Mild spoilers for The Ballad of Sir Dinadan. Nothing really specific, but if you don't want the entire Romantic Subplot between Dinadan and Brangienne to be ruined, skip the middle story. The first story takes place before Ballad picks up. The second takes place after Ballad ends. The last takes place in an imaginary battle I invented off the top of my head after the story ends. Another warning: The last story does involve a non graphic description of a battlefield.
Two Times Dinadan Cried While He Sang, and One Time He Sang While He Cried
Finding where Tristram had hidden the rebec was the easy part; sneaking out of his father's castle had been harder. Dinadan had managed both and now stole away to the small, nearby wood. He could run away if he wanted, he supposed—his mother had been dead a week, and his father was still too mournful to care about anything else—but where would he go? No, it was better to just escape for a few hours and practice.
The young boy sat the forest's edge, legs crossed, his rebec in his lap. He strummed a few strings—it was out of tune, but he could barely play now as it was. Dinadan strummed another dissonant cord, trying to find the beginning of a song, any song. He fought with the music for nearly an hour before giving up with a mild oath and tossing the rebec aside.
He sat, staring at it, so positive he would never be a good musician or knight. "I suppose if I can't play, I can always sing," he said aloud, his words seemingly muffled by the darkness of night. Fascinated by the muted sounds, he began to hum a ballad. He hummed louder and louder and finally burst into song. His light tenor was made even lighter by the night. He sang several verses and was working on a third or fourth chorus when he realized he was singing his mother's favorite song.
Memories—recent and long past—washed over him. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to recall his mother at her finest. Her gentle hands and warm smile, her loving face and beautiful voice. She had given him music, and he could never love her enough for it. Tears gathered behind his closed lids and trickled out of the corners of his eyes. They tracked down his cheeks and fell, sinking into the ground beneath him. He sang through his tears, finishing the song with a sob, and allowed himself to grieve at last.
"Ah, there you are, my friend."
Sir Dinadan nearly jumped off his horse, head whipping around wildly to find…nothing. "Sylvanus, you startled me," he complained, turning his mount's head in the direction of the voice.
The voice chuckled. "I thought it would be fun. And it was." He flickered into view, tossing his horned head back to better see Dinadan perched on his horse. "Jump down, why don't you, and play with me?"
"You have your pipes?" Dinadan asked, unable to keep a smile from his lips.
"You have your rebec?" the beast countered. The Knight dismounted and took the instrument from his pack. "Then let us begin. What shall we play for?"
A moment of silence. "How about for love of a woman you do not necessarily want?" Dinadan suggested, thoughts drifting to Brangienne, whom he had just visited.
Sylvanus laughed. "What a curious subject! I accept. I shall begin." He whipped out his pipe and began playing a lively tune with a satisfyingly steady beat. Dinadan grinned, letting him play a round before leaping into the melody. It was a wonderful song each was creating on the spot, involving many clashing notes at first. Between the two of them, they soon had hashed out a melody that could only be described as brazen. It reminded Dinadan of a May fair, or dancing with a girl one had only just met.
The two of them were naturally attracting attention. Soon most of the animals in the forest had gathered to hear the masters play. Seeing some of the creatures moving as if to dance lifted Dinadan's spirits so much that, before he quite knew what he was doing, he was singing. He hummed and whistled, using nonsense words and playful, dance-like lyrics he was thinking up on the spot. His voice took over the melody, allowing the rebec and pipe to play the quickly-complicating harmonies. Looking over at Sylvanus to see how he liked the song, Dinadan saw his friend was weeping with joy. Filled with music and bubbling over with happiness, Dinadan joined him. Laughter, tears, and music flooded the forest, and the very trees shook with song.
Dinadan was never really fit for knighthood. He didn't fight well and worried far too much over his hands to be what others called brave. He knew this, but rode into his first war anyway. It was brutal and bloody. Scenes of death and agony, Dinadan was afraid, would be forever scorched into his memory.
All other soldiers and knights had left for camp. Only he remained, standing at the top of a hill and looking down on the red-stained field. Corpses littered the earth, and sometimes he could make out the moans of those still dying.
Dinadan wept at the sound, great tears of tortured grief and horror. He was never meant to be a knight, and his could very well be the final proof. Even over the sound of his crying, he could hear those dreadful moans. He had to do something, anything to block them out. He did the only thing he knew best—he sang. It was a simple song, a dirge, and chant, a paean to all the men he could see. He sang softly at first, voice shaking with his tears, then gathering strength. He sang of heroism and battle, of love and loss, of tragedy and heartbreak, of destruction and death. He poured his heart into the song. It was his finest creation, but he never committed a single word to memory, never sang it again. It was for them he was singing, the fallen and broken, and none else had the right to hear it.
His song ended and still he wept. The battlefield was silent.