EOTI: Himmin

Lachlan did not look up from the ground as Lord Oaklear examined him for a time that seemed to stretch on into infinity. He did not dare to speak again, though, or flick his eyes upward, for such gestures would easily be construed as boldness that was simply inappropriate in the face of a lord. Behind him, both Chancy and Valkyrie stamped nervously at the ground, and though there was no room for him to worry about them now, he knew he would have to mention the odd behavior to Jem at a later time.

At length, Lord Marik Oaklear turned away, bidding both his daughter and Lady Ahlmir come with him, though neither assented to his command. Lachlan closed his eyes, praying that they would not stay on his behalf. Neither should have to pay for his own stupidity, and yet if they continued to ignore Lord Oaklear, it was too much to hope that punishment wouldn’t come to them as well.

When she spoke up, boldly indicating her will not to leave until his wrist had been looked after, Lachlan couldn’t help but to draw in a sharp breath of anticipation. To further enrage her father… she would be doing herself no favor, that much he knew. He had to bite his lip to keep himself from speaking, for it was not his place to tell Miss Oaklear to leave, though he knew that was the path that would lead to the least trouble for her. Fortunately, it was again Lady Ahlmir who spoke up, suggesting a middle ground that both Oaklears could accept.

Even as the two took their leave, as per Lord Oaklear’s order, Lachlan did not look up, and so Cira’s look of apology was wasted. When enough distance had been put between them, Lachlan turned to the side and gathered up the reins of the two skittish horses in his good hand before turning back to Lady Ahlmir. “His lordship is merciful,” he murmured, a shade of disbelief in his voice. Even as he said it, though, he found it easier to look into Chancy’s eyes than over to the noblewoman. “You should not have lied on my behalf… though I thank you for speaking in Miss Oaklear’s defense.” He finally looked over to Cira’s master. “I truly didn’t mean anything by it.”

While Cira reluctantly followed her father who was sure to scold her the moment they were out of earshot, Lady Ahlmir couldn't help but release a heavy sigh. Perhaps the young girl had known the chances she had been taking the moment she had left for the stables, but Cira wasn't likely to be prepared for her father's wrath in the face of what he considered to be an embarrassment. After all, if there was a man alive who could live on ego and image alone, Lady Ahlmir reckoned it was Marik Oaklear.

Turning to the young lad upon whom most of Marik's anger had fallen, Lady Ahlmir tried not to come across as pitying. It was obvious in her face that she held compassion for his situation, but if his words were any indication, he did not wish to be seen as any more trouble than that which he perceived himself to already be. Of course, Lady Ahlmir already understood the truth of the situation in that it had only been through Cira's persistence that he had spoken her name, but she said nothing of it. Instead, she walked slowly over to the young man, speaking both calmly and plainly.

"He is nothing of the sort." She answered back to Lachlan's words regarding Lord Oaklear. However, she didn't expect him to agree with such bold words on her part in the wake of what had happened, and so she reached out with her right hand towards his injured wrist while motioning with her left towards a nearby stump.

"Were I at liberty to decide such things, you would be commended for finally heeding Cira's words, but it is not so. Now please, sit, and allow me to mend your wrist."

As Lachlan complied with her request, albeit with hesitancy, Lady Ahlmir knelt down and gently set his wrist in her palm. It was already beginning to swell, and considering the angle at which it sat, was certainly just as painful as it appeared.

Setting to work, Lady Ahlmir conjured a hazy blue glow between her hands while she moved her fingers about in a manor that seemed almost whimsical. Suppressing Lachlan's pain while she shifted, set, and mended the bone, Lady Ahlmir found herself working side by side with the signals running through his nerves and brain. Within that realm she could experience his emotions first hand, and though she chose not to do so out of both privacy and practicality, there was something there which she could not ignore.

Closing her eyes to concentrate further, Lady Ahlmir did her best to root out the source of the seemingly foreign sensation. It ebbed and flowed in sync with her magic, much like candle flames tended to pull together when one was placed near the other, and to that effect, she could guess at its nature: magic.

Finishing with the healing of Lachlan's wrist, Lady Ahlmir again opened her eyes and smiled. Lachlan was Common-born and well beyond the average age of manifestation for a Mage's magic, but she was quite certain of what she had felt. However, her certainty did not go beyond the fact that it was in fact magic, for she hadn't been able to pinpoint the nature of it, and not for lack of trying. Whatever it was, it raised more questions than answers, and so she betrayed nothing of it either on her face on in her words.

"It is likely to be sore for about a week, but by this evening the swelling should have gone down."

Though free to do so, the old woman did not return to her feet, instead making sure she had Lachlan's full attention before she spoke again.

"Listen Lachlan, perhaps it is best that you heed Lord Oaklear's words, but only for now. I understand it likely isn't your desire to see Cira bare trouble on your behalf, but she will do so willingly. Not I, nor you, can change that, and that is most certainly her wish."

Finally standing, Lady Ahlmir offered Lachlan her hand.

"I beg you, if she speaks to you again, do not shun her for her sake. She is certain to feel guilty for what has happened here tonight, and if she so ventures to speak with you again, you can be sure that it is only with the certainty that she will not be bringing such harm on you again."

“He is nothing of the sort.”

Lachlan couldn’t help himself. He looked up to the Lady Ahlmir upon her quiet yet harsh appraisal of Lord Oaklear. It more than surprised him. It was a shock, especially coming from one so close to the Oaklear family. Whether it was wise to show such was not in question, but some of the astonishment shone through on his face anyway. He did not respond, though, for though he was not bound in any way to Lady Ahlmir, she was still his superior. And her opinion was to be respected. In the back of his mind, though, Lachlan could not help but to continue to wonder at her answer. Lord Oaklear had possessed every right to be furious, and Lachlan knew with dread certainty that he was indeed fortunate not to have been whipped for what he’d done. He’d gotten off light. Not only that, but Lord Oaklear had allowed Lady Ahlmir to stay and mend his wrist. If that was not mercy….

When Lady Ahlmir reached for his hand and gestured for him to sit, though, Lachlan felt his stomach turn over with nerves. Unease washed over him at the thought of allowing magic to mend the broken bones in his wrist. Dusk was right. He was anxious at the mere thought of magic, and yet he did his best not to show it, sitting up as straight as he could and not flinching as Lady Ahlmir began her work.

The process took some time, but the noblewoman remained silent throughout. Lachlan did not interrupt, not so much as move a muscle as she worked for fear of disrupting her concentration. As she worked, he mentally resolved not to tell Dusk any of the day’s occurrences, and least of all this. The last thing he needed was an over-exuberant Dusk telling him exactly what he should have done differently and exactly what Dusk himself would have done, had he been here. It was too much to hope that he wouldn’t hear whispers of it eventually, though, for Lachlan was certain that someone would have witnessed it. Word would work its way around the estates and then the village of Himmin soon enough, unfortunately.

"It is likely to be sore for about a week, but by this evening the swelling should have gone down."

“Thank you,” Lachlan said quietly, looking down and rubbing his wrist gently. He couldn’t help but examine the wrist, though of course the injury had been below the skin. It was an odd sensation… to know that the bones beneath had been broken moments ago but where now whole.

He looked up again as Lady Ahlmir continued speaking. And her words were nearly as unexpected as her first. Accepting her hand as he pulled himself to his feet, Lachlan eyed the Lady with something akin to bewilderment in his eyes. “I… I don’t understand,” he said, at a loss for words. “Miss Oaklear is…” Why would she willingly bear trouble on his behalf? He shook his head and looked down, his brow crinkling in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he finally stammered. “What happened was my fault. But why would Miss Oaklear…?”

Lachlan’s quick reversion to his more formal means of addressing Cira didn’t surprise Lady Ahlmir in the least, however she knew that were Cira herself to hear it, such a thing would only add further frustration to the situation. In dealing with her father’s rage, Lady Ahlmir was certain that the girl would learn that she was going to have to accept Lachlan’s stubborn formality if for nothing but a means of preserving his safety, but it would still serve to build upon the strain between the father-daughter pair of Marik and Cira. The consequences of something so simple were great, yet Cira had sought something which to her was worth the risk. It was that which she sought that seemed to have poor Lachlan so confused, and so Lady Ahlmir placed her hand on his shoulder, and did her best to explain.

“You misunderstand, Lachlan. Cira will not see what you did as a thing to be faulted for. Rather, you did her a favor, and she is seeing to it that the debt repaid.”

Yes, the young Oaklear daughter was most certainly not one to leave any kindness unpaid, and though Lachlan knew nothing of it, his had been a kindness that she was sure to cherish. Though the people in her life were plentiful, there were few Lady Ahlmir had heard Cira speak of as friends. When she did however, it was always one of the several who were willing to speak to her on a personal level, for she cherished few things more in a world where he father preferred to keep her on a pedestal in the eyes of others. Therefore, with Lachlan having been someone whom Cira respected herself, for him to step beyond the invisible social barrier that kept her isolated would have been nothing short of both a gift and a favor; one that she was unlikely to take lightly.

Lachlan puzzled over Lady Ahlmir’s words, but in the end they did not clear up the questions that Cira’s persistent requests had brought up. Why did she see favor where her father saw offense? That was the essence of the question, and yet now that he’d found words to express his confusion, he found himself unwilling to further question the noblewoman. It was no more his place to question Lady Ahlmir about her apprentice than it was to question Lord Oaklear’s authority.

It took all of his willpower, however, not to speak his mind in the matter. Lady Ahlmir had asked him not to shun her apprentice, should she ever wish to speak to him again. Her choice of wording stung, though Lachlan could not pinpoint the exact reason for this. Perhaps it was the absurdity he saw in her seeking out his company again, especially in the wake of Lord Oaklear’s warning. He did not wish to displease either Oaklear and yet that now seemed an inevitability, should he ever again come into contact with Cira Oaklear.

What was truly maddening, though, was the knowledge that it had been he who’d had the gall to initiate this ill-fated meeting with Cira. Who was he to do such a thing? No, it would be foolish to anger Lord Oaklear further… which simply brought him back to the beginning of his questions. How could father and daughter view one situation so differently?

“If it is truly a service I have done her…” It was then that the revelation hit him. She had sought his companionship, nothing more and nothing less. That had been the reason for her persistence, her unnerving questions. She’s alone, he thought, and bitter understanding came with it. To have so much… and yet to still feel alone would be….

“Miss Oaklear should seek the company of those her father approves of,” he said at length, looking up to Lady Ahlmir. “Of her equals.” He hesitated, then looked over to Chancy and Valkyrie, who stood silently to the side. “And if she would like to continue riding lessons… I suggest she speak with Master Jem. He will find her a suitable instructor. It would be a shame to waste such natural talent.”

A sympathetic expression on her face that was accented by the soft glow of the pre-evening sun, Lady Ahlmir fought back a sigh in the wake of Lachlan’s words. Cira would be devastated to know that her father had once again managed to remove her from the company of which she sought, but even more so considering that Lachlan would have it be so. Of course, for him to take any other stance was just as dangerous as it was foolhardy, and since Cira knew it to be so, she would take his words with grace. Beyond the public eye however, things would not be so simple.

“I would convey your suggestion, but it is one that she has heard time and time again. It may not seem so, but the girl does have a quiet stubbornness in her that I can do nothing to quell. Besides, it has been a while since I’ve seen her smile as she did not a moment before Lord Oaklear interrupted, and that is not something I would have her forget.”

Nodding meaningfully, Lady Ahlmir reached out and stroked each of the horses’ necks before speaking again.

“As for her riding, I shall do my best to convince her to pursue it. Jem is an able rider and would suit just fine to her tutor. You however, seem to have a natural talent with horses that is most remarkable. From what I hear, the same is to be said regarding the hunting dogs.” Having lost her point as she trailed off into thought, it was a couple dazed seconds before she drew herself back into the present with an apologetic smile.

“Forgive me, my praise is likely out of place. You’re free to return home, Lachlan, and don’t worry: I’ll see to it that no further trouble comes your way. I’m certain Cira desires no less.”

The Council chamber hummed with a quality of conversation which was rare within the circular underside of the large, hallowed out mountain. Genial voices raised compliments and congratulations while handshakes were exchanged in place of the usual querulous tones and shaking fists. Today no perspective laws were being examined, no matter of Common policy being argued over. Instead, a group of young Mages had officially been given over to the instruction of their new masters. The young ones stood at their masters’ sides, some beaming with pride at finally being accepted into the greater world of the Mages and greeting the Council members’ congratulations with nods of appreciation. Others, seemingly more shy, hung back, watching the proceedings with wide eyes; they seemed content to allow their masters to take all of the congratulations that was thrust in at them from all sides.

The young ones came in a variety of ages, ranging from no more than eleven or twelve years old up to nearly seventeen or eighteen in some cases. They came from all corners of the world as well, ranging from the dark haired and hard faced Treagans to the fairer youths from Lochsalan. The Ra’ans, ever a charismatic race, seemed to stand out among the others, rarely hesitating to engage in conversation or accept a compliment; but among the group of new apprentices there was one sandy-haired boy whose watery blue eyes darted around with frightening rapidity. Slight of frame and seemingly wishing to blend into the crowd so as not to be seen, the boy carried the unmistakable look of a Khorsan.

In the midst of the press of bodies surrounding the apprentices and masters standing in the center of the chamber, High Mage Katya made her way towards one particular Mage, who stood with one hand wrapped protectively around his apprentice’s shoulder. “Congratulations, Master Lorne,” she said formally, inclining her head to the man as the young man trailing behind her nodded in a friendly manner to Lorne’s new apprentice—the nervous looking Khorsan.

Lorne bowed appreciatively, his long black hair falling in curtains around his face as he murmured his thanks to the High Mage. “As always, my first concern remains your safety, High Mage. My new station will not affect my first duty.”

“I am sure you are up to the task, Lorne. You have yet to fail me.”

“Master,” the lad at Katya’s side spoke up, looking up from a silver pocket watch on a chain he’d been examining. “Master, you’ve an appointment with Lady Ahlmir.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you Ensign. You may remain behind for now.”

The boy grinned at the unexpected moment of freedom, and quickly disappeared into the crowd as Katya moved off in a different direction, soon making her way out of the Council chamber and away from the hubbub of the crowd altogether. Making her way out from the underside of the mountain, Katya strode across the sandy white beaches to the tower that had been the home of each and every High Mage since the inception of the Council. Dahlia was a punctual soul, and if she hadn’t already been on the Myrr for the reception of this new group of apprentices, Katya was sure she would be waiting just outside the High Mage’s office at the top of the tower.