That afternoon...
With a spare set of clothes and a book in hand, Claire made her way through the cramped halls of the south-east wing. Her steps were slow and measured, lacking the frantic urgency of her prior visit. Her composure, however, was a facade; a poor attempt to conceal her own eager anticipation for what the evening might bring.
Entering the Hall, she was momentarily captivated by the sight of the setting sun, as its light streamed in through the open front window, illuminating the space with a vibrant orange glow.
“It’s rather beautiful, isn’t it?” said Fey’thellen, surprising Claire with his presence. She looked over. The young elf looked quite relaxed, seated behind a large desk, a heavy tome before him. “The sun sets of the coming winter promise to be quite spectacular—if that is anything to go by.”
“Yes, quite beautiful,” she said, greeting the young healer with a polite smile. “Are you working late? You healers are not usually done by the fifth noon glass?”
Fey’thellen smiled sheepishly. “You see, a healer must be here to watch over the young lord, and as the youngest healer on staff, I volunteered myself for the task. It’s an easy way to earn goodwill with my fellow healers. I had little else to do, so I was happy to offer up my time.”
“Oh, well, how is he?” she asked, momentarily deflating at his reasonable explanation.
“Well, he is—for the most part—hale. He will be in a state of extreme exhaustion for a few days. As I am sure you well know, it is common for the unawakened to experience prolonged fatigue following the healing of such extensive injuries. So don’t be surprised if he has to spend a few more days at rest before he is back on his feet.”
Her eyes drifted to Lurian’s ward. “Thanks, Fey. Is he awake?”
He shook his head. “With the sedatives he’s had, he’ll be out for a few hours yet. Of course, you’re welcome to wait here with me.” His smile brightened. “I—I could use the company.”
Claire was aware that after years of abuse at the hands of his instructors, Lurian had built quite the tolerance to the sedatives the healers commonly used, and based on past experience, she suspected it wouldn’t be long before he woke.
“No, it's fine,” she said, while holding up a prepared book. “I’ll just use the time to catch up on my own reading.”
“Oh? What are you reading?”
“Just something that the young lord recommended a while back; I’ll go and see how he’s doing.” Claire moved past him, unwilling to get caught up in the young man’s attempts at a conversation. She was adamant that it be ‘her face’ Lurian sees the moment he wakes.
Entering Lurian’s ward, Claire was shocked to discover that Lurian was not alone, for looming over his now healthier form was the hairy brute of a man: the Arms-Master himself—Torvous.
A hot fire ignited in her chest at the sight of him. This was the man who had done this to her Lurian. This—this brutish barbarian.
“Good evening, lass,” he greeted, his eyes not leaving her Lurian.
Claire frowned. “What—what are you doing here... here to repent, to relieve yourself of guilt?” she challenged, her voice harsh, her fists clenched as she fiercely glared into the man’s eyes.
The human smirked. “Nah—lass, cool ya fires. Just making sure nothin’s permanent.”
Looking up, his greasy eyes trailed up her form before meeting her disgust-filled eyes. He smiled, looking pleased by her anger. “The healers say the boy won’t even have a scar to show for it, so don’t worry your pretty little head.”
Claire, annoyed by the man’s smug attitude and condescending tone, couldn't help but take the bait as she instantly bristled. “You speak of scars, human... Yet you know full well that not all scars are of the flesh.”
“Aye lass, that be true.” He nodded solemnly before adding: “But ain’t that what the lord got you for? Just spread ya legs for the boy—and he’ll be right as rain by morning,” he said, unable to hide his malicious grin
Claire was shocked speechless by the man’s crass words...
“Oh? ya thought I wouldn’t know about you and the boy’s more illicit affairs. Come on, lass, my room in this shitty old castle ain’t far from his. ya think I haven’t heard you moaning in the night. You’re not quiet; half the castle has heard you pair goin’ at it.”
“You crude, uncultured, low-born human! We’ve never—”
“—It ain’t got nothing ta do with me being human, lass! My round ears work fine, it’s yo—“
“Enough!” A stern, weary rasp—harshly interrupted the pair’s dispute. “You pair, your bickering could well wake the dead!”
“Lurian!” Claire called out, her happiness evident, restraining the urge to leap into his arms.
Sitting up, Lurian took a moment to assess his condition. And once he grasped the extent of his injuries, his focus returned to the pair so rudely interrupting his peace. “Claire, don’t fall for his childish provocations; he’s just being his unpleasant self.” Claire nodded, feeling stupid for falling for such an obvious bait and disturbing his rest.
“And Torvous,” he said, his voice becoming something altogether harsher, “You know full well that we have not engaged in any, as you put it, illicit affairs. To suggest otherwise is to besmirch a lady’s virtue, which I will not tolerate.”
Torvous smirked, the man clearly not done stirring the pot. “Oh? If not her, then who was making all that racket in ya room a few nights back?”
At those words, Claire went pale, coming to the conclusion that the reason there had been no progress with Lurian was that he was with another. Instantly, her thoughts began to spiral. Thinking back, she did catch that maid trying to sneak into her Lurian’s bed.
Her heart dropped, and a twisted swirl of bitterness seized her breath.
Lurian’s eyes shot to hers, and noticing her growing distress, he glared up at the boorish human. “No such thing occurred; do not confuse your erotic delusions for reality, human... Claire, get me out of this ward and back to my room; there’s a stench to this place, and I’d rather be rid of it,” he said, glaring at the unwelcome man.
Done choking down her jealousy, Claire was surprised by the venom in Lurian’s words; she suspected it was a subtle jab at the man’s youth growing up in the slums of Selarr, for the human capital was well known for its stench and squalor. Especially the vast slums occupying a full eighth of the city.
She knew that Lurian was not the type to hurl such vicious insults unprovoked. Instead, she reasoned the sharp retort was a sign that Torvous’s constant prodding had crossed the line, leading to him biting back.
Torvous grinned. “Now, now, there’s no need for that. I know ya fires up, boy, but there’s no need to take it out on little-old-me.”
She thought his smile—a vicious, self-satisfied thing; taunting her to lash out with some envenomed words of her own. But no, she held back; for it would only disappoint her Lurian to see her stoop so low as to trade barbs with such an uncouth thing.
Knowing that Torvous would continue being his insufferable self as long as she played audience to his crass attempts at wit, she decided to take her leave and make arrangements for Lurian’s transfer.
Without a second thought, she turned on her heel and marched off; her mind a mess as she ruminated on Torvous’s earlier words and the possible truths they might’ve revealed...
Within the ward...
Watching Claire leave, Lurian let out a long, weary sigh. He would have to find time to assuage the many doubts that have doubtlessly arisen in her mind—thanks to the human’s insensitive words.
Thinking of the smug, spiteful bastard still standing over him, Lurian once more endeavored to keep his cool and not let the man get under his skin.
Exhausted, he took a moment to just breathe, sinking—sinking into the phantom bone-deep ache that was his current existence.
After a few fortifying breaths, he turned to the man in question. “What do you want, Torvous?” he asked. “You’re not some remorseful soul here to make amends. Out with it, or leave me be.”
Torvous nodded, as if agreeing with his words. “First, ya did good today. Made quite the showin’ in front of the lord and his guest. Honestly, I’ve never seen him so impressed.”
Lurian, unable to resist, cut in: “And how, pray tell—did you come to that conclusion? His lordship is carved of ice and stone. In my twenty years of life, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the lord smile, not once. So please, forgive my skepticism when you say that I somehow managed to impress him.”
“I’ll have ya know he said as much—not two hours back.” Torvous casually shrugged, only for his features to harden. “And if I were you—boy, I’d be a little more respectful when speaking of ya grandfather. I know ya're suffering at the moment, so I’ll let it slide. But I can only tolerate so much disrespect before I’ll have-ta teach-yah—ya manners... That clear?”
A hot defiance swelled in Lurian as he stared into Torvous’s eyes, gauging the seriousness of the man’s rebuke.
Feeling particularly petulant, Lurian was tempted to test the man. But he knew Torvous, and suspected the man was all too eager to carry through with the threat.
“Yes, sir—it’s clear,” he finally answered.
“As-ta why I’m here. The Lord—in his wisdom, has decided that in two months you’ll be competing for a place in the Tower. So—”
“I’m too young!” An outraged Lurian interrupted. “I’ve only seen twenty summers; most others will be in their 25th year. There’s a few years before I should even think of competing—I get but one shot—why the rush?”
“Boy, if ya interrupt me again, I’ll re-break ya jaw,” the human warned, his face hard, his fist raised.
The room fell silent as they held each other’s gaze. The threat was clear, so Lurian held his tongue, feeling particularly vulnerable with the bear of a man looming over him.
After a long, tense breath, Torvous continued: “Now, I’m well aware you still have some growin’ ta do. But boy, look at the size of ya. Ya already got a few inches on most grown elves, not ta mention all that extra muscle.” He smirked. “I’m sure no one’ll notice ya're not quite a man.”
He chuckled and leaned in, as if sharing a secret. “And between you and me, boy.” He smirked. “All those young elven lasses won’t be able ta-tell the difference, so you’ll get ya fun too,” he said, shooting a teasing wink his way.
Unimpressed, Lurian remained stoic despite the man’s jest. “That’s not what concerns me—Torvous, and you know it.”
“Look—kid, you’ve been trainin’ since you were six, and I’ve put ya through hell since you were twelve. Frankly, I’m more worried about them. There’s no way a couple spoiled noble twerps will be any competition for ya. Most of 'em—wouldn’t have had ta pick up a sword till they were the age you are now, so ya have little to worry about in a contest of arms. Ya may even have ta take it easy on them if ya want to make any friends. Ya might find ya need ‘em in the trials...”
Lurian frowned, mulling over Torvous’s words. He may not have liked the man, but he did know that the crass human was far wiser than his rather brutish, unkempt appearance might suggest.
“Fine, Arms-master, I will take that into consideration. So what of my training going forward? You said I have but two months left until my climb; will there be a change in my training to prepare me for the tower?”
“Boy, ya life thus far has been all to prepare ya for the tower. So in truth—little will change. We’ll have ta focus more on ya man-ta-beast fightin’. Ya’re still lackin’ experience in those kind of scraps. And most—if not all—of ya fights in the tower will be against beasts, so it’s best to get as much practice in now while ya can.”
The pair’s conversation was interrupted by the rattle of a wooden wheel, heralding Claire’s approach. It was a wooden contraption dreamed up by the local carpenter: Melkie, as a gift to Lurian—the ‘Wheeled chair’ becoming a common means of transport the many times his legs were not up to the task of getting him around.
Claire did not forget to display her contempt for the human, shooting a distasteful look his way as she strode past. Her cute, overprotective behavior amused him—it always managing to lighten his rather glum mood.
“Alright, I know when I’m not welcome.” Torvous chuckled. “I’ll leave ya lovebirds be. Boy, we’ll talk when you’re back on ya feet,” he said, turning to leave.
“Oh, an lass?” he said, halting his step, as he smirked over his shoulder. “Do ya bit for the lad. He’s gunna be in a bit of a mood while he heals—so do ya job. It’s hard ta-be a grump when ya balls ah empty.”
He laughed as he strolled out; the obnoxious man clearly drawing much amusement from the knowledge that he was leaving both youths’ moods fouler in parting.
“I hate that man,” Claire snarled.
“Yes.” He sighed. “I’m not particularly fond of him either, but if you let him get to you, he wins.” Turning her way, he continued, “Claire, I know it’s hard, but do your best to ignore him and his malicious barbs. It would only bring him happiness to know that he was getting to you.”
Relaxing back into his pillow, Lurian smiled up at her. “He wasn’t wrong when he said I was in a foul mood.” Though exhausted, he forced all the warmth he could manage into his weary smile. “Truly, I feel like a wrung rag. I will be in need of your smile to brighten the coming days.”
Claire flushed, looking giddy after hearing such sweet words. “Y-yes, young lord. Let's get you out of that bed...”