A/N: Thanks to the reviewers. :)

Here we go again...

--

26 - Killing Me Softly

Naranja finally got all the harpstrings in tune. He watched while she worked on the strings, pulling on them and listening closely in order to find the slightest disharmony. It took a while. The girl's face showed concentration while she worked herself methodically from the high cadences towards the deep tones, each time her graceful fingers pulling a single note or a chord. She only finished when everything was absolutely perfect. She didn't take her music lightly, he suddenly realized. Her face while she listened to each sound from her instrument was as focused as his was when he concentrated on spellbooks and scrolls.

And then, she began to play. At first the music was easy and relaxing. The tune was that of an ancient ballad, a commoner's song. The chords of the tiny harp filled the room, they told of sweet summerwinds, and childhood dreams, of wandering clouds and a sparkling river. But then Naranja began to sing. She had a rich soprano. At first he listened to her words, but soon her song washed over him, carrying him away, making him see what the words said.

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the world and meet the sky...

He could see the river she sang of, and the field. It was present in each sparkling note of the harp. And the sky was in her voice as were the the rich fields... She sang on about a castle near the river and about a lady dwelling inside the stony walls.

...Four grey walls, and four grey towers...
...And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott...

Slowly, without his notice, his eyes closed while a vision of a person formed in his mind. A shadowy figure, a prisoner in a dark tower, imprisoned there, a little sad but not unhappy...

...There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to...

The prisoner of the tower was a weaver, an artist. There was magic in her craft, magic in her fingers, in her creation. Imprisoned, yet working the most wondrous things with her spells. Still, she mustn't look outside, was not allowed to look at the fair city which golden roofs she could see from afar. So near the life and nevertheless sealed away, working on creations the outside world would never approve of or value.

'Don't look at the city!' his mind cried out to her image, while he watched her walking nervously through the room. You are safe, you are lonely, but safe from their carelessness. You still have your work... it fulfills you.

...She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott...

A curse? Of course, the world was a curse! Her tower might only be a fantasy, still it protected her. But the prisoner was hungry for life. Watching them working in the fields and riding along the road. She longed to be part of their world... 'A mistake, Lady, you make a mistake...'

...And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear...

...Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad...

'Don't look at them, they only show you what you will never have, what they will never give you because they will never understand...'

He didn't hear the singer's beautiful voice anymore. He was part of the story she told him. The song, her music spoke to him, to his heart, as if somehow the music knew is most inner feelings. He was completely lost in the song and the tale...

...But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights...

'You see? A funeral. It can only bring you death... that's how all human life ends. With death... but you could be immortal, never have to suffer from age, from sickness... you will not feel the pain of constant rejection and taunts... You still have your web and the magic... it is still beautiful...'

...Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott...

'Love, what does love mean anyway? It only leads to suffering. Always.'

...His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed;
On burnished hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flowed

His coal-black curls as on he rode...

And the prisoner knew what love was. And Raistlin knew that it wouldn't end well. She would suffer. He suffered with her. It was like he was sharing her feelings, he stepped near the image, desperately trying to touch her, to tear her away from her magic mirror, in which she watched a knight passing on the road. 'Don't do it lady, don't make me see my own life spread out before me like I see yours now... don't show me how I failed...'

...She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room...

'Don't go. Don't do it Lady. These barriers, cost you - no, me - years to erect, they keep me safe, don't break them down. You'll destroy everything you - I worked for.. the magic...'

...Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror cracked from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott...

'There now? That's what you wanted? You'll get killed. Love will get us both killed. That's why people like us should never fall in love! It never works out for such beings like us, never...'

...And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance...

'A lament. Sing your own lament, lady. The singer sings it. Can you hear her voice? It gives you life. Like my very own words give life to my spells. Like your Weaving, your Web gave life to your creation... Now, it all will be lost. You see what that's leading to? I do... I do, I've seen this all before... I cry for you, Lady... Why did you crave happiness? Why? I never did. I can live without this. I really can. It's all that makes me go on... Had I ever wanted happiness I'd have broken long before... Still I understand you, Lady... That's what frightens me most...'

...Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Through the noises of the night...

The lady stepped into a boat. He saw her laying down in this little shell, preparing to die. To die out of love... 'Your love never loved you back... he is like the world and the world simply can't. Still you know you have to die... and you accept your fate... You accept that the world made you suffer... Why, in the name of the gods do you accept that? You should hate the world for what it did to you, you should rage and let them feel your scorn. Still you try to preserve your love... its hopeless, you are lost... so am I...'

...Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly...

'Naranja's lovely voice, the harp... so sad, so beautiful, though... Sing harp, sing a song for the lonely figure in the boat and for me...'

...Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high...

'Thats it. Now she dies. I see the boat entering the city. She was doomed from the beginning. Am I doomed? I live in a tower just like her. And it's not the tower that I call a home. Its within me. Its me... Am I doomed like her? Make it end. Girl, your song is wonderful, yet cruel... make it end... make my torment end...'

...And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer...

'I can't see or hear it anymore, I don't want to, please...'

...The web was woven curiously
The charm is broken utterly
Draw near and fear not - This is I -
The Lady of Shalott...

...It took Raistlin a while to realize that the song had ended. The harp's sweet melody hung still in the air. Naranja sat with the instrument between her knees, her hands softly stroking the harp's shining wooden frame. She smiled. He saw traces of wet on her cheeks. So she had also felt it? Had she seen the scenery as he had? But how? How could she have felt what he had felt, and how in the Abyss had she done it? He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to regain his casualness, his self-control. He sensed that his own cheeks were wet, too. Had he really cried? Had this song really held the power to make him cry? What had she done and how? It had been like a dream, like a spell...

Naranja slowly opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"I love it. It's not yet perfect, but I love it. What do you think?"

All of a sudden he realized what had happened. He realized what the true profession of the girl was. No, it was not something as simple as tricking the gullible. He had heard of this, still he had never before met anybody so gifted with this kind of magic -Yes, magic!- then this girl. It took hard work and practice to achieve this through songs...

'Girl, did you have any idea what your song did to me? Do you have any idea of what you can do with this gift?'

Naranja watched him expectantly for a while. Eventually she smiled.

"Guessing that I just made a kender speechless, I think it can't have been that awful."

Raistlin slowly answered her smile, shaking his head.

"I never had any idea that bardic magic could be that potent." he croaked.

She came over and put a hand around his shoulder. Suddenly she noticed something, dumbfounded.

"Nima, did you cry?"

"Your little spell hit me harder then you might have thought." he admitted.

No she probably couldn't have known. He himself would have never expected that he was actually that vulnerable to a bardic spell. He had to be careful in the future. She reached him a handkerchief.

"Well, my music maybe isn't shallow, after all."

He groaned. Of course she had done that on purpose, the little witch. And she had gotten him cold.

"You will hold that against me for the rest of my life, won't you?" he mumbled into the handkerchief. His emotions were still under the influence of her song. He tried to banish them from his mind, to banish the turmoil her performance had caused in his soul. He couldn't allow himself any more emotional weaknesses now.

Naranja had no idea what went on inside the mind of her little friend. She just supported her tiny companion who suddenly had reacted to the melancholy of the music much stronger then her light cheerful kenderheart should have allowed her to. Now, she felt a little sorry for Nima, she had just wanted to teach a lesson not actually to bring real sadness. It was time to cheer up again. For both of them.

"No," she answered jokingly. "Only every single day during the next ten years..."

"Oh, that helps me a lot." 'Nima' retorted with a hint of friendly sarcasm.

Finally, they decided to have another cup of tea, but even an hour later, Nima was still contemplative and strangely subdued. Naranja decided to keep an eye on the kender from now on. Her little friend had changed so much...

TBC

--

A/N: Though I frequently write filk, this chapter was my first songfic. So be kind on me, people. Of course I don't want to pretend that I had the skill to write the cited Lyrics above. I borrowed them from Alfred Lord Tennyson, from his wonderful ballad "The Lady of Shalott". (I just found them for him. And I gave them back afterwards, I swear!)

If somebody wants to know who inspired me on the musical side, go and listen to Loreena McKennit's great version of the poem. That woman has a voice... I heard that song a lot during my week in the hospital over and over. There I noticed how well it would fit into he story. By the way, to make my ramblings complete: You'll probably not find the last verse in most versions of the poem. It's the ending of the poem as it was written in 1837. The re-written, more popular ending from 1847 unfortunately wouldn't have fitted Dragonlance and if you know the poem, you know why. ;)