A/N: This wanders a bit, but I think I'm okay with how it turned out.

Wearily, the King leaned against the tree and looked up at the darkening sky, breath coming in and out in a sigh of defeat. Around him, the rest of the hunting party looked at each other.

"Your Majesty?" the closest Dwarf asked, gruff voice as soft as possible. "What are you looking for?"

"Peace," Rilian answered, pushing himself up off the tree. "Just a little bit of peace, good cousin. But I cannot seem to find it. Even near a still lake."

"Your Royal Highness?" The old Golden Retriever, a pink cap on her head, lay down on the floor so she could look under the table, the Prince's favourite hiding place. "There you are. Won't you come out?"

"No," Tirian answered obstinately. "I'm looking for something."

"What are you looking for?" When the prince did not answer, the nurse dog-crawled closer. "Perhaps I can find it. I have a very good nose, you know."

"But it can't be smelt!"

"Are you sure?" She crawled a little closer. "What is it?"

A small snuffle came from underneath the table, and the prince curled himself into a ball. "Father's joy."

The Red Dwarf swung his axe into the ground in exasperation. "Nikabrik!" he called as loudly as he dared, looking left and right. "Where are you?"

Silence fell on the forest, followed by a slight rustle of leaves as the breeze blew through.

"Nikabrik, you stubborn lout, answer me!"

"Back here!" called a voice from the front and right, and Trumpkin trundled towards it, wacking away thicket as he went. The thicket gave way to trees, and, cursing, Trumpkin squeezed between them, entering a small clearing. The limbs and leaves overhead were so thick there was little light, but there was enough for the Dwarf to see his friend sitting cross-legged in the clearing, head slumped on his chest and his beard hanging down.

"Nikabrik! You hurt?"

"No," came the slow answer. "No, I came here looking for something." His bitter laugh sounded as Trumpkin took a hasty look round.

"What would you look for in this place? Mushrooms?"

"Hope," Nikabrik answered. "Hope that someday life will be better than this."

"Majesty?"

Rilian looked up, though he did not feel like answering (the weight of his crown felt heavier every day, and it had only been a month). But the voice had been shy, and the expression of the Faun before him hesitant. "Yes? What is it—" he searched his memory, "Theopold?"

"There's a legend, Your Majesty." Again, the shy hesitation stole the words from the Faun, and Rilian half smiled.

"A legend?"

"Yes. It's said a Mouse came this way once, seeking his ear, for he had lost it and only had one left, and so he could only hear half the world. He was a foolish sort of Mouse, to think it could be added back on," the Faun added in his normal voice, before sinking back into the half-whisper of wonder. "And he wanted to hear all the world. But when he came to this very clearing, he stopped, for a Squirrel called his name from the branches. 'Mouse," said the Squirrel, 'are you looking for something?'

'My ear,' said the Mouse. 'I need it to hear.'

'Just follow the sound of the singing.'

'But I cannot hear any singing. It must be on the wrong side.' I told you," the Faun broke in again, 'that he was a foolish kind of Mouse. I like stories about real heroes better."

"But we can often learn just as much from ordinary people," Rilian responded gravely, keeping the twitching corners of his mouth still. This felt a little lighter than most of his current hours. "Would you continue?"

"'You cannot hear because you are not listening,' said the Squirrel. And the Mouse had enough wisdom to cease speaking and be silent for a moment. In that moment, the Mouse heard the singing."

A pause, where Rilian deliberately shut out the memory of another song and another singing, before asking, "What did the singing sound like? A bird, a Daughter of Eve, or a Dwarf?"

"No one knows, unless they listen. That's a line in the story later. But the Mouse turned to follow the sound of the singing—without even stopping to thank the Squirrel, which I think he should have—and when he arrived, he found more than he sought. And anyone who seeks something with all his heart, if he comes to this same clearing, will hear the music. No one knows what the singing sounds like, unless they themselves listen." The Faun paused once more.

"Have you tried it?"

"No, Sire. But you look like you're seeking something. And I wondered if the legend might be true, so…" he trailed off. "It is just a legend."

"Then perhaps we should try listening together. For you are seeking truth, are you not?"

The Golden Retriever laid her head down on her paws, her big eyes meltingly soft as she stared at her charge. "Oh, child."

"Father's lost his joy, ever since mother got sick. But mother gave me a bandage when I hurt my knee, and she said it would make me better. I want to make her better."

"I think that only works with bruises and scrapes," the Golden Retriever said softly, and Tirian began to cry. "Hush, Prince. Don't give up so easily. What if we try to get your father's joy back another way?"

"How?" Tirian asked, looking up at her with big eyes and two tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Come, ride on my back, and listen while I walk the halls to where your mother is." Without giving him a chance to argue—for the Prince did that often—the Dog grabbed Tirian's shirt in her mouth and pulled him out, bracing her front legs in case he struggled. But he didn't, and when he was close enough he willingly grabbed her neck and swung himself onto her.

"Now listen," she admonished, beginning to walk, singing as she went.

"This wouldn't be the place I looked for hope. Too dark and depressing," Trumpkin muttered.

"I wasn't looking for it here either—but I heard music. People singing."

"Singing?" Trumpkin whirled, axe held aloft, looking at all the dark nooks in the bushes.

"They're gone," Nikabrik advised impatiently. "I was just following the sound of their singing."

"Singing," Trumpkin answered in disbelief, still looking around. "As if that's got anything to do with bread or armies. It goes right against safety, making that much noise. Singing doesn't have anything to do with hope."

"You're wrong," Nikabrik argued brusquely. "Words can have power. But it's time to go home."

They left the clearing in silence, slipping through the trees and back into the path Trumpkin had made. As they reached the clearer forest, though, Trumpkin heard it—a wild, chilling melody, as if an old woman screamed and laughed at the same time.

Nikabrik had been right, there was power in the song—the power of a nightmare, or the power of a monster. Trumpkin shuddered. Nikabrik didn't seem to notice.

The other six courtiers were talking among themselves in low voices as they spread a blanket and took out food from two baskets. But the King and Faun withdrew a little, to the edge of the clearing, and under the branches of a weeping willow they stopped to listen. They tried to let the other voices die away, to dismiss them, to hear other things instead. The sound of crickets, a bird song, then another, and the sound of the nearby lake waves hitting the shore.

Then—

"Do you hear it?" Rilian whispered, wonder in his tone. "A song of warmth, and light, and rest beside a home fire on a dark night?"

"No," the Faun responded, but he also sounded entranced. "No, I hear the promise of true things, like true steel ringing when tested, and of surety, and all the wonders of the world come true."

"Let us go," Rilian said, picking up his sheathed sword. "Let us follow the sound of singing. For I do not think I can find peace anywhere else, now that I have heard it. Let us go quickly!"

And the two of them left their companions, who did not notice, and followed the sound. It led them right to the lake, and then under the water, but they did not remember they had to breathe, and breath did not trouble them. The fish swam around them, voices joining in the music, and they walked faster and faster, bouncing under the water at the bottom, and soon joining in the song too as they heard it. As they sang phosphorescent stones lit the way before them, each a bright blue-white mark. When they reached the bottom of the lake, the stones became a circle, and in the middle of the circle stood the Lion, singing.

"Welcome," He sang to them. "Welcome, seekers, for all who seek, find." He leaned down and breathed on both of them in turn. They closed their eyes, and when they woke, each was in his own bed, and the morning had come. But Rilian had never felt so rested. When he dressed, and put on his crown, it did not weigh much at all, for he had seen again the One who ruled all things. And the Faun, having seen the Truth, had yet another story to tell, a story of a legend come true.

After supper, the King Erlian laid aside his business and went again to the room where his wife lay sick. But as he approached the door he paused, leaning his head against it and closing his eyes. She was so sick, and he wanted to be strong for her when he went in. But as he leaned there, he heard something, something that made him open his eyes and push the door open.

There, on the bed, sat his wife and son, singing with each other, while the Nurse curled up by a chair nearby. His wife's eyes sparkled as they had not done in days, and he realised the two were singing her favourite song. He could not help it; a smile spread over his own face, and he strode forward, joining in the song. His son jumped on the bed, clapping his hands, interrupting the music with, "Father's here! Father's come!" Another jump. "Father's smiling!"

"I'm here," Erlian answered, laying a hand on his wife's shoulder and reaching for his son with the other. "I followed the sound of you singing. Shall we not continue?"

That night, the three sang together till the prince's eyes drooped and he fell asleep near his mother's side, her hand stroking his hair. Erlian, for the first time in a week, felt like home had returned to him, all on the wings of a song.

Prompt 29: You're looking for [blank]? Just follow the sound of singing.