Nearby soft, rolling hills, with an inn and two mills,
Lays a town of picturesque allure
Where the folk, now worn out had once been, without doubt,
Energetic and gaily demure.
But now men, cows and sheep often go without sleep
Up to several tendays in a row.
For a boorish musician with endless ambition
Ceaselessly is rehearsing his show.
But it’s not in the town that this bard can be found.
Instead o’er the hills you must stray
Where the tunes are so loud they can deafen a crowd
Even one nearly two leagues away.
Though silence is preferred, through the day can be heard
Harp strings plucked with unusual dash.
Yet when day ends at last, a horn blows out a blast
And signals yet another night bash.
Though performed quite serenely, when played so routinely
The harp has long ceased to be charming.
While the horn, blown all night, sends the shadows to flight
And makes quite impossible farming.
Now when all the milk curdled and wives grew infertile
Folk raised up their clubs, staves and shovels
And shouting, “That’s it! We’ll no longer submit!”
Streamed forth from their crude wooden hovels.
Angered faces all flushed, toward the stringing they rushed.
Their intent – have a musical slaughter.
“No more noise!” one man cried, clearly fit to be tied,
“Let us sink that foul harp in the water!”
As they madly protested and summit soon crested
The blacksmith, whose blade was the sharpest,
Mutely mouthing a ‘whoa,’ pointed out down below
A two-headed, horn-blowing harpist
‘Twas a giant they saw, as their mouths sagged in awe,
with two heads - one engrossed in the strumming.
While the other, detached, looked uphill as he scratched
And noticed the enraged townfolk coming.
With no apprehension, the giant rose to attention
And bade the crowd sit in the shade
As they mutually pleaded, “You’re just what we’ve needed
To settle a bet that we’ve made.”
“It’s my poor, mislead brother,” said one head of the other,
“Who needs the assistance, I say.
For he makes up excuses and staunchly refuses
To give up his horn-blowing way.”
“It’s a mind-numbing din that my own blooded kin
Does produce with an effort each night
While my harp, I profess, doesn’t cause such distress.
Please do tell us now which one is right.”
But before a reply could be had came a sigh
As the other head lifted his horn
And snapped with a glare at his brother, “How dare
You complain of my skills with such scorn.”
“For you are too pensive and, frankly, offensive
to listen to day after day.
While you sit, strum, and brood, I enliven the mood
With the bold melodies that I play.”
Like a fine conflagration, their growing frustration
At each other’s music selection
Had burned deep in their soul and consumed, heads to toe,
All remnants of family affection.
Now with fists clenched in rage the two brothers engaged
And thumped on each other with vigor.
The townfolk all scattered before they were spattered
For two-headed giants are bigger.
So they bit, gouged, and rolled – ‘twas a sight to behold –
Devastating the land all around.
And the townsfolk thought, ‘No, if we don’t end this row
Then our town will be razed to the ground.’
Now a red-headed lad the most clever plan had
And he shouted it o’er the commotion.
“There’s a contest,” said he, “in a city, you see,
Called Bentley, eastward by the ocean.”
“While it’s quite a long trudge, there the critics can judge
Whether harpist or horner is finer.”
And with that the brawl ceased, both headlocks were released,
And they looked up, both with a shiner.
Then each giant brother shook hands with the other
And, packing their instruments gently,
Waved goodbye to the throng and set off with a song
For the contest in far away Bentley.
Then the townsfolk all cheered as the lad was revered
For his brilliant and cunning solution.
And, in fact, he was knighted (though no foe was smited)
For removing the town’s noise pollution.
The giant, incidentally, soon arrived in Bentley
With three days to go ere the bardfest
And found accommodations, beyond expectations -
An oversized inn called the Shard Rest.
Approaching the owner (a half-elven loner)
They learned of the contest’s location
And, without any dally, cut down a short alley,
Found the crowd and made proclamation:
“We’re here as musicians in your competition,
to enter and win if we’re able.
My brother plays the horn. Me? Harp since I was born.
Please show us to the sign up table.”
When shown where they should go to compete in the show
By one of the interim sentries
Both the brothers, too proud, strode firmly through the crowd
And registered as separate entries.
For the music one played, the other displayed
An insolent air of disdaining.
But a pact they’d both sworn – day for harp, night for horn -
And promised there’d be no complaining.
Whilst they signed, the crowd sneered and in silence they jeered
The brothers’ unexhibited art.
“What, a giant?” they groaned. “This cannot be condoned.
We must encourage him to depart.”
As the crowd had imparted, that night the noise started,
It began with a loud horn barrage.
It shook the whole city and people cried, “pity!
We don’t need this stinging ear massage!”
The folks ran for cover hoping it would be over.
“Surely our agony will be brief.”
But they were quite dismayed as the horn played and played
And when dawn came they found no relief.
For the sought-after calm in the morn, like a bomb,
Exploded in unforeseen stringing.
Through the day it was heard and went on undeterred
With sporadic stretches of singing.
For two nights and two days the town lived in a haze.
Unable to sleep, they were tired.
They could take it no more so the judges (all four)
Against the giant conspired.
For the winner next day would be hired to play -
A two month long show would begin.
Thus a concerned judge said, “we’ll all be walking dead
If that giant just happens to win.”
So the morn of the fest, a tired clergyman blessed
The bleary-eyed folks in the crowd.
On contestants as well he cast this divine spell:
“Play lively, consistent, and loud.”
The crowd tried their best and, with but little rest,
They strained to enjoy each musician,
Yet recoiled when they saw the giant brothers guffaw
And move to performing position.
Ere one brother could start a judge stood to impart,
“This entry is disqualified!”
While the two-headed giant stood crossly defiant
The gath’ring was quite mollified.
“By what right,” boomed one brother, “do you from another
Decide who can play and who can’t?”
A judge said, “Rules clearly allow one bard merely
Or group to sing, play, dance or chant.”
The horn player glowered and o’er the judge towered
While pensively his brother thought
Then o’er the commotion, he whispered a notion -
And beamed at the smile that it brought.
“Dear judge, your delusion has led to confusion,”
the harpist serenely replied.
“Examine the list, sir, and you’ll have to concur
our entry cannot be denied.”
After close inspection, the judge’s complexion
Turned red and he gritted his teeth.
The harpist with fine hand had signed his name, ‘Brannand.’
‘His brother’ was etched underneath.
To the congregation, the judge, in frustration,
Shrugged and announced, “We’ve another!
Though we have all dreaded this entry - two-headed -
I give you now ‘Brann and his brother!’”
The crowd was dejected as Brannand elected
To begin with an intricate tune.
It was brooding at first but then with a sharp burst
He winked toward his brother and crooned:
A delicate maiden of purest appeal
Would gaze on her suitors and longed to reveal
Her secret desire to break from routine
And do something stirring, unplanned, and obscene
But kept up the ruse of a daughter genteel
To amuse and placate her mother the queen.
Among the young men who sought her hand to wed
Stood tensely a soldier who inwardly pled,
‘Although I wear armor and brandish a sword
This martial existence has left me quite bored.
If she could but see within my heart instead
I’d make her a fine-mannered, indulgent lord.’
When their eyes met each knew the fates had aligned
To bring them together – one coarse, one refined.
Now she hunts for boar while he works at the loom
She carries an axe and he carries a broom.
Which serves to prove when opposites are combined
It may turn out better so never assume.
The horn had resounded – the crowd was astounded –
The notes were no longer appalling.
Alone they played subdued, both unpolished and crude
Together they were quite enthralling.
The sleep they’d not gotten was quickly forgotten -
The crowd brightened with each note they played.
And now they applauded – the brothers were lauded –
For their rhapsodic new serenade
Within days, o’er the land, the sound of this new band
Became an accepted sensation.
And though towns employed them and wholly enjoyed them
Their departure brought on an ovation.
For in places they weren’t the people were current
On sleep and in getting chores finished
For while they had improved to where listeners approved
Their noise level hadn’t diminished.
