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votivescholars) wrote2016-01-09 08:39 pm
votivescholars) wrote2016-01-09 08:39 pm
Entry tags:
A Forced Hand
"Vercor." His brother looked at him seriously. This was not something he could afford to let the Archon set aside yet again. Delaying could only work for so long and, eventually, it ceased to be an option at all. "You have to declare one of them a scholar." He waited for a response, for a sign of recognition. Impatient, he insisted, "You have to declare him a scholar."
The paler man pulled his curled hand away from his mouth, but his features remained fixed in the intensely thoughtful expression that had long ago etched creases into his face. It took time for him to reply, nearly getting Stathis to prompt him again. When he did speak, Vercor simply frowned and shook his head. "There is still time."
"For what?" Stathis asked, trying and failing not to sound annoyed.
Vercor's palm opened, gesturing as he outlined his thoughts. "Lieselotte and I could have another child..."
"Isidor is eight years old, Vercor," Stathis growled firmly. "Viatorus is six. You can't wait for another child to grow up before you declare one a scholar. It's a ridiculous gamble in the hopes that one shows a talent that surpasses Viatorus' natural ability to dreamwalk."
"It would only need to be any talent other than dreamwalking," Vercor retorted coldly.
Stathis sighed. As frustrating as this conversation was, he understood his brother's issue and despite his stern insistance, he did sympathise. "You can't deny a naturally gifted mage the right to scholarship, and you know it."
Vercor hissed angrily and looked away, glaring into space. The two of them let the silence hang in the air. The decision was already made. It had been made for them the day Viatorus had been born. All that was required was for Vercor to declare it and make it official. The Archon could clutch at his own plans all he liked, fate had made other arrangements.
"Isidor is twice the mage he is," Vercor muttered, his disappointment finally coming through clearly. "She has more power than I could have hoped for, and takes to magic so quickly."
Stathis nodded sadly. "I know. But the boy might surprise you. She has a few years on him, remember."
Vercor's eyes rolled as they turned to his brother. "He's a dreamwalker, Stathis. What was it you told me? That he'd told you about his 'spirit friends', and spent most of his time sleeping. Ah, yes, I'd forgotten what wonderful qualities those are for a scholar."
"He's as good a student as any other," Stathis offered helpfully.
That got a look of sharp reproach. "His mind literally goes wandering. That is his talent. That is to be my legacy."
Perhaps unexpectedly, Stathis smirked at that, chuckling and shaking his head. "Oh. Oh no." Then a wry grin curled his lips and he folded his arms with a knowing tilt of his head. "If you're going to have a legacy, it's going to be that of the Dragon Archon. That is going to be a horror story for generations to come."
Vercor's eyes slid from Stathis' and his face dropped. "This is my punishment," he muttered in shocked realisation. "This is my punishment. I traded the legacy of bringing knowledge and powerful children into the world for... What? A family myth."
"Don't be melodramatic," the older man rumbled and tugged a page in front of Vercor. Their gazes locked. "Do what you have to do."
The paler man pulled his curled hand away from his mouth, but his features remained fixed in the intensely thoughtful expression that had long ago etched creases into his face. It took time for him to reply, nearly getting Stathis to prompt him again. When he did speak, Vercor simply frowned and shook his head. "There is still time."
"For what?" Stathis asked, trying and failing not to sound annoyed.
Vercor's palm opened, gesturing as he outlined his thoughts. "Lieselotte and I could have another child..."
"Isidor is eight years old, Vercor," Stathis growled firmly. "Viatorus is six. You can't wait for another child to grow up before you declare one a scholar. It's a ridiculous gamble in the hopes that one shows a talent that surpasses Viatorus' natural ability to dreamwalk."
"It would only need to be any talent other than dreamwalking," Vercor retorted coldly.
Stathis sighed. As frustrating as this conversation was, he understood his brother's issue and despite his stern insistance, he did sympathise. "You can't deny a naturally gifted mage the right to scholarship, and you know it."
Vercor hissed angrily and looked away, glaring into space. The two of them let the silence hang in the air. The decision was already made. It had been made for them the day Viatorus had been born. All that was required was for Vercor to declare it and make it official. The Archon could clutch at his own plans all he liked, fate had made other arrangements.
"Isidor is twice the mage he is," Vercor muttered, his disappointment finally coming through clearly. "She has more power than I could have hoped for, and takes to magic so quickly."
Stathis nodded sadly. "I know. But the boy might surprise you. She has a few years on him, remember."
Vercor's eyes rolled as they turned to his brother. "He's a dreamwalker, Stathis. What was it you told me? That he'd told you about his 'spirit friends', and spent most of his time sleeping. Ah, yes, I'd forgotten what wonderful qualities those are for a scholar."
"He's as good a student as any other," Stathis offered helpfully.
That got a look of sharp reproach. "His mind literally goes wandering. That is his talent. That is to be my legacy."
Perhaps unexpectedly, Stathis smirked at that, chuckling and shaking his head. "Oh. Oh no." Then a wry grin curled his lips and he folded his arms with a knowing tilt of his head. "If you're going to have a legacy, it's going to be that of the Dragon Archon. That is going to be a horror story for generations to come."
Vercor's eyes slid from Stathis' and his face dropped. "This is my punishment," he muttered in shocked realisation. "This is my punishment. I traded the legacy of bringing knowledge and powerful children into the world for... What? A family myth."
"Don't be melodramatic," the older man rumbled and tugged a page in front of Vercor. Their gazes locked. "Do what you have to do."