The War of the Isles

6. Dhara

The Dinner was cold. I had been accustomed to cold dinners for the last two and a half years but this one felt particularly unsettling. Bread and pea stew. 

I hated peas.

"But peas love you."

The sad little jokes I had to remind myself of in order to be well-fed. It was never a simple task if you ask me. To overthink less. 

"Think positive thoughts."

Such affirmations felt forced. To psych yourself up when you're hurting always feels forced. I despised people who preached positive reaffirmation for the very same reasons. Emotions, however, they come, were meant to be felt. To cover your doubts, hesitations and low self-esteem with the so-called positive affirmations, and the toxicity of hustle was not my cup of tea. The only way to get past difficult emotions was to face them.

However, I had chosen the path of false elation. A drag every now and then helped me forget my worries and concentrate on the task at hand. Cowardly? Yes. Efficient enough to get me through life? Most certainly.

A good high with the right music, helped me function at a superior level to most people. And my music, I did not mean the Medini nonsense that the Chroniclers sang most times. The right music was my music. I always carried a pipe, a small lute or a harmonica. And as far as I was concerned, I was the best composer in the Isles.

Before my drafting, I used to play fiddle and Courtesan Mellize's brothel. Madam Mellize had taken an interest in my talents and had helped me to cultivate my art form in her presence. Ilsa Von Fiedler, my adoptive sister was also a professional Fiddler, but she performed in more reputable establishments. 

Over the years, Ilsa and I exchanged many notes and ideas that led to some masterful compositions. Who knows, the two of us would have acquired patrons by now had the war not disrupted our way of life. 

I finished my dinner quickly and picked up a Lute sitting near my chair.

"Some days, I forget the colour of the sky,

The bright blue that hits the eye,

To see in once in a while,

Feels like an ordeal to toil.

To remember the last time,

I touched the bark of a tree

The course texture and the wines

Setting me so free

To think of a night breeze,

Or capture the constellations

Some distant memory,

For a previously lively creation..."

I heard the door knock. 

"Come In!"

Charlie entered, followed by Ursula, and Adrian. I heard Leslie's footsteps coming our way. The first three took their seats as Leslie closed the door behind her. 

"Thank you for coming," I said. "I apologise for interrupting your evening."

"You need to apologise for not having done this sooner, Von Fiedler!" Leslie barked. "I was beginning to wonder if we were going to die licking our wounds, as our great Seargent Major wasted away to smoke and tunes!"

I fidgeted uncomfortably. I knew that she disliked me given the fact that Wagner had chosen a teenager to lead the unit over an experienced and decorated soldier such as her. But I did not dare to retaliate. I needed allies.