The Bard's Tale

Upon their return, the newly blended family settled into the apartment over Catheryn's shop. The location was ideal, and Robert loathed the thought of bringing so gently bred a woman into his humble little cottage. However, though he no longer lived in it, he went out to it regularly to keep it clean and to do any maintenance work on it. It didn't take long before the family was living together effortlessly, and over the course of the next few months, Catheryn's small business grew. They purchased the space next to her shop and expanded their living quarters, creating a spacious, comfortable home filled with love and laughter. These were the happiest days Robert had ever experienced in his life! Occasionally, he thought about the wizened old man and realized that having Catheryn's love and adoration really was far more important than any regard he ever received from his story listeners. So full was his life now that he hardly even missed his storytelling.

Seasons passed... Summer to autumn, winter to spring... Vibrant flowers to the bitter cold with its dark skeletal trees piercing the starkly blue sky... Year after year. It was on one such frigid grey day that Robert was hurrying back to the apartment from the woodcarver's shop, his head down in his coat against the biting wind. Suddenly he bumped hard into someone in the street coming towards him. Reaching out, he grabbed the person's arms to stabilize him, saying, "Excuse me. Are you alright?" Then the other man's face came into focus. "Kristoff!" he exclaimed with joy, recognizing one of the men who used to spend hours a day at the table in his cottage, immersed in his games. "How have you been?"

"I've been well, thank you. I'm just coming back from delivering some flour to the baker. I heard you got married."

"Yes!" Robert replied. "We've been married a couple of years now, and I've never been happier. Catheryn is such a beautiful, loving, vibrant woman, so compassionate, so full of life! I didn't realize all I'd been missing in my life before I met her. And our daughters get along wonderfully. Desiree needed sisters."

"That's great news, my friend! I've got to say, I miss our story-creating times. It's been ages, and we used to have such good times together. How about it? How about one more story, just for old time's sake? I don't even think you're telling your stories at all anymore, are you?"

"No, Kristoff. No, I am not, and I cannot tell you a story. I gave all that up for Catheryn."

"Really? I really would love to hear just one of your stories. You have always had such a talent for spinning a tale."

Years passed. Robert was in town, having made one of his forays in hopes of begging a stale loaf of bread from the baker. He passed by Catheryn's shop, his breath catching as he saw her laughing up at a man, raising a hand to brush a black curl off his forehead. The baby on her hip chortled in response to his mother's laughter, a black-haired cherub with his father's sapphire blue eyes and his mother's rosy lips and dimples. Crushing pain nearly brought him to his knees as he thought of all he gave up, all because he had to tell one more story. Loneliness was his constant companion now, even with the visitors who listened to his stories and came to play his games.

Desiree was gone, married to the son of a prosperous merchant. He had encountered Desiree in the village one day as she begged. He was so charmed by her lovely smile and impressed by how hard she strove to take care of her father that he immediately began to court her. The courtship was brief and the wedding magnificent. So in love was he that Desiree's lack of dowry was no bother. He gave Robert five thousand pounds for a bride price; that money dissipated quickly into rich foods and to replace all the gaming books, dice, and miniature figurines.

Once more, Robert found himself living in poverty, and though now older, he was no more the wiser. His listeners were fewer in number these days, but they still hung on his every word. He sought for Catheryn in the crowds; sometimes she was there bearing the same beatific smile she'd granted him before their ill-fated marriage, often with her children. As the old man had promised, she had no memory of their life together; he was just another villager to her. On this particular day, her husband, the woodcarver, was by her side, their son on his shoulders. Trying to ignore then pain in his heart, Robert began his tale: "Once in a land far away, many moons ago..."