Mialla straightened up a little at the request. Simply sing - did not matter if for a baroness or a room full of rowdy peasants, other than in the choice of subject matter. She cleared her throat, took a breath, sang a few wordless notes to be certain of both her voice and the acoustics of the room, then stepped a little to her right, for a better spot. She selected a brief one from her repertoire, the story of a father and a son meeting unknowingly in duel between enemy armies; her voice was clear, filling the room.<br/><br/>Mialla wove the tale skillfully, her song relating the challenge between the two, the traditional exchange of lineages, the realization of the elder he was facing his own son and there was no honorable way not to answer the call. Her tone evoked the sound of spear and sword striking shield and armor, of two men locked in a fight to the death, then held the wonder of the younger realizing only one man would know that his nurse had also been a master of arms. Her face was flushed a little as she finished the story, the last notes fading in the baroness' room, then curtsied politely. "I hope this was to your liking, milady."