You and Geralt made it back to the Rosemary and Thyme as the sun was setting.
You were still holding onto the dress you recently purchased at Elihal's and kept holding it as you walked into your room.
You held the dress in front of you in front of the mirror. It was a nice looking dress, and you couldn't help but admit to yourself that you had good taste.
You still didn't what occasion you would possibly be able to wear this. If you were in high school, maybe you could pass this for the senior prom, or maybe even graduation. In this world, however, the only place you could foresee wearing such an elegant piece of fabric is at a ball or maybe in front of a performance like at the theater or a high end tavern.
You were eager to wear this dress again. You look around the room then open the door and check outside to make sure Geralt wouldn't be walking in on you again, hoping Dandelion made sure Geralt actually got his own room this time.
The coast was clear, so you walk back into your room and change into the dress.
You look yourself in the mirror and twirl around a few times. You actually felt like a princess wearing this dress, specifically a Disney Princess like Cinderella or Belle. All you needed now was a Prince Charming to take you to dance with.
You sighed a bit, knowing such a fantasy was for little girls, children who have yet to be deterred by the hardships of life that is reality. It was a nice thought, but you knew there was a reason Prince Charming was only a fairy tale.
Real life was more messy and complicated; not every knight was chivalrous nor was every noble lord honorable. And in your world not every straight A jock was a gentleman nor was every computer nerd a harmless nice guy.
You were pulled from your thoughts from a knock at the door. You go to answer it, and see Geralt on the other side. "Well look who actually decided to knock this time around," you sarcastically say, small smirk on your face.
Geralt looked you up and down, curiosity written in his face, "you wearing the dress again?"
You look down at your dress, "well it is a nice dress," you admit, "I want to get my money's worth out of it." "It looks good on you," Geralt compliments, "if I didn't know any better, I would think you a princess."
"I wish," you scoff, "if I was 10 or 11 years younger that would still be my dream. Oh well, children have to grow up eventually. But have grown attached. I wish there was another reason to wear other then to imagine myself as royalty."
"Hmm," Geralt thinks on it for a moment, "I think I might have an idea."
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Geralt escorts you downstairs to see there another performance going on. Singers and dancers in multicolored floral ensemble. The audience cheered and demanded more when the performance was over, and the performers obliged.
You followed Geralt to the side where Dandelion was conversing with Zoltan.
"Geralt, glad you could join us," Dandelion greets the witcher. "Well, lookie here," Zoltan says, noticing you in the dress, "you sure clean up nice, lass. Looks quite like the Belle of the Ball if I do say so myself." "Thank you," you say, "I'm glad you like it. A little something I had to get from Elihal's place while getting my rags patched up."
"That elf always knows how sew patterns," Dandelion compliments, "such attire must be showcased for all to see, not just in the middle of an audience, but up on front where everyone can see her. But where can we find such a stage?"
"You're..joking right?" Zoltan asks, a little concerned for the Bard if he was losing his marbles.
"Of course I'm joking Zoltan," Dandelion assures, waving off the dwarf's brief concern, "the stage of the cabaret is just what (y/n) needs."
"Whoa, wait, where are y'all two going with this?" you say, eyes widening, "Wait, are you...do you expect me to perform?" "Why not? You got the costume, you just need an act," Dandelion points out. "Whoa, whoa, I do not...I'm don't do so well with performing in front of people, I get stage fright and, I uh, I actually don't dance much, I don't even know anything about cabaret dancing."
"You don't have to dance, lassie," Zoltan points out, "you could always sing."
"Me? Sing?" your eyes widen again, "In front of all these people?"
"Whoa, hey, take deep breaths," Geralt says, noticing you may start hyperventilating from that.
"You don't have to stand there in front of the audience alone," Dandelion points out, "Priscilla could accompany you on the lute. She has this little duet she composed recently. We were going to do it together but uh, maybe you could take my place."
"Uh, well..." you think about it. Having sung in high school choir, you weren't a complete stranger to singing in front of strangers.
You also took guitar lessons too, but if Priscilla would be playing the lute, you wouldn't want to steal her thunder in that area.
"I think that sounds acceptable," you finally make a decision.
"Great!" Dandelion says, pulling you backstage where Priscilla was busy tuning her lute.
You go over the lyrics for the song Priscilla had wrote, playing a part of the melody so you would know how to sing this song. "Is this a love song?" you ask. "Mmm, more like a tragedy," Priscilla explains, "star crossed lovers. Everyone loves those."
"Yeah they do," you agree, going over the lyrics in your head again and again, "I've never really understood why, especially when you know it won't end well."
You take a look at some of the other songs and notice one that caught your attention.
You look through the lyrics; it was comical, whimsical, very satirical, you couldn't help but laugh out loud, which Priscilla noticed. Her eyes widen when she realized what you were reading. "Oh, I see you found that one," she says quickly snatching the paper from your hands, "hey, what's wrong with it? It's funny!" you say, wiping tears from your eyes that formed from your laughter, "Bet this Hierarch would get a kick out of it." "Spoken as someone who doesn't know what the Church of the Eternal Fire does to people who'd even think up such slander," Priscilla tells you.
"Those are the same people who looked down and persecute mages and non-humans right?" you asks to which the bardess nods. "I've seen paintings of Heirarch Hemmelfart before," you admit, remembering some of the pamphlets that have been laying around or posted about the city with the Hierarach's image plastered on front with various, what you assumed to be core teaching of the Eternal Fire, "Judging by his particular image I imagine he's way of leading is to do as he says, not as he does."
"That's...actually the best way of putting it," Priscilla says, impressed by your perception, "nobody will say it out loud, but the Hierarch is known to diddle whores in his own home on Temple Island. If those rumors are to be believed some of them were non humans. She-elves, succubi, a doppler or two." "Everything the Eternal Fire looks down on," you sigh. Yet another example of a man in power who did as he wanted regardless of what he preached and people were just willing to look the other way.
Well not anymore, you think, someone should take a stand, against this man, against men in general, against the Patriarchy.
"We need to perform this song," you insist, snatching the paper from Priscilla's hands.
"What?" Priscilla's eyes widen from your boldness. "You wouldn't have written this if it wasn't how felt about this establishment," you point out, "if these people think we'll stay silent while they keep doing as they please at the expense at others, well then they got another thing coming."
"Are you sure?" Priscilla asks, not sure if you knew what you were getting into, "I don't think you realize what you're risking angering the Church." "Pfft, what are they going to do? Burn us on the pyres?" you scoff. "That is a possibility," Priscilla points out. "We're merely expressing ourselves as artists," you say sarcastically, "free speech. If people were getting burned for things the Church didn't like, we'll all end up there. Besides, it's not like we're saying what everyone else wasn't thinking."
Priscilla smiled, "I still don't think you understand what you're getting into," she chuckles a bit, "but okay. Besides this wouldn't be the first I've been in a performance that would be considered controversial by the Church's standards, but that's a story for another time. Let's do it then."
You and Priscilla went over the lyrics while the cabaret act was going on.
Once it was over, Dandelion got on stage to introduce you and Priscilla to the audience. You stood behind the stage, feeling the stage fright start to set in. Priscilla seemed to noticed and placed a hand on your shoulder, "I wouldn't worry," she assures, "Most of the patrons at this point are already sloshed from all the wine. If you do make a mistake, they probably won't notice." "That doesn't really make me feel any better," you say, feeling your heart race at this point, you could almost swear you may have tachycardia.
"Maybe the audience isn't the one you're trying to impress," Priscilla smiles when she sees where your gaze was at. You could see Geralt at the side, sipping from his mug of ale, with Zoltan right next to him.
"It's not like that," you assure her, "Even if it was, it wouldn't have lasted. He couldn't follow me where I'm trying to go."
"What if you stayed?" Priscilla asks, which made you think. That wasn't something you've actually considered.
What if you did decide to stay. Sure you may end up missing the modern comforts of your world, but this place wasn't all that bad, especially since they had magic here.
Before you could think anymore, you and Priscilla walked on the stage.
You took a few deep breaths as Priscilla tuned her lute and played the melody. You focused your mind on the song, forgetting everything else, everyone that was staring at you right now (some of them you knew couldn't take their eyes off your dress and how it seemed to enhance your curves), except for the white haired witcher who couldn't seem to take his eyes off you.
As you sang the first lyrics, you notice some of the audience looked surprised, some of them looking at each other at other in the crowd. If anyone from Temple Island of the Temple Guard heard this they would surely march in and shut this whole production down right as it barely begins.
However, once you got into the refrain and twirl around in your dress, they began to relax, and even break out in raucous laughter as you mimic the Hierarch being entertained by his elven escorts.
You could've sworn you saw Geralt crack a smile while Zoltan was laughing, the dwarf nearly choking on his ale.
When the song was over, everyone applauded. You heart was still racing from the nervousness of performing, but you felt good about it.
"They loved it," you whisper to Priscilla. "They sure did," the bardess agrees, "thanks for talking me into it." "I told you we were just saying what was on everyone's minds," you smirk.
"Encore! Encore!" you head one of the patrons shout, more joining in on the chant. "Uh, we didn't exactly plan a second song," Priscilla admits. "I think I've got one," you say, "uh, may I borrow your lute?" "You can play?" she asks. "Well I've learned the guitar in school," you admit, "it's not quite the same, but the skills I imagine are transferable."
Priscilla nods and hands you the lute.
You tune the instrument and play this one slow Irish song you were fond of.
As down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I
There armed lines of marching men
In squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum
No battle drum did sound its loud tattoo
But the Angelus Bells o'er the Liffey swells
Rang out in the foggy dew
Right proudly high in Dublin town
Hung they out a flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath that Irish sky
Than at Sulva or Sud-El-Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath
Strong men came hurrying through
While Brittania's Huns with their long range guns
Sailed in through the foggy dew
The patrons, you noticed were captivated by your voice. You weren't sure why, you were an average singer at best, surely nowhere near the level that Dandelion or Priscilla were.
You turned your gazed back to Geralt, who seemed to be the most captivated...or at least you thought he was. It must be your imagination, you thought, the words Priscilla said to you about Geralt was clouding your objective judgment.
You brush it off and begin the third verse:
Their bravest fell and the requiem bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the
Springing of the year
While the world did gaze with deep amaze
At those fearless men but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light
Might shine through the foggy dew
You were about to start the next verse when men in armor and weapons busted into the Rosemary and Thyme. Your eyes wide as they drew their swords and the crowd gasped in shock by this intrusion.
"I did warn you," Priscilla whispers.
This made you realize yours and Priscilla's little song had already reached the ears of the Church of the Eternal Fire and they had sent the Temple Guard to do something about it.
