must stop, but the ale had gone to his head and his mouth just couldn't shut up.

"- And another thing! The name. Callonetta . Is there any name quite as…" his thoughts trailed off as he struggled to find the right word. "As…"

"Pretentious?" Priscilla offered, flatly. Dandelion snapped his fingers and then pounded his hand on the table loudly, causing Priscilla to jump slightly.

"Yes. That's it. Pretentious . Thank you."

"You really think it's more pretentious than Master Dandelion? " she challenged, much to Dandelion's dismay.

" Excuse me , but I'll have you know that I earned the title of Master when it was graced upon me from finishing my studies of the seven liberal arts at Oxenfurt University-"

"I beg your pardon, I do humbly apologize, Master Dandelion," she retorted with a slight bow and faux-demure.

"You're mocking me!" Dandelion realized.

"So nice of you to notice!" she laughed. "Either way, I happen to think Callonetta is a lovely name."

"You would ," Dandelion shot back, teasingly. The bustling crowd continued to swirl around them. Suddenly, he felt a slight bump in the table, realizing that Priscilla had sat her empty cup on the table. She fluttered her eyes at him, looking slightly pouty.

"If you're going to continue to sulk, I think you should at least pay for the next one," she suggested.

The sound of the crowd applauding echoed throughout the tavern. The innkeeper came bustling out onto the stage with a smile on his beaming face. He was a fat man wearing fine attire, looking particularly on point with the high quality silks and vests draped over his black shirt.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight!," he yelled loudly over the hustle and bustle of the crowd. "We have a special guest tonight - I'd like to personally welcome her up to the stage to serenade us. The one and only Callonetta!"

Dandelion shifted in his seat; he was grinning from ear to ear, but began to feel a little strange when he noticed the innkeeper was looking right in his direction. He glanced over his shoulder - was Callonetta behind him? Had she been near the whole time?

"What do you say, my dear. Will you come up and bless us with a song?" the innkeeper pressed. Dandelion's smile wavered, a puzzled look coming across his face instead.

"Where is she?" he wondered, looking at Priscilla, who was smirking back at him wickedly. "What? Why is he-…" he stammered.

"Duty calls," she sighed with a shrug, and Dandelion was sure she'd been waiting for this moment since he first uttered her stage name. He watched in horror as Priscilla never broke eye contact with him, but she slowly stood as the crowd cheered wildly. She turned away from Dandelion, facing the rest of the tavern to give an endearing bow, and it just seemed to make the crowd go even more wild than before.

"Callonetta, ladies and gentlemen!" The innkeeper roared, and Dandelion watched as the woman he'd just sat here and bad-mouthed turned out to be none other than the woman he'd been sitting with all night.

He watched as she bounded to the stage, grabbing her luke along the way and hoisting the strap up over her head. Dandelion had seen excited crowds before, of course. But this was different. They weren't just in awe of her, they were in love with her. He watched as she paced the length of the stage, eating up all the applause and admiration. She knew how to work a crowd, that was for sure.

She gestured for them to quiet down, even though it was never completely silent.

"Hello, everyone," she greeted, sweetly. "Happy to be here."

"What did I miss?" Zoltan asked, suddenly appearing at Dandelion's side, seemingly from nowhere. Dandelion couldn't look away from the stage, but cradled his forehead in his palm.

" Everything, " he breathed, exasperatedly.

"I wanted to sing a song tonight by the great… the legendary…. the infamous… Master Dandelion-" She couldn't speak beyond that for a moment, the crowd was hooting and hollering loudly. Dandelion felt the corners of his lips curl into a smile despite his mortification. "But it turns out that… he's not a big fan of mine," she pouted, exaggeratedly.

The audience booed unrelentingly, and Dandelion shrunk in his seat.

"I know," Priscilla sympathized, jutting out her bottom lip in mock patheticness. "And I was always such a big fan, too! … I guess… it just wasn't meant to be." This bit cued the oohs and awws from the tavern in unison, Priscilla just laughed and plucked a few notes on her lute.

"You know," she sighed when the room was ready for her to go on with her monologue. She had them eating out of the palm of her hand, and Dandelion was instantly aware why she was becoming such a hit around the continent. "He's actually here tonight," she divulged, and the crowd murmured once more. "I was thinking that maybe… with a little convincing… you could get him to come up here and sing a little song with me."

If the crowd had been wild before, now they were simply ravenous. Priscilla smiled broadly, triumphantly, and held a hand out in Dandelion's direction, "You heard the people, Dandy. Time to get up here and sing with your arch nemesis, huh?"

"What're you waitin' for, you git!" Zoltan scolded, shoving Dandelion's shoulder a bit. "Go on up there! Can't leave the pretty lass waitin'"

Dandelion had never said no to a crowd.

And he wasn't about to start now.

He stood, holding up his hands in silent surrender as the cheering continued. He pushed through the crowd, taking a stray luke from the side of the stage and tuning it by ear as he neared here. Soon, they were side by side, although Dandelion wasn't sure why. He was shocked she even wanted him there, after all the idiotic things he'd said before.

Pretentious? He cringed inwardly. Really?

"Wolven Storm?" she asked him quietly, her face very close to him. Even on stage, in front of everyone, it felt incredibly intimate.

Were her eyes really that green before? He wondered.

"How about the parting glass?" he suggested instead. She nodded quickly, she clearly knew that one. It didn't belong to either of them, but it was certainly a crowd pleaser.

"You take the first verse, I'll come in with the harmony on the chorus. We do an echo effect on the last chorus," he spat off quickly, ever the professional. Priscilla nodded and instantly began.

Of all the money that e'er I had

I spent it in good company

And all the harm I've ever done

Alas, it was to none but me

And all I've done for want of wit

To memory now I can't recall

So fill to me the parting glass

Good night and joy be to you all…

From the very first few notes that escaped her lips, Dandelion was floored.

This was the Callonetta - he understood now. And he'd been a jealous fool. Of course the world loved her - who wouldn't?

He came in hard with the strums from his lute, and they were pleasantly surprised to see a drummer had joined in, adding to the rhythm section. Their voices blended perfectly, they both noticed. He belted,

Of all the comrades that e'er I had

They're sorry for my going away

And all the sweethearts that e'er I had

They'd wish me one more day to stay

The rest was a bit of a blur, the two of them harmonizing and graciously taking turns in the spotlight - that was what made a good musician.

And lover, Dandelion made sure to note.

While time seemed to fly by, it also felt like it was going in slow motion. He tried to take it all in: the buzz of the crowd, his partner's gorgeous voice and stage presence, the soft pink glow on her cheeks from the wine… he felt much like he used to feel performing. It awakened something exciting in him, something he desperately wanted - no, needed - to hold onto.

They finished the song strong and in harmony, and they both stood above the crowd breathless and a big sweaty. Priscilla reached down and clasped her hand in his before raising it up above both of their heads and giving a bow.

The crowd wanted more, but that's all they would get tonight. Priscilla blew a kiss to the audience, then hopped off stage and headed toward the secluded back room behind it, Dandelion quickly following after. She pushed through a door that led to a back alley, the sounds of the night's festivities still raging on around them. She was a few feet ahead of him, her golden hair wisping about behind her swift movements. Dandelion reached forward, taking her by the arm.

"Wait-" he tried, breathlessly. He paused when she turned to face him, her own chest heaving distractingly as she tried to catch her own breath.

"I am so-"

Sorry, was what was going to follow next, but Priscilla just smiled and stared up at him through her eyelashes.

"You have a habit of putting your foot in your mouth, or is tonight a special occasion?" she wondered.

"What I said before… I was jealous. And probably just trying to impress you…" he reasoned, and Priscilla didn't seem angry at all, but she certainly wasn't the same flirty woman he thought he was going to bed tonight. She'd played him, and he deserved every bit of it. She leaned up and pressed a kiss against the rough stubble of his cheek.

"See you at the competition tomorrow," she winked, turning on her heel and hurrying off somewhere he knew he couldn't follow.

"I still owe you a drink!" he called out after her.

She turned but never broke her stride, walking backwards, "don't go easy on me tomorrow, either. I want to know that when I win it's because I'm just better." She shrugged again, and Dandelion watched in awe as she disappeared into the night.

To be continued…