An Unusual Situation, 3/?
Nov. 20th, 2013 04:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pennie_dreadful posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
last_herald_mageI am terribly sorry that this ended up being so late; life happened in a big and completely not awesome way and I was totally cut off from the internet for a while.
Previous Chapter
It was an interminable wait, with nothing to do but just stand there with the whole courtroom staring at him while the Bardic Circle decided his fate. He thought almost longingly of the prison wagon; at least no one could see him inside of it. At least then he’d still had the tiniest crumb of hope.
At least he hadn’t known that Herald bloody Vanyel was what he was riding towards—gods, didn’t the man have some demons to slay? What the hell was so damn terrifying and important about Stefen that he warranted this kind of attention? All right, so maybe he really did have this Gift—and he shuddered in memory of the small “performance” he’d been subjected to—but was what he’d done really that bad? Although it was nice to finally know what the hell was going on, but it wasn’t like it mattered because he really was still fucked. He was a stupid, naïve, cocksure idiot to ever think he’d stood a chance of getting out of this.
And now the Bards and Herald Vanyel were coming back in the courtroom. Stefen’s stomach clenched, and he swallowed hard. When he heard the sentence of probation, he felt almost faint with shock and relief, but then—What the hell? Admitted to the Collegium? Stef didn’t have the first clue what a collegium was, and he didn’t like the sound of it, but then he noticed that the one Bard who had really seemed to have it out for him looked like a wet cat—coldly furious and full of bedraggled dignity. Huh. So, he doesn’t like what’s been decided, which means…what, exactly? But the Herald wasn’t done talking, he realized.
“We hope you understand that this is not a reward. This is a second chance,” Herald Vanyel said earnestly. “If you ever again use your Gift to take advantage of people or break the law, we will have no choice but to expel you from the Collegium and put you back in jail, and possibly have your Gift permanently removed, depending in the severity of the offense. I promise you that would not be pleasant, and there is every possibility you could be damaged in the process. I remand you now into the custody of Bard Breda, who is charge of the apprentices. She has agreed to stand surety for you while you are on probation.”
The guardswoman took the chains off his wrists, and he stood there, rubbing where they had chafed, while everyone in the courtroom got up and started leaving. Bard Breda, a middle aged woman with short, graying brown hair, made her way over to him from the dais and said, “All right, let’s get you sorted.”
She glanced at the group of people milling about the main entrance, then took his arm and steered him through the side door she and the other Bards had used. From there it was a maze of doorways and corridors, then out into the streets of Haven.
“First things first: we’ll get you into uniform, grab a late lunch, and find out how much you already know and what classes you’ll need to take,” she told him. “I’m not going to lie to you; right now it may seem that you’ve landed in the cream, but there may very well be times in the future you’d wish you were back in jail. And I’m not talking about all the things you’ll need to learn to catch up with your year group.” She gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. “Over half of the Gifted Bardic trainees are from highborn families. And there are plenty more unGifted highborn who are there to study music or just to take the general classes. The rest are a mix of commoners, some from wealthy families, some not, but, ah, it’s safe to say you are going to become fairly notorious….“
Stefen said nothing to this. He was still trying to figure out what was going on. It seemed completely impossible, but…it almost sounded like they meant to turn him into a Bard. And that couldn’t be true. Could it?
Breda seemed a little taken aback by his lack of reaction, but Stefen had learned a long time ago that when you didn’t know what was happening, the worst thing to do was admit the fact. Better to stall and try to figure it out on your own. But the Bard pursed her lips, and kept talking. And the more she talked about what it took to become a Bard, the more he thought they really did mean to make him one. Why else would she be telling him all this?
Being a Bard was more than just being a superior musician and having the Gift, it seemed. Breda said that sometimes Bards acted as diplomats, or they held important positions in the royal court, so Bards had to be well mannered and well educated, and learning to read and write was only the start of it. Ideally, Bards could read and write and speak other languages, and know at least the basics of history, mathematics, and sciences.
The law courts were already in one of the nicer parts of the city, and Three Rivers itself was a respectable size, but there was nothing in the city he’d grown up in like the mansions that were now lining the road. Many of them were barely visible behind the huge walls surrounding them, and he stared at them enviously, feeling a flash of resentment. Like as not all the Bards and Heralds had houses like that, and what the hell did they know about earning a living? What made them think they could judge what he’d done, when they’d never had to make the choices that he had. They probably got dozens of servants, and never have to lift a finger to help themselves. They can have all the fancy food and fancy clothes they want. And they look down their noses at me, like I don’t have a right to get by. And then tell me I gotta do all this stuff, or go back to jail.
Stefen was hardly in the best of shape after all those weeks of not being able to walk around much. He was starting to get really tired, and he hoped that wherever she was taking him, they would get there soon, because he remembered now she’d said something about lunch, and even if it was more stale bread or porridge, he’d take anything that wasn’t spoiled right now. Then they turned down a new avenue, at the end of which was another set of massive gates, except they weren’t quite massive enough to hide the building behind them.
“The Royal Palace and Collegia Complex,” Breda told him proudly. “Where you’ll live and study for the next few years.”
As they approached, the walls turned out to be grander than anything they’d passed down in the city, intricately carved with images of people and horses—old kings and queens, Stefen guessed, and a horse with wings. Closer, and Stefen could see there was a guard post, checking and inspecting everyone and everything that came to the gate. When it was their turn in the queue, Breda pulled out a little badge set in a leather wallet and showed it to them.
“Bard Breda, with a new apprentice, Stefen.” The guard eyed him dubiously, and Stefen scowled back at him. He let them through, though, into a huge courtyard with paths made from pale stones, front and center of which was a statue of another man and a horse. The statue’s arms were open wide, as if in welcome. Stefen glared at it, too.
She called me a new apprentice. So they really were going to train him to be a Bard. Taking the long view, it was probably a good thing. But in the short term…she said that most of the other Bard apprentices are highborn and rich commoners. And I’m as lowborn as a rat, and a lawbreaker. Won’t this be lovely.
Breda led him down one of the paths, heading away from the big building in the center that must be the palace. They passed through a big garden, and soon the path led them to another building, smaller but still big enough to be intimidating. This must be the Bardic Collegium they were talking about earlier.
Inside the building looked deserted, but there was noise filtering through the closed doors, voices—and music.
“The first floor is where the classrooms and kitchens are located. Meals are taken in shifts depending on which hall you’re in when mealtimes roll around. It’s plain food, mostly, stuff that’s easy to prepare for crowds, but we don’t skimp on quality or quantity. We’ll get you cleaned up and kitted out, then get some decent food in you.”
She stopped at a door, took a key out of her pocket and unlocked it. “Storage room,” she explained, and left him out in the hall while she fetched whatever she meant him to have, and returned a few moments later with a student uniform and handed it to him. Then she led him to a staircase and up to the third floor.
“The entire third floor is the dormitory; this is the boys’ side. The girls’ side is on the opposite end, on the other side of the far wall. They have their own staircase leading up to their side on the other end of the first floor.” She lifted an eyebrow at him. “It should go without saying, but no girls are allowed in the boys’ dormitory, and no boys in the girls’. Now, over here is the bathing room and privies,” she continued. “You’ll be expected to keep your appearance clean and neat at all times. When you’re finished washing, come by my office; it’s right at the bottom of the stairs on the second floor.”
Stefen eyed the conveniences dubiously. Washing, in his previous life, either meant scrubbing down with a pot of water, a cloth and rough lye soap, or paying to use a public bathhouse (which was only nominally used for bathing). The only times he’d ever been completely immersed in water was when he was foraging in the river, and that was hardly a pleasure, when it was partially iced over during the winter and stank to the high havens in summer. And underneath it all, the resentment still simmered. I suppose I’m meant to impressed and grateful. Water closets and bathtubs that could be filled with hot water by turning a spigot, and emptied by the simple expedient of opening a drain in the bottom, were luxuries even for the upperclass in Three Rivers, and if the apprentices had it this good in Haven, then what extravagances did the full Bards indulge in?
Still, his coldly practical side reminded him that no matter how he felt about the situation, there was damn-all he could do to change it, and would he really rather rot away in a jail cell? So he stripped and bathed, and even his stubborn refusal to appreciate the largesse couldn’t withstand the pure pleasure of sinking up to his neck in hot, clean water, and washing with soap that both smelled pleasant and didn’t remove the outer layer of his skin along with the dirt. He stayed in the bath until the water turned chilly, noting the layer of grime left in the tub after the water drained out with a grimace. Pulling on the first pair of clean and new clothes he’d ever had, he made his way down to Bard Breda’s office, feeling slightly more charitable, despite himself.
Breda seemed to have anticipated that Stefen wouldn’t want to eat in the dining room (or perhaps she deemed it best to delay the reckoning a bit longer); there was food waiting for him in her office, and plain it may have been by Bardic standards, but the savory pastry stuffed with vegetables and gravy was the best food he’d ever had, baring the handouts he and the rest of the beggars got from the temples at Midwinter. When Breda assured him that if it wasn’t enough, they could go back to the dining room and get more, he was astounded. He couldn’t remember many times he’d been able to eat until he wasn’t hungry anymore. Being hungry was just a fact of life. But she’d anticipated his appetite, and there was more than enough to satisfy. He only brought himself to stop because it would be a shame to be sick and waste it all.
Then she started asking him questions, all kinds of questions, with no rhyme or reason he could discern; everything from did he remember his parents at all and who had raised him, and had he ever learned to read and write and do sums. Most of the questions he answered with a blank stare. The only things he bothered to respond to were the questions about music; rhetoric and multiplication and his family history could go to hell for all he cared, but music—the one thing he’d been denied for nearly a month—he couldn’t have pretended ignorance and nonchalance about that. And being reminded again why exactly he was here, to learn how to play music, well, it made him a little confused. He already hated Breda and the rest of them for their smug certainty that he should be on his knees thanking them for plucking him out of the gutter, but they were going to teach him music, and he supposed he had to be a little grateful for that, and that just made him hate them more.
Breda called a halt to the questioning when someone knocked on her door.
“Enter,” she called, and a gangly, brown haired boy with a lute slung across his back came in and bowed slightly.
“Bard Terris said you wanted to see me as soon as class was over,” he said.
“I did. Meet your new roommate, Stefen. Stefen, this is Medren. As you can see I’ve been putting him through his paces,” she smiled. “I think we’ve done enough for the day, however. I’ve showed him around a bit, but would you mind terribly filling in the gaps and helping him settle in? I’ve got a backlog of work to catch up on.”
“Certainly not, Bard Breda,” he said, and Stef reluctantly rose to follow him out of the office. There were lots of apprentices swarming up the stairs on the way to the dormitory, and they joined the crowd. Stefen noticed he was getting a few sidelong looks, but mostly he was ignored. For the moment, he at least looked like he belonged.
“Room’s this way,” Medren said, jerking his head to the left. “So,” he glanced at Stef. “Where are you from?”
“Three Rivers,” Stefen said tersely.
“Huh, that’s a pretty big town, isn’t it?
Stefen shrugged his shoulders.
Medren glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, clearly expecting elaboration, but Stefen kept his mouth shut. He knew better than to trust anyone here, and anyway it was pointless to try and make friends, when doubtless as soon as Medren discovered his origins he’d turn up his nose at best, and try to make Stefen’s life difficult at worst.
“What instruments do you play?” Medren asked as he opened the door to their room, sixth door on the right, Stefen noted.
Stefen shrugged his shoulders again. “I sing.”
Medren eyed him closely. “Huh. Sponsored?”
Stefen shrugged again. He had no idea what that meant.
“Well, I’m being sponsored, by my uncle. There’s not that many of us that make it in just by being talented enough. You must be really good then.”
Stefen scowled and looked around the room. Two narrow beds were set against opposite walls, with chests at the foot of each. One desk with a stool, one sagging bookshelf, and one chair were all the room contained, apart from a rather nice looking rug. Stefen had eyes only for the bed—a real, honest to gods bed, not a pallet. It suddenly felt like the whole month had just caught up with him, and he desperately wanted nothing more than to crawl into one of the beds and sleep for a solid week. He didn’t, though, looking to Medren for his cues.
Medren, like Breda, seemed thrown off by his taciturn attitude, but he rallied. “I just need to put away my lute, and then I can finish showing you around, yeah?”
Another shrug of the shoulders. As long as he could get away with not saying anything, he would.
Medren, thankfully, got the hint that Stefen was not interested at all in talking about himself, so while Medren walked them back to the first floor and showed him the layout, Medren made up for it by telling Stefen his whole life story, interspersed with bits of Collegium and Palace gossip. As little as Stefen cared about the latter, he knew better than to tune it out. On the streets, survival had depended in no small part in knowing which gang had ascendancy, who’s turf it was safe to busk and beg on, who was owed protection money, who it was safe to curry favors from—and all of these could vary from week to week. Politics: the specifics could vary, but the general rules would be the same, Stefen had no doubt.
By the end of the tour, which had included part of the gardens he had passed through earlier, he was visibly flagging. Medren suggested they go back to their room so that Stefen could rest for a bit while Medren washed up for dinner. Almost as soon as Medren was out the door, Stefen was fast asleep.
He awoke later in total darkness, trying to remember where he was and why he felt so warm and comfortable. The sound of deep, even breathing came from somewhere close by, and the events of the day suddenly rushed back to him. And suddenly he thought I could run away. There’s no guards anywhere at all in this place, and I could sneak out the palace gates easy and be miles gone from here by morning.
By now his eyes had adjusted sufficiently to the darkness and he recalled enough of the layout of the place that he thought he could do it without waking anyone up, and probably pinch a few valuables on the way out and fence them in some other town. The only problem was, if he violated his parole that would make him a fugitive. Turning his head to glare at his roommate, he caught sight of something: the chair he remembered from earlier had been moved close enough to his bed that he could reach his hand out and touch it. There was a lumpy shape sitting atop it. Propping up on one elbow, he lifted the cloth covering, which revealed a plate heaped with food; it smelled completely delicious and he remembered now that he was supposed to have waited up for Medren to take him to dinner. He grabbed the plate and huddled with it in the bed, quietly eating his fill for the second time that day as he pondered the changes in his life.
Previous Chapter
It was an interminable wait, with nothing to do but just stand there with the whole courtroom staring at him while the Bardic Circle decided his fate. He thought almost longingly of the prison wagon; at least no one could see him inside of it. At least then he’d still had the tiniest crumb of hope.
At least he hadn’t known that Herald bloody Vanyel was what he was riding towards—gods, didn’t the man have some demons to slay? What the hell was so damn terrifying and important about Stefen that he warranted this kind of attention? All right, so maybe he really did have this Gift—and he shuddered in memory of the small “performance” he’d been subjected to—but was what he’d done really that bad? Although it was nice to finally know what the hell was going on, but it wasn’t like it mattered because he really was still fucked. He was a stupid, naïve, cocksure idiot to ever think he’d stood a chance of getting out of this.
And now the Bards and Herald Vanyel were coming back in the courtroom. Stefen’s stomach clenched, and he swallowed hard. When he heard the sentence of probation, he felt almost faint with shock and relief, but then—What the hell? Admitted to the Collegium? Stef didn’t have the first clue what a collegium was, and he didn’t like the sound of it, but then he noticed that the one Bard who had really seemed to have it out for him looked like a wet cat—coldly furious and full of bedraggled dignity. Huh. So, he doesn’t like what’s been decided, which means…what, exactly? But the Herald wasn’t done talking, he realized.
“We hope you understand that this is not a reward. This is a second chance,” Herald Vanyel said earnestly. “If you ever again use your Gift to take advantage of people or break the law, we will have no choice but to expel you from the Collegium and put you back in jail, and possibly have your Gift permanently removed, depending in the severity of the offense. I promise you that would not be pleasant, and there is every possibility you could be damaged in the process. I remand you now into the custody of Bard Breda, who is charge of the apprentices. She has agreed to stand surety for you while you are on probation.”
The guardswoman took the chains off his wrists, and he stood there, rubbing where they had chafed, while everyone in the courtroom got up and started leaving. Bard Breda, a middle aged woman with short, graying brown hair, made her way over to him from the dais and said, “All right, let’s get you sorted.”
She glanced at the group of people milling about the main entrance, then took his arm and steered him through the side door she and the other Bards had used. From there it was a maze of doorways and corridors, then out into the streets of Haven.
“First things first: we’ll get you into uniform, grab a late lunch, and find out how much you already know and what classes you’ll need to take,” she told him. “I’m not going to lie to you; right now it may seem that you’ve landed in the cream, but there may very well be times in the future you’d wish you were back in jail. And I’m not talking about all the things you’ll need to learn to catch up with your year group.” She gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. “Over half of the Gifted Bardic trainees are from highborn families. And there are plenty more unGifted highborn who are there to study music or just to take the general classes. The rest are a mix of commoners, some from wealthy families, some not, but, ah, it’s safe to say you are going to become fairly notorious….“
Stefen said nothing to this. He was still trying to figure out what was going on. It seemed completely impossible, but…it almost sounded like they meant to turn him into a Bard. And that couldn’t be true. Could it?
Breda seemed a little taken aback by his lack of reaction, but Stefen had learned a long time ago that when you didn’t know what was happening, the worst thing to do was admit the fact. Better to stall and try to figure it out on your own. But the Bard pursed her lips, and kept talking. And the more she talked about what it took to become a Bard, the more he thought they really did mean to make him one. Why else would she be telling him all this?
Being a Bard was more than just being a superior musician and having the Gift, it seemed. Breda said that sometimes Bards acted as diplomats, or they held important positions in the royal court, so Bards had to be well mannered and well educated, and learning to read and write was only the start of it. Ideally, Bards could read and write and speak other languages, and know at least the basics of history, mathematics, and sciences.
The law courts were already in one of the nicer parts of the city, and Three Rivers itself was a respectable size, but there was nothing in the city he’d grown up in like the mansions that were now lining the road. Many of them were barely visible behind the huge walls surrounding them, and he stared at them enviously, feeling a flash of resentment. Like as not all the Bards and Heralds had houses like that, and what the hell did they know about earning a living? What made them think they could judge what he’d done, when they’d never had to make the choices that he had. They probably got dozens of servants, and never have to lift a finger to help themselves. They can have all the fancy food and fancy clothes they want. And they look down their noses at me, like I don’t have a right to get by. And then tell me I gotta do all this stuff, or go back to jail.
Stefen was hardly in the best of shape after all those weeks of not being able to walk around much. He was starting to get really tired, and he hoped that wherever she was taking him, they would get there soon, because he remembered now she’d said something about lunch, and even if it was more stale bread or porridge, he’d take anything that wasn’t spoiled right now. Then they turned down a new avenue, at the end of which was another set of massive gates, except they weren’t quite massive enough to hide the building behind them.
“The Royal Palace and Collegia Complex,” Breda told him proudly. “Where you’ll live and study for the next few years.”
As they approached, the walls turned out to be grander than anything they’d passed down in the city, intricately carved with images of people and horses—old kings and queens, Stefen guessed, and a horse with wings. Closer, and Stefen could see there was a guard post, checking and inspecting everyone and everything that came to the gate. When it was their turn in the queue, Breda pulled out a little badge set in a leather wallet and showed it to them.
“Bard Breda, with a new apprentice, Stefen.” The guard eyed him dubiously, and Stefen scowled back at him. He let them through, though, into a huge courtyard with paths made from pale stones, front and center of which was a statue of another man and a horse. The statue’s arms were open wide, as if in welcome. Stefen glared at it, too.
She called me a new apprentice. So they really were going to train him to be a Bard. Taking the long view, it was probably a good thing. But in the short term…she said that most of the other Bard apprentices are highborn and rich commoners. And I’m as lowborn as a rat, and a lawbreaker. Won’t this be lovely.
Breda led him down one of the paths, heading away from the big building in the center that must be the palace. They passed through a big garden, and soon the path led them to another building, smaller but still big enough to be intimidating. This must be the Bardic Collegium they were talking about earlier.
Inside the building looked deserted, but there was noise filtering through the closed doors, voices—and music.
“The first floor is where the classrooms and kitchens are located. Meals are taken in shifts depending on which hall you’re in when mealtimes roll around. It’s plain food, mostly, stuff that’s easy to prepare for crowds, but we don’t skimp on quality or quantity. We’ll get you cleaned up and kitted out, then get some decent food in you.”
She stopped at a door, took a key out of her pocket and unlocked it. “Storage room,” she explained, and left him out in the hall while she fetched whatever she meant him to have, and returned a few moments later with a student uniform and handed it to him. Then she led him to a staircase and up to the third floor.
“The entire third floor is the dormitory; this is the boys’ side. The girls’ side is on the opposite end, on the other side of the far wall. They have their own staircase leading up to their side on the other end of the first floor.” She lifted an eyebrow at him. “It should go without saying, but no girls are allowed in the boys’ dormitory, and no boys in the girls’. Now, over here is the bathing room and privies,” she continued. “You’ll be expected to keep your appearance clean and neat at all times. When you’re finished washing, come by my office; it’s right at the bottom of the stairs on the second floor.”
Stefen eyed the conveniences dubiously. Washing, in his previous life, either meant scrubbing down with a pot of water, a cloth and rough lye soap, or paying to use a public bathhouse (which was only nominally used for bathing). The only times he’d ever been completely immersed in water was when he was foraging in the river, and that was hardly a pleasure, when it was partially iced over during the winter and stank to the high havens in summer. And underneath it all, the resentment still simmered. I suppose I’m meant to impressed and grateful. Water closets and bathtubs that could be filled with hot water by turning a spigot, and emptied by the simple expedient of opening a drain in the bottom, were luxuries even for the upperclass in Three Rivers, and if the apprentices had it this good in Haven, then what extravagances did the full Bards indulge in?
Still, his coldly practical side reminded him that no matter how he felt about the situation, there was damn-all he could do to change it, and would he really rather rot away in a jail cell? So he stripped and bathed, and even his stubborn refusal to appreciate the largesse couldn’t withstand the pure pleasure of sinking up to his neck in hot, clean water, and washing with soap that both smelled pleasant and didn’t remove the outer layer of his skin along with the dirt. He stayed in the bath until the water turned chilly, noting the layer of grime left in the tub after the water drained out with a grimace. Pulling on the first pair of clean and new clothes he’d ever had, he made his way down to Bard Breda’s office, feeling slightly more charitable, despite himself.
Breda seemed to have anticipated that Stefen wouldn’t want to eat in the dining room (or perhaps she deemed it best to delay the reckoning a bit longer); there was food waiting for him in her office, and plain it may have been by Bardic standards, but the savory pastry stuffed with vegetables and gravy was the best food he’d ever had, baring the handouts he and the rest of the beggars got from the temples at Midwinter. When Breda assured him that if it wasn’t enough, they could go back to the dining room and get more, he was astounded. He couldn’t remember many times he’d been able to eat until he wasn’t hungry anymore. Being hungry was just a fact of life. But she’d anticipated his appetite, and there was more than enough to satisfy. He only brought himself to stop because it would be a shame to be sick and waste it all.
Then she started asking him questions, all kinds of questions, with no rhyme or reason he could discern; everything from did he remember his parents at all and who had raised him, and had he ever learned to read and write and do sums. Most of the questions he answered with a blank stare. The only things he bothered to respond to were the questions about music; rhetoric and multiplication and his family history could go to hell for all he cared, but music—the one thing he’d been denied for nearly a month—he couldn’t have pretended ignorance and nonchalance about that. And being reminded again why exactly he was here, to learn how to play music, well, it made him a little confused. He already hated Breda and the rest of them for their smug certainty that he should be on his knees thanking them for plucking him out of the gutter, but they were going to teach him music, and he supposed he had to be a little grateful for that, and that just made him hate them more.
Breda called a halt to the questioning when someone knocked on her door.
“Enter,” she called, and a gangly, brown haired boy with a lute slung across his back came in and bowed slightly.
“Bard Terris said you wanted to see me as soon as class was over,” he said.
“I did. Meet your new roommate, Stefen. Stefen, this is Medren. As you can see I’ve been putting him through his paces,” she smiled. “I think we’ve done enough for the day, however. I’ve showed him around a bit, but would you mind terribly filling in the gaps and helping him settle in? I’ve got a backlog of work to catch up on.”
“Certainly not, Bard Breda,” he said, and Stef reluctantly rose to follow him out of the office. There were lots of apprentices swarming up the stairs on the way to the dormitory, and they joined the crowd. Stefen noticed he was getting a few sidelong looks, but mostly he was ignored. For the moment, he at least looked like he belonged.
“Room’s this way,” Medren said, jerking his head to the left. “So,” he glanced at Stef. “Where are you from?”
“Three Rivers,” Stefen said tersely.
“Huh, that’s a pretty big town, isn’t it?
Stefen shrugged his shoulders.
Medren glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, clearly expecting elaboration, but Stefen kept his mouth shut. He knew better than to trust anyone here, and anyway it was pointless to try and make friends, when doubtless as soon as Medren discovered his origins he’d turn up his nose at best, and try to make Stefen’s life difficult at worst.
“What instruments do you play?” Medren asked as he opened the door to their room, sixth door on the right, Stefen noted.
Stefen shrugged his shoulders again. “I sing.”
Medren eyed him closely. “Huh. Sponsored?”
Stefen shrugged again. He had no idea what that meant.
“Well, I’m being sponsored, by my uncle. There’s not that many of us that make it in just by being talented enough. You must be really good then.”
Stefen scowled and looked around the room. Two narrow beds were set against opposite walls, with chests at the foot of each. One desk with a stool, one sagging bookshelf, and one chair were all the room contained, apart from a rather nice looking rug. Stefen had eyes only for the bed—a real, honest to gods bed, not a pallet. It suddenly felt like the whole month had just caught up with him, and he desperately wanted nothing more than to crawl into one of the beds and sleep for a solid week. He didn’t, though, looking to Medren for his cues.
Medren, like Breda, seemed thrown off by his taciturn attitude, but he rallied. “I just need to put away my lute, and then I can finish showing you around, yeah?”
Another shrug of the shoulders. As long as he could get away with not saying anything, he would.
Medren, thankfully, got the hint that Stefen was not interested at all in talking about himself, so while Medren walked them back to the first floor and showed him the layout, Medren made up for it by telling Stefen his whole life story, interspersed with bits of Collegium and Palace gossip. As little as Stefen cared about the latter, he knew better than to tune it out. On the streets, survival had depended in no small part in knowing which gang had ascendancy, who’s turf it was safe to busk and beg on, who was owed protection money, who it was safe to curry favors from—and all of these could vary from week to week. Politics: the specifics could vary, but the general rules would be the same, Stefen had no doubt.
By the end of the tour, which had included part of the gardens he had passed through earlier, he was visibly flagging. Medren suggested they go back to their room so that Stefen could rest for a bit while Medren washed up for dinner. Almost as soon as Medren was out the door, Stefen was fast asleep.
He awoke later in total darkness, trying to remember where he was and why he felt so warm and comfortable. The sound of deep, even breathing came from somewhere close by, and the events of the day suddenly rushed back to him. And suddenly he thought I could run away. There’s no guards anywhere at all in this place, and I could sneak out the palace gates easy and be miles gone from here by morning.
By now his eyes had adjusted sufficiently to the darkness and he recalled enough of the layout of the place that he thought he could do it without waking anyone up, and probably pinch a few valuables on the way out and fence them in some other town. The only problem was, if he violated his parole that would make him a fugitive. Turning his head to glare at his roommate, he caught sight of something: the chair he remembered from earlier had been moved close enough to his bed that he could reach his hand out and touch it. There was a lumpy shape sitting atop it. Propping up on one elbow, he lifted the cloth covering, which revealed a plate heaped with food; it smelled completely delicious and he remembered now that he was supposed to have waited up for Medren to take him to dinner. He grabbed the plate and huddled with it in the bed, quietly eating his fill for the second time that day as he pondered the changes in his life.
no subject
Date: 2013-11-25 01:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-11-25 08:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-21 03:50 am (UTC)I guess what I'm looking forward to is seeing Van having to crack Stef's emotional shell rather than vice versa...I imagine the chemistry will be very different, when it happens.
no subject
Date: 2013-11-26 12:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-04 05:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-08 04:42 am (UTC)I suck :(