“Let us move then, on to history—“ But Edaran couldn’t hold it in any longer.
                “Marten, is it really true? Am I going to stay with Del in Ascocen?” He blurted, and then covered his mouth as if he had belched.
                “Who told you that?” but Edaran would not meet his stern gaze.
                “I—heard it.”
                “Oh aye, I am not surprised at that. You always were a nosey little thing. When you were born you moved your head as if it were a wheel on a carriage.” Edaran looked blankly as he spoke, only pretending to be listening to the old man’s ramblings. He eagerly awaited his answer however.
                “Well not that it is my place to say, but yes, you will be going to Ascocen with Miss Dalaena.” Edaran looked out to the window, to the cold autumn sky. He’d heard a lot of that city. Just snippets of news from people he’d passed, but they said it was huge, and that the children there learned to fight with real swords when they turned 11. He would be 11 in a year. To be fighting with a steel sword in one year.
                “I cannot wait to go!” his voice rose in his excitement.
                “Will you not miss your Lady Mother and Father?” Marten looked concerned but he didn’t understand why.
                “Well, yeah—“
                “—yes.” He chided.
                “Yes.” He rolled his eyes, and Marten rapped his knuckles with a stick. He snapped his hand back but looked down. “Sorry.”
                “It is good to look upon new things with courage and not to fear them too much. But it is always healthy to remember where you come from. You will miss your Lord Father and Lady Mother when you are gone.” Edaran supposed he was right.
                “Will you be coming, I mean you are my teacher.” He considered it a given.
                “No, I will not. I am Steward to Dawnrose and my place is here.” He explained. He didn’t know what to think of this. Only one question seemed to come to mind.
                “Then who will teach me?”
                “That is to be decided, although I should not be surprised if it were the same person that taught Astor.” And Marten’s face seemed to be getting redder the longer they strayed from his goal. But Edaran had to ask.
                “Is—will my sister and I be in danger?” the words tumbled from his mouth barely audible. It felt forbidden to say, like he was delving into something he shouldn’t. So he had to know.
                “Whatever makes you say that?” there was real concern in his expression, and something else that Edaran couldn’t quite tell. Then his face softened. “There is no need for you to worry. You must enjoy yourself whilst your youth allows it.” He knew that these kinds of words were often said to cover things up. But he also knew that Marten would not discuss it any further, that he would want to continue with his teachings.
                He looked up out of the window again to find his brother’s fight had ended. He felt a pang of disappointment. These lessons were ever so dull, all this map reading, lineages, history, strategy—just made his head hurt. What he really wanted was to be out there, fighting. Why couldn’t he skip these stupid lessons about what other people had done? Why couldn’t he just go and make history?

The End

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