Robert Asprin - Wartorn Obliteration

Bryck was sitting comfortably in the forward room that got light through its windows in the later watches of the day. This house was snug, but he had helped make repairs to it. He was considering planting a fruit tree in the plot of dirt out front, when this encroaching winter was over.

"What's that?" he asked, turning an eye toward Quentis. He knew already by the subtly grave tone that she had something of import on her mind.

Quentis pressed her lips together thoughtfully. Her amber eyes took on a frank cast. After a moment of silence she finally asked, "What is your name?"

Bryck was dumbstruck. He had been "the Minstrel" for so long, he'd grown used to it. Yet how had he neglected to tell Quentis his actual name during this entire past lune? The thought tickled him comically, appealing to some dormant vein of humor, which had once run much nearer the surface.

He kept himself from smiling, knowing that Quentis was being quite serious.

"I am Bryck."

"Bryck?" She seemed to be tasting the name.

"Yes. Bryck of U'delph."

Those eyes blinked slowly. A glimmer came to them, and her expression shifted. "Not the playwright? Chicanery by Moonlight. Glad of Nothing. Not that Bryck of U'delph?"

"Well... yes." He felt a curious embarrassment that he couldn't quite explain to himself.

Quentis regarded him through another longer silence. At last she said, "I've always admired your work."

Now he did smile at her, with a true warmth he hadn't felt for far too long.