Private Tales Like Thorns Against the Skin

[Avery]

She missed home.

Not the Academy, which had been a home since she was young, but home where she had routine and discipline to outline her day to day. Where she was simply an Initiate of the Dreadlord Academy, and not working undercover and pretending to be the niece of an ex-Anirian. Avery already played her part, had already made a young man fall hopelessly in love with her... all so she could learn about the secrets of a Cortosi city that he hailed from. That information she passed onto the necessary Anirians, and two weeks later, that city was overthrown and now occupied by the Anirians.

She had been praised, awarded, and yet she still remained in Elbion lands.

Helping in the war in a way that made her feel... something she was still figuring out, Avery was a fool to think she was going home anytime soon. No, she had the task of slipping notes and information to passing Anirians, had even glimpsed her classmates, Vittoria and Kilien. She played the part without much protest, but this new mission entrusted to her...

"You'll do well in this new mission, Cathaoir." The Dreadlord had sat down at the pub where she had been working for the past five months. "It is a role you played before. A student is still the same as an Initiate..." He spoke in a low tone, and Avery was stuck there to hear it all. She had been slicing fruits and crushing up spices, all to go into the batch of mulled wine that would be prepared tonight. Avery was unable to move away, pretend she had other duties. That was the thing about this pub, that Anirians frequented it on their way to the Elbion Stone or the city. "A light job. You only need to write back letters to friends, and appointed family of the going ons. Best to keep an eye on our allies... keep a low profile."

Avery snorted at that, and the Dreadlord lifted a brow at her. He stared at her over the rim of his wooden cup a moment before going to down the contents. "Make some friends if you need to. Play your part." And with that, he left some coin on the counter and left.

---

The new academic year at Elbion College allowed Avery to merely... disappear from her cohorts attentions. She was quiet, all to hide her Anirian accent. It was true, that she would play her part well, for Avery took to her studies and reaped the rewards of understanding the work given to her.

The idea of making friends was always a foreign idea to her. She was one of the few that were young when they were brought to the Academy, that were still shaped by a world before the Revolution came to Vel Anir. Even if some of her classmates were cordial and outgoing, not many seemed to earn a friendship from her. Even Avery second guessed her claims for having any friends at all.

The libarary and College grounds were usually littered with different students or professors, visitors or Maesters. She had the misfortune to have a roommate in her dorm, and although that girl was a social butterfly and rarely in that room they shared, Avery sought complete isolation. She would do the bare minimum of this mission in order to return to familiar lands. To speak a language she knew well, and not feel so exposed speaking the common tongue.

Avery was sat in an empty classroom for the afternoon. In her hands, a blade and a bit of wood. Bristles made for brushes line the table she sat at, and it was no fletching arrows, but making her own paintbrushes gave a similar strand of catharthism of creating a weapon. She had taken to the art class she had added to her studies, enjoying the colours and techniques used to create imagery. It was here she would be found, and now that she had gotten comfortable in this class room, Avery would defend her right to remain there for the rest of the afternoon.

 

[Lucien Valtiere]

Lucien had timed it perfectly.

He had watched the professor’s routine for weeks, knew when the man took his lunch, when he stepped out for meetings, when the hallway was empty save for the echo of his own footsteps. The locked drawer held what Lucien wanted. Notes far too valuable to remain tucked behind warded mahogany and moral cowardice.

He slipped into the empty classroom, expecting the coast to be clear.

Instead, he found her.

His footsteps halted, lips parting in brief disbelief. For one moment, his expression cracked.

Then it was gone.

Lucien cleared his throat, slow and deliberate, before letting his weight casually fall against the doorframe. Arms folded across his chest, silver cufflinks glinting, a single brow arched with aristocratic disdain.

“If you are looking for a place to wallow in self-pity,” he said, voice smooth and sharp, “the women’s lavatory is just down the hall.” He pointed a lazy thumb behind him.

And then he sauntered in like the classroom had always belonged to him, like she was the intruder. Not the other way around.

 

[Avery]

Her eyes watched him with a precision only those trained from birth possessed. His stride and tone told her all she needed to recall who he was, and Avery had every reason to avoid the likes of him.

She did not make to move, instead turning back to shaving down the wood to shape it. It was a careful act, to not allow for any error, and she was not about to let these Obanese idiot falter her concentration.

"If you are after grading papers, they are not there." She commented quietly, grabbing a coarsely scored metal piece to smooth her freshly cut piece. "He keeps the key to the supply closet in his desk, warded to deter any idiot thinking they could glimpse their graded work before they are handed out in the next class."

Avery held the carbed wood up before her blue gaze and assessed her work. It was something to be proud of, and next she picked out something small to chisel away small designs for the paint brush's handle.

 

[Lucien Valtiere]

Lucien bristled slightly as her words sank in.

She knew about the desk. The wards. The professor’s habits. It was another document he was looking for, but he wouldn’t divulge that.

He scoffed. “I’m not here for something so pedestrian,” he said, the word bitten off like a curse.
His gaze flicked to her methodical hands, then back to her face. “Why? Did you have to find out the hard way?”

He lingered near the desk, posture cold and composed, arms folding across his chest. There was something in her voice, an edge to her accent he could just barely place. But he said nothing. Not yet.

 

[Avery]

Avery gave a light scoff, brushing away the wood shavings that collected on the desk. Her eyes lift to her classmate and gave him a quick glance over. It was apparent he held wealth, enough to dress and carry himself with such a swagger of one that did not take to being challenged often. It was a temptation to stoke the flames if it meant making him run off in a huff and leave her in peace and solitude.

This was not Vel Anir... where Avery could afford to be confrontational amongst her peers.

In Elbion, at this College, she had a duty to remain passive. To not make a fuss.

"Anyone that paid attention in Magical Theory would be able to see the presence of magic, such as wards. Or if one paid attention in class, he reinforces them at the end of each lesson." Her attention returned to her project, now reaching for the metal band she would use to hold the soft bristles to the newly carved handle.

 

[Lucien Valtiere]

Lucien rolled his eyes.

“Marvelous,” he muttered. “Why does anyone need to attend class when you can pop up in empty rooms and give impromptu lectures instead?”

He turned from her with a flick of his coat, striding toward the desk as if simply curious, hands clasped behind his back, expression blank. But his eyes flicked to the surface, tracing the faint shimmer of the warding rune as if he might casually unravel it with a glance.

He was just beginning to lean in closer when-

“Ahem.”

A sharp voice from the doorway.

Lucien froze, shoulders tensing as a robed professor leaned into view, her gaze flitting between the two students.

“I thought I heard voices,” she said, not unkindly, but with no room for argument. “This room is off-limits. Out. Both of you.”

Lucien’s jaw clenched. He didn’t argue. Didn’t speak.

He straightened slowly, turned on his heel with a stiff sort of grace, and shot the blond girl a withering look as he passed.

-----​

Lucien slouched in the back row, chin in his palm, eyes barely open as the professor’s lecture dragged on. He wondered, not for the first time, why he bothered. With enough coin, he could purchase every accolade this institution dangled and learn the rest on his own, in peace.

“-for your group project, you’ll be working in assigned pairs.”

That got his attention.

Lucien straightened slightly, irritation already blooming. He hated group work. He hated relying on anyone.

The professor began reading names.

When she reached his, her voice cut clean through the room.

“Valtiere and Cathaoir.”