A/N: I would literally die for Pyre and just about any game Supergiant throws at me, sorry I don't make the rules

(I could do w/o the implied romance in the epilogues but what I've seen is usually vague enough that I can literally shove it aside bodily and interpret it as male/female friendship, so my platonic family-loving ace ass is satisfied with that. I still wish there was more emphasis on more of the relationships than the ones they did show, sometimes, but ah. Nothing can be completely perfect, just come close.)

Greg Kasavin said one time somewhere in the Steam forums for Pyre that the language that everyone speaks in-game is an actual conlang he made up for Pyre and he's got an actual spreadsheet of all the terms 'n' things. He also confirmed that when the Minstrel sings, he's singing in English and no one actually understands except for the Reader, who only knows it because books are all written in English (hence why it's considered "forbidden" in the Commonwealth, usually). Sorry, but I'm literally in love with that.

The songs I have in mind for what Tariq sings are Vagrant Song from when you're sailing through the Deathless Tempest, Never to Return for the Liberation Rite, and King and Lionheart by Of Monsters and Men (except in lute form and sung by Tariq/Darren Korb) for the part after the rite, with a bonus of the fact that the song itself makes my heart ache when I think of Pyre while I listen to it.

Spoilers up to... about the Glade of Lu, mostly in terms of characters, because the stuff about the Liberation Rite I kept real vague anyway. Who got liberated is up to you, more or less, except for Ti'zo, Hedwyn and The Stowaway/Mae, of course. Speaking of Mae, I love her with all my heart, but her speech pattern just kind of confuses me. I hope I've portrayed everyone alright, here.

Music is an interesting thing among the Nightwings.

Hedwyn tends toward humming old Commonwealth songs and rhymes, from days when the heat and stress of the Bloodborder sun made visions swim and knees buckle. Mae tends towards exuberance in her performances, aimless tunes given shape by her joyful litling voice and Ti'zo's attempts to sing along, and Gilman is often just as eager with half-remembered ballads from his days as a wyrm-knight of the Sea Dominion. Jodariel and Pamitha both tend to avoid singing, but they still both hum little nursery rhymes and military songs when they think no one's listening.

As far as instruments go, however, finding something more than a bell (with a tongue that rings a little too loudly for something delicate like music, no less) is as much a challenge in the Downside as finding decent food. Tariq often leaves his lute leaning against the wall by the raiments - not quite where he sat during his early days of dozing - while he goes about his tasks, and he's given permission to use the instrument at times he cannot, but Mae prefers to perform without the pluck of the strings beneath her and no one else wants to try using the Minstrel's prized belonging. Which leaves you and Tariq himself the only ones to play.

Your understanding of the instrument is rudimentary at best, but you make do. The few times you played felt as natural as can be, like the lute itself guides your hand and keeps you from fumbling the music too badly. The amount of free time you ordinarily get dictates that you rarely have a moment to do more than look in the instrument's direction, though, and so usually it sits there, waiting. Unlike you, Tariq knows what he's doing and has the time to show it; the handful of nights you've heard the expert twang of strings are the nights you rest well, the stress of the rites and living in the Downside leaving you and your companions alone, even if just for a moment.

The fact that none of you have ever heard his voice alongside his instrument (and the thought that perhaps he plays too late at night for your fellow exiles have never heard him perform) doesn't occur to you until Rukey suggests a song to take your minds off the storm raging outside, wagon afloat only by virtue of Big Bertrude's work.

"Let me see what I can do," Tariq says, the lute already in hand as he takes a seat. He begins to pluck a handful of notes, testing, and soon a gentle melody floats through the pound of rain and waves. The music is beautiful, reminiscent of the few sailor songs you remember from the Commonwealth, and you see even Jodariel's untold worries begin to slide from her shoulders as she wrestles with the sea and steers towards the Black Basin under your guidance. The words themselves are unfamiliar but not entirely alien to you, and it's not unlike the feeling you get from reading the book of rites.

His voice is as soothing as the song he strums, heard effortlessly even over the ruckus of the world outside. You don't realize just how much so, however, until the wind blows a wave straight up the windowsill you're leaning on to read the ocean, nearly smacking you in the face and making you sputter. Behind you, Rukey's little chortle tells you that the others definitely noticed.

Damn.

You get to hear Tariq play more often, after that. Not often enough to become regular, not quite, but often enough nonetheless. He tends to save gentle songs for mornings and evenings when the world is just waking up or barely headed to bed, and the brighter productive ones for when it's time to get going and for dinnertime, when the only worries are about what to eat and how to distract yourself. The most energetic of songs are played for midday or the rare moments of rest, the rest of the Nightwings scattering to do minor chores or explore or play. It seems as though he has a new tune for every occasion there is.

Songs with lyrics, however, are saved for very special nights.

Much like the day out at sea, Tariq waits until he's been requested for some music before breaking out the words - unless, of course, the situation calls for it. So it is that the second time you hear his voice is atop the Fall of Soliam, intertwined with the rich tones of the Gate Guardian above you, with your heart thudding in time with an invisible beat and nothing in your focus but the rites, your triumvirate, the sway of their weight and twists of their wrists and determination, the combined thoughts of we will earn this freedom together.

And you do.

The third time you hear his voice is at the Moonlit Alcove, a mere few hours later, up in one of the old tower-rooms away from the blackwagon, as Volfred has requested. It's a solemn mood that falls over you all, the mixed realization of how real this all is, the fact that if you don't earn your freedom back one at a time you might never see each other again, how the stars themselves could take near forever before they start turning again...

"Play us something," you hear your friends ask of him, when this weight threatens to overwhelm them too. "A celebration. Something to keep our minds off some things, if you can."

"Of course. Allow me, then," Tariq says, and he does. He sings of cities and soaring through skies, old ghosts and dark seas and standing together, a song more for those left here than for the ones returned to the world above. And if the words only you can understand the meaning of leave you more than a little bit teary-eyed, well, the Nightwings aren't telling.

(they're not against a few group hugs, hearts just as moved by the phrases they don't quite hear and don't quite understand, but then, no one's telling that either.)

Mae is the one who asks about it, in the end.

"Excuse me, mister!" She says. "I think I have a question, a question I'd like to ask you, if I can?"

It's laundry day, much to everyone's chagrin. Various trinkets and belongings have been pushed aside and replaced by the raiments now adorning the blackwagon floor, the rest of the Nightwings gathered around the stacks of colored fabric and bone-white masks. There's a nigh-ridiculous number of the things, multiples of various designs because even if most of the triumvirates have never had as many members to choose from per rite as they do now, the Nightwings of old clearly wanted to be prepared for the possibility regardless. Cleaning and folding the things is three chores in one, and then some. Still, her question at least gives the rest of you an excuse to stop working and direct your curiosity towards one of the quietest members of your group.

"Of course, Mae," Tariq replies, and you all shuffle as discreetly as they can in his direction. "What would you like to know?"

"Well, it's those songs, the songs you sing for us all the time, you see." Mae's gaze is unwavering, and she's smiling. "I think I was wondering about the words! Yes, I was wondering about the words you sing, because... the songs, I think I might understand, just a little bit. But the words, I think I don't quite know what they mean, not exactly, except, I think they are words that the Scribes know. They are words the Scribes have also heard, long ago, are they not?"

Tariq pauses, then; "They are," he confirms. "Or at least, some of them." He tilts his head in her direction, eyes closed as they always seem to be. "It's a language that, last I heard, was outlawed in your Commonwealth many, many years ago."

"It sounds much stranger than Sahrian, to be sure," Hedwyn says. There's a half-finished patch job lying in his lap, and he sweeps the extra string aside. "What's it called?"

"English," Tariq says. "I believe it's also the language the book of rites is written in, as it's the language that dominated the Commonwealth during the time of the Scribes themselves."

Heads immediately turn to you and Volfred, who is smoking his pipe and looking far too amused. For your part, you shrug a little helplessly. You'd never known the name itself before, either.

"So you both know what his songs mean?"

"Indeed, my boy." Volfred lets out a breath. "And many of them bring back memories for me as well, from my past time being part of the Nightwings. I believe it was you, Tariq, that said most of the songs you know to play are as old as the Scribes - am I right?"

"Aye, that is correct."

Ti'zo chirps questioningly, wondering if there is a translation into Sahrian for everyone who isn't a Reader, since he cannot understand English either.

"I'm afraid none of these songs have any, given they nearly vanished along with the language centuries ago, and I've yet to try my own hand at it. If they had any, I would perform them without a doubt. Languages are tricky things." Tariq reaches for his lute. "But if you like, I can explain their meaning while the Reader and Volfred transcribe, if they are willing?"

You are - especially since it's completely escaped your mind that none of them can really understand a word of Tariq's songs, which is something you're ready to fix - as is Volfred. If the look on his face is any indication, even something like this is full of nostalgia to him.

The robes and masks remain on the floor, unsorted for now.

(Later, Mae startles you with a bizarre mix of Sahrian and English in one of her sudden bouts of song, the terms alien to her tongue but flowing through your ears like a warm breeze regardless. Your laugh startles almost everyone in turn, including yourself. You help her through the pronunciations and meanings - Mae is a swift learner, always is, and her smile is as bright as the stars eternally guiding you upward as you do.

If the others listen in turn and prod you about other words, later, it's hardly a bad thing.)