Merida had been taught to play the lyre through most of her childhood, a harp like instrument. She'd hated those lessons just like she'd hated most of them, all things considered, and she'd never gone back to the instrument even after reconciling with her mother. It held bad memories, memories that she'd tried to forget within the exchange of learning better. Her lyre lay forgotten in the clutter of her room back home, left behind like many things.
The notes that had been playing in her head for the better part of the month drew her back to those lessons. That's a C, dear. She can almost hear her mother's chiding voice, feeling a swell of annoyance before she pushes it down. There's no sense in getting angry with someone who isn't there, just as there was no sense in getting mad at a soldier just for a comment on her hair.
She's reminded of a tale, like so many things in the Drabwurld make her recall. Binnorie, a tale of an older sister who murdered her younger one out of jealousy, the young girl's body being made into a harp and playing itself, singing a song about the murder. The thought sends chills down her spine, even as she approaches the harp itself in her dream.
"Now what on earth could you possibly get out of causin' people madness?" It's a murmur mostly to herself, not expecting an answer. Merida lifts a hand, running her fingers over the finely carved body of the harp. She tilts her head, looking at it curiously. Almost curious enough to play it...
But she's sick to death of the tunes being played to her. Of losing control of herself and harming those around her. "I've had to apologize to several soldiers now because of you," she grumbles, pulling the sword from the sheath at her hip. It looks too heavy for her to lift, so her sword will have to do. One swing is all it takes, the harp shattering and Merida wonders if she faintly hears the sound of screams.
She's more focused on feeling at peace with the music gone now.
no subject
The notes that had been playing in her head for the better part of the month drew her back to those lessons. That's a C, dear. She can almost hear her mother's chiding voice, feeling a swell of annoyance before she pushes it down. There's no sense in getting angry with someone who isn't there, just as there was no sense in getting mad at a soldier just for a comment on her hair.
She's reminded of a tale, like so many things in the Drabwurld make her recall. Binnorie, a tale of an older sister who murdered her younger one out of jealousy, the young girl's body being made into a harp and playing itself, singing a song about the murder. The thought sends chills down her spine, even as she approaches the harp itself in her dream.
"Now what on earth could you possibly get out of causin' people madness?" It's a murmur mostly to herself, not expecting an answer. Merida lifts a hand, running her fingers over the finely carved body of the harp. She tilts her head, looking at it curiously. Almost curious enough to play it...
But she's sick to death of the tunes being played to her. Of losing control of herself and harming those around her. "I've had to apologize to several soldiers now because of you," she grumbles, pulling the sword from the sheath at her hip. It looks too heavy for her to lift, so her sword will have to do. One swing is all it takes, the harp shattering and Merida wonders if she faintly hears the sound of screams.
She's more focused on feeling at peace with the music gone now.