A/N: I feel bad because I haven't posted anything in over a month yet again…I am seriously being eaten by my jobs and a lack of inspiration. But anyway…I wrote this last summer and posted it elsewhere, and only now have decided I may as well post it on this site too :) Just a oneshot, no real tie-ins. Only Edward…lol

Musicality

The russet hair of the Troian clerics bobbed to and fro and their skirts flourished into a sea of purple as they danced across their ballroom. Edward's deft plucking of strings kept the crowd entranced in waltz after waltz and he himself was lost in the music. There might be journeyman harpists, vocalists, flutists and trumpeters, but his were the skills to be asked upon whenever a grand occasion came about.

He had lulled a few beautiful maidens to his presence with his expertness; some had even professed their undying love for him before swooning and having to be carried away. Courtiers, villagers, scullery maids, and on occasion, precocious five year olds; but Edward would have none of it.

He had loved once, deeply. Anna was smiles and wit. She could mesmerize with a single glance what he could achieve with a perfect minor chord. And then she was gone, the hole left in his heart a deep chasm almost as deep as the pit surrounding the Tower of Babil.

He had never met anyone who could dance under the stars as Anna had to his playing, wild red hair feathering out in all directions as she spun like a graceful angel. There had been another dancer yes, but she did not love him, and he held only respect for her, not love—the green haired summoner who despite her fear of fire exuded it in almost every way. She would dance to his music with her eyes closed, and a slight grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she remembered things he couldn't imagine. She was a wild thing that never really looked his way, and she was most definitely not his Anna.

Oh, there were dancers and appreciators of his craft in every glen, cove, and country, but recently, he had given up on people and taken another love. He and the object of his affection would steal off in the middle of the day or night, it mattered not when, and he would play until his fingers were raw from the strings. Yes, his harp. It came with him into battle. It followed him on every journey. It had saved his life, saved the lives of his friends, and brought joy to his life on so many occasions. Why not love it?

It was even its own recorder of history. Every person he had known had a song, a melody, a harmony, a chord. They were all trapped in the strings of this magnificent instrument. He would fill the air with sweet, sweet music; ecstasy to himself as the air resonated with notes.

And in the evening he would return to his castle with his new love in hand, and shut himself in his quarters. No one knew the satisfaction he felt at being a bard, so intimately connected to his craft. And when he fell asleep, sliding beneath silky sheets, his harp was with him still, tucked under one arm like a beloved stuffed animal. Even in sleep it sung to Edward. It was indeed the one thing that would never leave him. His friend, his love—his harp.