Post by Seek on Dec 12, 2011 0:30:46 GMT 10
To: Nat
Message: Happy holidays, and I hope you like this! There might be a hint of Name of the Wind in this, if you know where to look
From: Seek
Title: On The Horns
Rating: PG-13
Words: 614
Wishlist Item: #5 - Gratuitous sarcastic!Neal
Summary: Duke Baird is summoned to a meeting with his son’s chief instructor.
-
Duke Baird of Queenscove ran a hand through his dark hair wearily and wondered if it was visibly thinning. At times, it seemed as though Neal was determined to make up for the absence of Graeme and Emrys by driving his parents and just about all his teachers to distraction.
“Master Pine,” he said, very tiredly. “Since I have duties unattended to at the palace, I would like to know how exactly my son ended up with several broken ribs, a few broken fingers, a sprained wrist—”
Slumping on a polished wooden chair next to his father, Neal drawled, “A fairly natural occurrence, Father. You’d have broken ribs too if that great ape of a Genlith was sitting on you—”
Duke Baird cleared his throat. “I would,” he said pointedly, “Like to hear from Master Pine without the needless dramatics.” He ignored the squawk of indignance from Neal. “Well, Master Pine?”
“Your Grace,” Master Pine said, with a florid bow. “Your son here jumped Henric of Genlith during a class discussion on the historical role of lady knights—”
Neal murmured, “Henric drew first. I recall that in any civilised discussion, that would have been sufficient grounds for reprisal—” He quieted when Baird shot him a look and turned back to the University master.
“He drew on Henric,” Master Pine continued, and turned the whole matter into an unsightly brawl. Henric was mentioning that lady knights had no place in the defense of Tortall. And politics aside, your Grace, this is a University! Differing opinions are to be permitted here, and not to be violently settled…”
Duke Baird hid his sigh. “Is that it?” he asked, pointedly. “A mere fight between boys? This explains why my son was suffering from a sword wound to his abdomen?”
Neal said, “His sword was where I needed to go, Father. And there really wasn’t many other places for me to go with Tirragen grabbing my arms. Breaking a good hold from the inside is most difficult, you know. Particularly when I’m not as heavily built as some of those brutes.”
Baird resisted the urge to rub at his temples.
“No,” Master Pine snapped. “There was the matter of the dress. He and Donal of Macayhill snuck into the masters’ rooms and burned their robes! He left nothing behind except the dressing gowns. Most unseemly! And then he bundled Henric and another dissenting scholar into dresses and paraded them through the halls! In garish shades of pink! And then he announced he was quitting the University because it was a useless place and he was going to become a knight and come back stick his sword through Henric’s codpiece since it was clear he didn’t require it.”
Innocently, Neal explained, “That threat worked.”
Baird frowned at Neal. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”
“Well, Father,” Neal drawled, crossing his legs languidly, “I really don’t see where else I should stick my sword, after I’ve become a knight. And I’ve been making the decision for a while. A healer, as you’ve mentioned yourself on numerous occasions, knows exactly how someone’s put together. Which,” he smiled faintly, “Means I know exactly where to hit.”
“And the wardrobes?”
Neal raised his hands defensively. “Henric said I wouldn’t dare to,” he said, very calmly. “I decided that an extensive, experiential refutation of Henric’s ideas was most conclusive. Particularly that dresses were demeaning and that females were weaker. It proved most educational, don’t you think? And it was partly Macayhill’s idea. Most instructive.”
Baird looked slowly between the University master and his son and said, “I’ll put in a word with the training master. Pack your things.”
Message: Happy holidays, and I hope you like this! There might be a hint of Name of the Wind in this, if you know where to look
From: Seek
Title: On The Horns
Rating: PG-13
Words: 614
Wishlist Item: #5 - Gratuitous sarcastic!Neal
Summary: Duke Baird is summoned to a meeting with his son’s chief instructor.
-
Duke Baird of Queenscove ran a hand through his dark hair wearily and wondered if it was visibly thinning. At times, it seemed as though Neal was determined to make up for the absence of Graeme and Emrys by driving his parents and just about all his teachers to distraction.
“Master Pine,” he said, very tiredly. “Since I have duties unattended to at the palace, I would like to know how exactly my son ended up with several broken ribs, a few broken fingers, a sprained wrist—”
Slumping on a polished wooden chair next to his father, Neal drawled, “A fairly natural occurrence, Father. You’d have broken ribs too if that great ape of a Genlith was sitting on you—”
Duke Baird cleared his throat. “I would,” he said pointedly, “Like to hear from Master Pine without the needless dramatics.” He ignored the squawk of indignance from Neal. “Well, Master Pine?”
“Your Grace,” Master Pine said, with a florid bow. “Your son here jumped Henric of Genlith during a class discussion on the historical role of lady knights—”
Neal murmured, “Henric drew first. I recall that in any civilised discussion, that would have been sufficient grounds for reprisal—” He quieted when Baird shot him a look and turned back to the University master.
“He drew on Henric,” Master Pine continued, and turned the whole matter into an unsightly brawl. Henric was mentioning that lady knights had no place in the defense of Tortall. And politics aside, your Grace, this is a University! Differing opinions are to be permitted here, and not to be violently settled…”
Duke Baird hid his sigh. “Is that it?” he asked, pointedly. “A mere fight between boys? This explains why my son was suffering from a sword wound to his abdomen?”
Neal said, “His sword was where I needed to go, Father. And there really wasn’t many other places for me to go with Tirragen grabbing my arms. Breaking a good hold from the inside is most difficult, you know. Particularly when I’m not as heavily built as some of those brutes.”
Baird resisted the urge to rub at his temples.
“No,” Master Pine snapped. “There was the matter of the dress. He and Donal of Macayhill snuck into the masters’ rooms and burned their robes! He left nothing behind except the dressing gowns. Most unseemly! And then he bundled Henric and another dissenting scholar into dresses and paraded them through the halls! In garish shades of pink! And then he announced he was quitting the University because it was a useless place and he was going to become a knight and come back stick his sword through Henric’s codpiece since it was clear he didn’t require it.”
Innocently, Neal explained, “That threat worked.”
Baird frowned at Neal. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”
“Well, Father,” Neal drawled, crossing his legs languidly, “I really don’t see where else I should stick my sword, after I’ve become a knight. And I’ve been making the decision for a while. A healer, as you’ve mentioned yourself on numerous occasions, knows exactly how someone’s put together. Which,” he smiled faintly, “Means I know exactly where to hit.”
“And the wardrobes?”
Neal raised his hands defensively. “Henric said I wouldn’t dare to,” he said, very calmly. “I decided that an extensive, experiential refutation of Henric’s ideas was most conclusive. Particularly that dresses were demeaning and that females were weaker. It proved most educational, don’t you think? And it was partly Macayhill’s idea. Most instructive.”
Baird looked slowly between the University master and his son and said, “I’ll put in a word with the training master. Pack your things.”