The Lord De'Vance leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand at his close cropped beard of iron grey before answering his daughter. "Who is he, indeed?" he muttered to himself before casting sidelong glance at Seraphina. "He is a plaintiff seeking justice, my dear. A justice that we are charged with dispensing regardless of our personal feelings on the matter. Moreover... he is a man claiming that our family has wronged his, a claim that can be quite damaging to both our standing in His Majesty's sight and to your marriage prospects. The latter of the two concerns me far more that the former, my child, for as I love you I would have the best match possible for you. Not only for your own standing, but for your happiness as well." His morose countenance broke into a soft smile as he chuckled at himself. "I should have seen you married years ago, Seraphina. Only I am loathe to lose the comfort you bring me as my daughter. Your mother... she would be scolding me now if she knew I was not giving you your due as a grown woman."

Standing regally and moving towards her, the Baron took both of her hands in his while a paternal smile graced his grizzled face. "I do not see how any could outshine you, my child." He raised her hands to his lips to kiss them lovingly. "But I know how you love your fripperies. Go then. Bring the grace and elegance to brighten our gloomy halls, and let all men know why I take such pride in your beauty. But attend me later this afternoon with Broadmere; I would see this matter with the minstrel settled and have you as witness to carry it to the next generation."

Turning to allow his daughter her leave, he rounded upon Broadmere. "I would know the whole of this matter, Broadmere. Examine his claim most carefully, by my command! Should he be in the right of this, three nights of his insolence will be small enough a price to pay to settle all. And should he be playing me the fool? Then he will provide us with three days of amusement in a less pleasant manner than he might wish."

***

Broadmere hurried after the minstrel, brown robes swishing and swinging as the old man scurried down the corridor. He knew a room was to be made available for Tambernanny in the servants quarters, a single bed accorded to him by reason of his legal claim, but he wanted to be sure that was where the man could be found if he needed to question him further. So intent was the Seneschal in running down his quarry that he nearly passed him in the hallway! The minstrel had stopped to admire a tapestry of unique design.

"Ah, Master Tambernanny! I had some-"

"What do you think of this scene?" the young man asked expansively. "I mean, look at it, sir! A unicorn, a nymph, a rather ridiculously depicted satyr... As if the three were merrily at a tea party! Such a sight could never happen, had to have been born out of some tedious weaver's under taxed imagination! Now if it had been a dryad?" He gave a little wiggle of one hand to indicate that such an image might be marginally preferable. "It would not offend my eye as much if at least the weaver had some skill!"

Broadmere was not only caught blindsided by the casual interruption from someone far beneath his station but also outraged at the insult. "That tapestry," he bristled with firmed jaw, "was created by our Lord De'Vance's grandmother, Master Tambernanny. It was a gift to her son, our Lord's father, upon his successful return from putting down the Brewer's Revolt in Afterdam! It is here in the hall so that all might admire her artistic endeavor and its elegant beauty in their passing!"

Tambernanny half turned about to curiously regard the old man before nodding knowingly. "Of course, of course, my lord Seneschal. His grandmother, you say?" He faced the tapestry again and took another moment to examine it. Silence prevailed for several moments as he pondered the tapestry anew, armed with the historical significance of the piece. Shrugging, he shifted to walk back down the hall towards the servant's quarters. "Well, much can be forgiven of the dead, I suppose."

Sputtering in indignation, he stared after the bard incredulously before glancing quickly at the tapestry and then following after again. "Master Tambernanny!" he called firmly, "There is much we must discuss! I insist you that make yourself available so that we may complete the details of establishing the grounds and the settlement of your claim of Fallow Law."

"Yes!" the bard agreed enthusiastically as he clapped his hands together. "Yes, lord Seneschal, there is much... [i]much[/i]... that we need to discuss! For example, which balcony out there in the courtyard is the Baron's daughter's?"

From indignation to affronted ire at the minstrel's improper question, Broadmere grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him to a stop. Tambernanny allowed himself to be halted and faced the old man with a raised eyebrow. "And what," Broadmere grated, "business is that of yours, Master Tambernanny?"

The young man's expression was surprised innocence, his other eyebrow arching up to match its brother. "Why, it is every business of mine! I am an entertainer! A musician! A jester and jangler and jongler and joker! It is my trade, sir! My very trade and livelihood, to make people laugh and smile!" Lowering his voice confidentially, he leaned a smidgen closer to the vassal. "You must have seen how she scowled at me? That frown? That glowering glance that would have flayed me where I stood if only it could? Can you, a man of your years and experience in life, a man who has seen much of the world and what it has to offer... Can you tell me in all honesty that such a beautiful face as hers should be marred by an expression like that??"

For the life of him, Broadmere could not find any reason to argue against the tramp's reasoning. 

And so it was that within the hour, Tambernanny found himself beneath her balcony to play for her. His fiddle he had pulled from his pack, and the serfs and guardsmen about their duties in the yard paused at the sound of his rosined bow skipping lightly across the strings to ring like light laughter. It was a fast jig, lively and joyous but far more complex than anything one might hear at any barn dance or country faire. Tambernanny's fingers slide and jumped along the fretboard in such manner that seemed beyond mere professionalism. In fact, it almost seemed that his fingers were not helping to make the music but actually dancing to it! All the while, the man grinned happily as though there were no other place he would rather be and no other thing he would rather be doing.