Swords and Secrets - A Stardew Valley fanfic

Chapter 12. Duet

For the next week, I stay true to my word and avoid the mines. After informing a horrified Harvey of what had transpired, I begin farming in earnest to raise enough money to pay him back for his life elixir. The only silver lining is seeing his ecstatic, completely out of character reaction to finding out his potion could bring a human back to perfect health from the brink of death.

I also prepare to diversify my farm. I start chatting with Robin, the town builder and carpenter, about building a coop so I can keep hens. Robin's residence doubles as her workshop and is situated in the mountains, near the large lake. Leaving Robin's after a second visit, I hear a faint whisper of a wind instrument coming from the lake. Curiosity walks my legs over. To my surprise, I see you sitting against a tree, flute in your hands, playing a simple yet melancholic tune. It reminds me of a lone traveler, wandering the world. I feel a twinge of sadness and guilt, intensified by the music. We haven't seen or talked to each other since that unfortunate day; mostly because I had shut myself on my farm.

I really want to make it up to you. I should come and talk... but what should I say? Or maybe you prefer your own space for now.

Frustrated at my uncharacteristic indecisiveness, I listen to your flute practice for a bit from afar. You really seem to like that piece, since you repeat it a few times. Suddenly, I have a lightbulb moment; I listen a few more times until I memorize it, then hurry home, a newfound spring in my step, humming the tune to keep it fresh in my mind.

I rummage in the box of things I brought when I first moved here and find what I'm looking for: a somewhat cheap-looking, handheld mini-harp. Not that I'm very musical, but I did play with it a little when I received it as a birthday gift. Whistling the flute's tune, I begin to work out some harmonies as accompaniment, and even dare to attempt some chords, though it takes quite a bit of fumbling to get right. Eventually I create what I think is a reasonably nice duet.

The next day, I head towards the mountain lake despite it pouring with rain. Thankfully, I find you sitting under the same tree, sheltered from the rain, still playing your flute. This time, I walk up to you.

"Ash! Why are you out here in the rain?"

"Oh you know, just enjoying the weather," I say wryly.

"You're totally soaked! Come under the tree."

I plop myself down next to you.

"I heard your flute. What was it you were playing?" I pretend to not have heard it before.

"Actually, it's a piece I wrote myself. It's called 'A stillness in the rain'."

"Cool! Let's hear it properly," I say while I pull my harp out of my bag.

"You're full of surprises, Ash," you raise your eyebrow at me but seem to understand what I want to do, so you play along.

You raise the flute to your lips, close your eyes and begin to play your piece, the melody making use of many minor notes, creating a sense of melancholy that is accentuated by the downpour. I weave my accompaniment into your lead, harmonizing somberly yet soulfully. And at that moment, we are sure we are composing and experiencing the same story. The lone traveler meets another. And although their journeys' courses may only temporarily intersect, having a companion makes a world of difference.

You sustain the last flute note, which lingers in the air with a sustained reverberation, and I end with a short gliss. For a while, we sit silently and stare at the rain beating down on the lake, creating a thousand ephemeral ripples that instantaneously yield to the next cascade of droplets.

"Hey, friend," I say as I stow my harp away.

"Hey," a faint smile tugs at the corner of your lips, "that was cheeky."