The Academy (closed)

[saedo]

Closed for Cherubian


Tarascon stood at head of the elven delegation and focused his will on remaining impassive. Appearances mattered, so the grimace lurking behind his calm demeanor had to be suppressed. He couldn't let the ache in his leg be mistaken for negativity. Certainly not while King Roland was speaking.

The human monarch, ever fond of speeches, was giving an extensive welcome to the elves. A small contingent of students and instructors had been invited to spend the year at the Royal Academy of War. The notion was His Highness' pet project and he was clearly determined to put a kingly shine on it.

Judging by the row of human faces opposite him, Roland's efforts were having mixed results. While appropriately deferential to their monarch, some of the humans showed Tarascon fleeting glimpses of distrust or even anger when their eyes met. Clearly not everyone at the Academy welcomed the elven presence.

Would that Tarascon could say otherwise about his own brethren. In the weeks it had taken to traverse the distance between the two capitals, he'd gotten a good overview of the elves in his company. Like some of the humans, there were some with optimistic outlooks, but others carried more dour expectations. Of perhaps more concern were those who Tarascon knew regarded their human counterparts as clumsy brutes little better than orcs and thus considerably inferior to elves. Not only was such attitudes not conducive to cooperation, but it played right into the human stereotype that all elves were arrogant and pompous. He knew well the disdain some of his fellow travelers carried for the humans.

This entire enterprise was held together solely the political and social influence that currently held sway. King Roland had nearly two decades ago created the peace accords that had ended the nearly two centuries of conflict between the two nations. The cycle of uneasy truces breached every half dozen years or so by one side or the other had seemed endless till Roland had extended an olive branch. That the peace had held as long as it had was testament to the King's charisma amongst his people.

But Roland was no longer a young man. Tarascon - whose own blond locks had long ago faded to white - could remember the dark-bearded, broad-shouldered human when he was newly ascended to the throne and boldly persuading all as to the merits of peace. He could still see that serious young king in those brown eyes. But the mantle of leadership had bowed the King's shoulders. His face was creased and the beard was now as white and wispy as a cloud. Tarascon could see that King Roland had limited years left.

The question then became what would happen after he was gone. While few openly decried the peace, the rumors indicated that a substantial minority whispered of the foolishness of trusting an elf. Tarascon knew a small subset of his elven brethren held similarly dim views. Too little time had passed to fully assuage the grudges of old to ensure that the peace would hold on its own. If Roland's successor did not actively support peace, the warmongers on both sides of the border would have the opportunity they needed to undo it.

Thus had Roland conceived this last gambit. Every human nobleman sent their children to the Academy. Likewise, many of the elven students hailed from the Five Great Houses. These youth would be persons of influence in time. If learning alongside their opposites might teach them respect and tolerance, then their influence might help preserve the peace.

Not that King Roland had said anything of the sort. To publicly acknowledge the fragility of the peace could only hasten its demise. Tarascon perceived Roland's strategy merely because one did not survive as many battles as he had without acquiring a keen insight into how an opponent thinks. Publicly, this was merely a gesture of goodwill in honor of the Treaty of the Elishandor - named after the broad, greenish brown river separating the two lands.

Certainly his students had no idea that the fate of nations might turn on them. He glanced down the row. By years, they nearly matched wizened King Roland, but by elven standards they were equivalent to the human teenagers standing opposite. Physically they were fully developed, but to Tarascon's practiced eye, they all had considerable growing up to do.

Particularly Aeshallyn. The lovely young elf's presence concerned him. She was one of his favorite students. She had taken to the blade as if born for it. Few of the other students could last more than a dozen moves with her. By all rights, she should be one of the celebrated champions amongst the cadets.

But with her great skill seemed to come at the cost of personality. Despite her years of study alongside her fellows, she seemed to have few if any friends. Despite being a striking beauty, she seemed to have a quizzical lack of suitors. She tended towards reserve and formality; she regularly introduced herself with her full name - Aeshallyn Sumsanque Eithellan Raersha - a practice best described as quaintly stuffy for everyday conversation. She did not suffer fools gladly and quickly grew bored with weaker opponents. Tarascon was among the small minority whom she apparently respected or cared enough for to interact with; the majority of the world she just seemed to tolerate.

In short, Aeshallyn seemed poorly suited for this foreign locale. If her own classmates found her aloof, what would the gregarious humans think of her? The hope was that these elves and humans might learn to work together; Aeshallyn's solitary nature seemed a poor candidate for such a task.

If Tarascon had his way, a more socially engaging student would have attended in her stead, but Aeshallyn's family was too close to the Royal Court for him to leave her behind. He could only hope that Aeshallyn could adapt to the setting.

Tarascon turned from his thoughts to King Roland as the monarch at last concluded his welcoming remarks. Time for him to speak.

"Your Majesty, I bring greetings and the warmest regards from Asasani Quel'dan Terasgar Monesheh'la Shunaqu... " Unfortunately, the dictates of protocol required an almost equally lengthy set of remarks accepting the invitation to attend the Academy. Tarascon ignored the throb of standing still for so long. At least after this the banquet could begin. A decent meal and a good night's sleep would have him well fortified for the start of classes tomorrow.

 

[Cherubian]

Aeshallyn's gaze only casually glanced the servant leading the way for her. Livreed in the typical brown and gold colors of the academy he was barely distinguishable from his brethren to start with, which in her current state of mind reduced him to no more than a convenient tool, one that would her show the path to her chamber, allowing her to finally get some much wanted rest. She had retired early from the banquet for the same reason, the idle chatter that filled the great hall like the buzzing of an insect swarm and all the pretended friendliness not being something she found desirable in the least. She was a solitary creature, and the last hour just had cemented that belief.

Her lack of social grace was unusual for one of her kind, but so was most of her. She was gifted. A blessing that had felt like a curse many a time in her short years. The eithel was a rare boon among the elves, with maybe one child in a century showing the potential. And it was a boon that would fade quickly if not detected and nurtured at an early age. As a daughter of Zeridan Gynjalhon, head of house Raertha, her screening had been routine, and the positive news was received with joy. However it also meant a lost childhood for her, days filled with intense training, meditation, and exercise while her contemporaries were allowed to playfully enjoy their youth and slowly eased into adulthood.

Countless were the times she had nearly despaired of the strict regimen she underwent, drilling iron discipline and self control into her, taking up most of her waking hours. But the moment she first had managed to awaken that mystical source within her she knew it had all been worth it. That perfect union of spirit and flesh, that being one with her surroundings, the utmost precision and speed her body moved with were overwhelming at first. Her determination to continue her training to best aid her people in time of need was renewed, invigorated even. What once had taken an hour of deep trance nowadays came to her with the ease of flexing a muscle, and she well understood the responsibility such a blessing brought with it.

All the more of a surprise it had been to her when her father had called her and told her she was to visit the royal academy for a year. What could she possibly learn here? Wouldn't it interfere more with her training than it aided her? She knew little outside the art of battle, and certainly did not understand the political nuances that required her presence. Her father just had made it clear to her that one member of the family had to attend, their status demanding it, and that her two elder brothers were too important in aiding his reign to be sent away for any extended period of time. She suspected her lack of political insider knowledge also played a role. Secrets she did not know she also could not carelessly betray. His sincere "You will make us proud" at her departure was little consolation.

Still, what good could she possibly do in this place? The heavy, thick stone of the walls felt oppressing, the practical but scarce furnishings unloving and impersonal. Cold. The only saving grace so far being the glimpses of the nearby forest she had caught through the windows. "Here are your quarters ... mylady" The servant clearly was struggling for the correct way to address her as he came to a halt in the middle of another long corridor and with his head bowed extended one hand towards an open door. Not only were female students the minority here, he also had no idea about the titles used in elven nobility.

Aeshallyn did not pay him much attention and instead stepped into what would be her room for the next twelve months. A yard inside she came to a halt and let her eyes wander around. Al the furnishings were robust and of solid craftsmanship, but also oh so crude and plump of shape. Cupboards, a table, some chairs, there in the corner on another table a wash bowl and a canteen with water, some cloth piled neatly next to it. In front of her bed a small pile was formed of her luggage, and there at the opposite wall...

She turned towards the servant "There must have been a misunderstanding. Some other student's belongings have been piled atop my guest bed." Not to mention there was no separator between the two.

"Ehm ... mylady ... " the servant began, intently studying the pointed tips of his shoes. Clearly this student was not only aloof but also quite ignorant of the customs of the academy. And now the unenviable task to break the bad news to her fell upon him. Not much he could do about that, though, so best get it over with quickly.

"This is in fact no guest bed. It is common practice that the students of the academy room together with at least one comrade."

Aeshallyn's brow furrowed, her crystal blue eyes taking on a dangerous glint for a fraction of a second as her gaze bore into the miserable man. "So I am expected to share these sparse lodgings with someone else? But these items do not strike me as elven!" Her arm shot out to point towards the luggage, mostly crafted from coarse leather.

"Well..." the servant cleared his throat, fearing a violent outburst at any moment. The ice cold stare he was mustered with, however, was at least as frightening. "it has been the special request of Her Majesty King Roland ... " not his idea, so could she please spare him " ... that each elven student share the room with a human one" He studied Aeshallyn with trepidation "So the two ... people can ... get to know ... each other better..." Under heavy stammering his sentence was concluded.

He feared the worst, having seen much from human nobility in his years of service, but all he got was a completely blank face baring any emotion, and a hint of a nod. In her way that elven lady was scary as hell.

"That is all then..." and without a further word she strode towards her bed and turned, her behind gracefully descending onto the sheets. The man, glad to be relieved, wasted no time getting out of her field of vision. Aeshallyn however, just sat there for more than a full minute, staring at the bleak gray wall, trying to process what had just happened to her.

 

[saedo]

"An'kin?"

Tarascon glanced up from his book. "Yes, Daeron?"

The elvish male bobbed his light brown head at the acknowledgement. "An'kin, I believe your presence may be required in the student barracks. There is a dispute between an elvish and human student that is gathering some attention. As I left, the Academy Steward was being summoned."

Tarascon sighed. Not even half a day here and already a conflict? This did not bode will for King Roland's experiment. "Which of our party is involved?"

"Aeshallyn, An'kin."

Tarascon's sigh turned to a groan. Of all the elvish students, it would have to be her. "Very well," he groused as he rose to his feet. "Lead the way." He grabbed his walking stick on the way out. After the extended time standing in place at tonight's ceremonies, his old injury was aching.

The trip from from the instructors' quarters to the student barracks took several minutes. Daeron used the time to fill him in on what little he knew of the burgeoning argument. Since that wasn't much, he followed that up with voluminous details of his first day at the Academy. Tarascon smiled at the onslaught of information. Daeron was often likened to various types of songbirds given his propensity for chatter. Still, the hazel-eyed boy had a relentless charm that few could resist.

"And Braxton - that's my roommate - told me that along the Greyrock coast, they sail in ships with masts over 100 feet high. Can you imagine the size of such a vessel, An'kin? Perhaps one day I will travel abroad as you have and see such sights."

"Perhaps, Daeron," Tarascon murmurred. Such a fate befalling the boy would hardly surprise him. Already the boy had made friends with his human roommate. Would be all his students had similar gregarious tendencies.

They entered the multi-story barracks. The structure was clearly not as well-appointed as that enjoyed by the instructors, but the hallways were clean and the air was free of the damp chill outside. Tarascon followed the boy to the second floor.

The location of the disturbance was easy to spot. A small crowd of humans and elves gathered in the hallway about a quarter of the way down. At the center stood a heavy-set man of middle age with a grey mustache. The older man's gaze was currently alternating between a lanky young man with reddish hair and a petite elvish girl with golden waves. Judging by his narrowed eyes, the elder man's patience for the current situation was nearing its end.

The young man currently held the bulk of the attention. He was on the taller side for a human, but a bit narrowly proportioned compared to the broad-shouldered knights Tarascon was used to encountering. Perhaps that accounted for the light baritone in his displeased ranting.

"But Sir, the situation is untenable! I cannot possibly be expected to share a room with-." The boy paused as he turned to glare at Aeshallyn and point an accusatory finger at her. "-with this!"

Tarascon repressed a sigh and pounded his walking stick against the wooden planking. A dozen heads turned in his direction. Upon seeing his face, the elven students immediately fell back along the wall and bowed their heads. Their human counterparts likely had no idea who the elder elf was, but implicitly recognized that such an obvious display of deference was worth heeding; they melted back along the wall to clear his path.

The veteran elf stepped forward to the trio at the center of attention. "I am one of the instructors," he declared. "What is the cause of this commotion?"

"Jon Beckinsale," the grey-haired man responded. "Chief Steward." He nodded towards the pair of students. "Seems we have a bit of disagreement over the room assignments."

"I should say so!" groused the lanky youth. Aeshallyn remained silent, her mouth clamped shut in a tight frown. She clearly shared her companion's displeasure for the situation, but at least had the discipline not to whine about it.

Tarascon turned his gaze up to the redhead. Of average height for an elf, this meant the tall young man had several inches on him. "And what is the problem?"

The lad almost sputtered in trying to answer. "She - she's a woman!"

Tarascon turned to the diminutive Aeshallyn and gave her a thorough visual inspection. Turning his gaze back to the youth, he nodded. "Yes. Yes she is," he observed, as if this were a fresh discovery.

His tone prompted a few snickers behind him at the preposterous of the notion that one could fail to notice Aeshallyn's gender. Short for an elf, the blonde could almost be mistaken for a child - allmost, save for the impressive magnificence of her bosom. While well-proportioned elven women weren't particularly unusual, but Aeshallyn's pale mounds exceeded such normal definitions by a vast margin. Even though she still wore the rather restrictive dress armor from this evening's banquet, the abundance beneath the dark leather was undeniable. A man would have to be blind not to immediately identify Aeshallyn as female.

The boy quickly gleaned that Tarascon was having a bit of fun at his expense. His mouth clamped shut and his ears turned nearly as crimson as his hair.

The elder elf paid him no mind, but instead to the Steward. "It was my understanding that the female students would be housed together."

The Steward shrugged, which set off a resounding jiggle in his prodigious gut. "They are. But how was I supposed to know who was what? Elvish might as well be birdsong for all I recognize it. That I guessed right as to any of their names is a a minor miracle in my book." He shrugged again. "Any how, nothing we can do about it now. All the student rooms are filled right now, so it's not like I've got anywhere to put her." Another shrug. "Maybe in a month or two - we usually have some dropouts by then."

Tarascon shrugged, unable to resist the Steward's signature expression. "So be it. An unfortunate situation, but life is full of such." He turned to the displeased roommates. "You two will have to make do in the meantime."

"I will have to do no such thing!" barked the boy. "I am Calvin Montrose, second son of Lord Geoffery Montrose, Earl of Cavendish. My family has attended the Academy for six generations! I shall not have my family's dignity insulted in this manner, least of all by some decrepit dandelion!"

The slur elicited several muted gasps from the elvish students. The flower reference had its roots in one of the earliest conflicts between humans and elves, but in the centuries since had become one of a vast collection of pejorative terms for an elf. (The elves had a similarly-sized lexicon of insults for humans.) Tarascon assumed the "decrepit" portion was aimed at the way he was leaning on his walking staff. His leg did ache.

Tarascon looked up at the haughty youth, his face as serene as the moon. Then he smiled.

A moment later, young Calvin Montrose found himself looking up into the pale blue eyes of the elf towering above him. It took him a few heartbeats to realize the height difference was the result of him lying on his back on the floor. But how had he gotten here?

The elder elf smiled down at the boy. "Since we're making introductions, allow me to reply in kind. I am Tarascon." This time a chorus of gasps erupted from the human students. After nearly two centuries of warfare, few elvish names appeared with quite so frequently in the tales of battle as that one.

Tarascon continued on as if he hadn't noticed. "Of course, you might as well forget that, for there is not yet one among you worthy of addressing me or any of the other teachers as an equal. Till you have proven yourself otherwise, you will address with the respect we are due or not at all. Understood?"

Calvin's eyes - wide as saucers - stared up at the white-haired elf. He'd been raised on stories of Tarascon - the Golden Devil, the Blood Shadow, the Dancer of Death. Even recognizing that they were no more than ghost stories, seeing the villain manifest before him awakened tendrils of childhood nightmares. "Y-yes," he responded.

A moment later, Calvin found himself with a throbbing pain in his left temple. "Yes, what?" inquired the snow-haired elf, the same pleasant smile on his face.

"Yes, Instructor."

"Good," responded Tarascon. "Now, as to your accommodations, if the current arrangement is unsatisfactory, perhaps the good Steward could find you a berth in the stables."

Chuckles from the assembled crowd ensued and even the grim Aeshallyn. It did not go unnoted. Tarascon glanced at her, and added, "Of course, given King Roland's desire for international cooperation, perhaps you should likewise join Calvin to properly share in the experience. Is that what you two would prefer?"

For perhaps the first time, the two acted in unison - shaking their heads no.

Tarascon nodded. "Then it's settled. You two will share the room as designated by the good Steward until such time as other arrangements can be made."

He turned to face the students behind him. "That being settled, I will retire to my quarters. I suggest you students do likewise. You all have busy days in the morning. Particularly those of you in my class." He strode back the way he came, his walking staff making regular taps on the wooden floor.

 

[Cherubian]

The old elf’s attack came without warning, an almost imperceptible blur of movement framed by poses of stillness. Aeshallyn would have been as completely surprised as the rest of the bystanders if it had not been Tarascon himself who had taught her for many years how to watch out for the ever subtle signs that preceded any attack, be it the surprising swipe of a walking stick or the swing of a sword on the battle field. To know about the enemy’s plan before it is executed is the key to victory.

And while the venerated teachers body was starting to show the first signs of the eventual fading no one, not even the long lived elves, could avoid forever, his mind appeared as sharp and quick as ever. Aeshallyn could not fully suppress the feeling of satisfaction as she witnesses the humbling of that arrogant human loudmouth. How could he dare to insult the best of her teachers?

She still remembered the day she had first bested him in a spar. There had been no pride in that moment, it had felt almost like sacrilege. More so as she was well aware that it was not skill that had led her to victory that day or the days that followed, but the mere dumb and undeserved luck of being the beneficial recipient of some strange, barely understood boon of nature that almost felt like cheating at times like this. She might be able to move faster than him, fire up her reflexes such that time seemed to slow down around her, but her movement still lacked the perfect fluidity and efficiency of his. Next to the gray haired warrior she felt awkward and clumsy. There was so much he still had to teach her. So much she wanted to learn from him. But instead she would have to suffer the pointless lessons – if they could be called that – of a group of conceited humans. The program demanded it. She was tempted to associate an expletive with that unwelcome program in her mind.

Not only that, it also demanded that she share a room with that adolescent git who had dared to insult one of the few persons she truly respected, almost revered. It did not matter that he had already been punished for his insolence.

But there was no point in protesting, as Tarascon himself had made abundantly clear. So she took the only option that was left to her, wordlessly turned on the spot and strode off through the still open door of her future lodgings, approaching the pile that was made out of her bags in front of her bed. As she picked up the topmost of them she could hear that Calvin Montrose shuffle into the room behind her.

Momentarily she stopped and turned to look at her roommate. The obstacle. What was clear to her need not be clear to his boastful self, so she better clarify right away.

“Since we have to share this room I am operating under the assumption that everything in this half …” her arm indicated an invisible line across the center of the room “… is my territory, and there is no need for you to trespass.” That would work for the back half, at least, which contained the beds and the cupboards. The front half near the door, with washbasin on one side and table plus chairs on the other was another matter, which prompted her to add “And we will surely find an acceptable way to share these.” her hand briefly waving towards the potentially contested property.

That was all there was to be said, and before Calvin could even start to formulate a reply her back was to him again, and she began to lift the first of her garments out of her bag and into the cupboard, starting the first neatly arranged pile.

~*~​

About ten minutes later her task was done, her bags empty and stowed away in the bottom of the now fully fitted cupboard. All of them except for one slender elongated one she had placed onto the top shelf. By that time the room’s small windows only showed darkness. A clear indication that it was time to start her nightly rest. She never was one for nightly carousing. Her training schedule had demanded a fresh and early rise, something she had internalized, also something that clashed with staying up late – a fact that had contributed to estrange her even further from her contemporaries.

Only how to go about washing herself and then sleeping? She was not accustomed to wearing any clothes in bed. This had not been problematic in the past, but now she was sharing the room with a male. A human male. How should she deal with that situation? Her eyes began to dart around the Spartan room, already scanning for anything that might be useful. To create a screen maybe. Or some blanket to keep her covered, while …

Stop!

It felt almost like a snap as she reigned in her own tumbling thoughts. What was she doing here? Coolly and sharply she analyzed the situation. That human in the room only was a problem because she allowed him to be one. Because she allowed his very presence to bother and inhibit her. Her own unwarranted concerns empowered him beyond his station. That was not something he did deserve. All he did deserve was to be ignored whenever possible.

Her mind made up, the situation clarified – for her at least – Aeshallyn began to disrobe. First the latches of the ceremonial leather armor were undone, the item finally placed on the small rack erected right next to the cupboard for that very purpose. Then she slipped out of her moccasin like shoes, placing them neatly next to each other beneath. And finally her hands reached to seam of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one fluid motion and granting Calvin the first sight of her toned and perfectly shaped naked back, the roundness of her ample bosom peeking out on both sides. Once the shirt was folded on her chair her thumbs tucked into her waistband of her pants and pulled downward, bending forward as the tight fitting garment slid along her legs, all the while presenting a firm pair of buttocks to her roommate.

Once that also was taken care of, the slender well endowed elven girl, now completely naked, turned and took the two steps necessary to reach the washbasin. With routine motions she lifted the canteen and poured some of the fresh cool water, before dipping one of the washcloths into the basin. “I will take the green one” she commented without even establishing eye contact before she began to run the wet cloth over her smooth, silken skin.