[Rynmere University] Man of Her Dreams

[Violet]

11 Zi’da 716, 7th break

After she had left Rynmere University the previous trial, Violet had wondered if Malcolm had truly meant to invite her back for his lecture the next morning or if it had been a desperate attempt to get her out of his classroom. He seemed to be struggling with the temptation she had been dangling in front of him, her body tightly clad in black breeches and her crimson blouse pressed against the desk… and then her hands pressing against the muscles of his shoulders, her slow and steady breathing tickling his neck as she had leaned over his shoulder.

She had gone to bed that night and dreamt that their encounter had gone a very different way. Violet had tosses and writhed beneath her covers at the thought of her legs pressed to his hips, his strong hand pressing against the small of her back pulling her closer, and the soft curve of his lips teasing the flesh of her neck. The dream had continued and intensified until she awoke near the fifth break, sweating and tangled in the blankets, her breath heavy and panting. Never before had she had such an intense and realistic dream.

She had awoken and cleaned up the sweat in her wash bowl, using the musk and rose scented soap bar that sat next to it. She had dressed in the same black breeches and flowing crimson blouse, pulling her black knee boots on. Violet enjoyed a few boiled eggs and an apple before departing for the university. With her black cloak clasped tightly around her neck to keep out the chill, she moved a path she had nearly memorized by now. It allowed her mind to drift, though she was still aware enough to dodge the people she crossed on her path.

Students were filtering into the classroom when she arrived. Malcolm was not yet there. Violet slipped through the door and meandered to the far back corner, almost the same place she had sat the last time she was here. She smiled politely at a few glaring students as she unclasped her cloak and draped it over her lap. Her fingers ran through golden locks and their soft waves as she watched the front of the classroom and the door, waiting for the man she had just visited in her dreams.

[Malcolm]

Making sure all of the papers were marked in preparation for this morning's class had meant that Malcolm hadn't seen much sleep. Last night he had gone to bed late and risen early to finish the grades by candlelight. Every paper had been finished though, and by the time he had left for work, the chill in the morning air outside had seen him forgot, at least for a moment, how tired and sleep deprived he was. What little sleep he had managed was often disturbed by Elsie’s crying, waking every half hour, it felt, for a feed or cuddle. He was too old to raise children, and the headache that formed in his way through the door at work only reminded him of that.
Inside the classroom students were still finding their seats, talking about the classes they had later today, and whispering about the grades they hoped for or just expected. Malcolm stalked down the narrow corridor between the desks to the front of the room and put down the pile of papers before dusting off the board. He sat down and called the students names one at a time, offering a little comment to each as they came up to collect their papers.
“An interesting argument,” he told the boy he had called ahead of Violet, “I admired your thought process in particular and the counter argument from paragraph six, on.”
When Violet stepped forward he held her paper out, but didn't release the essay as she took hold, choosing to keep her there for a moment. “It was well researched,” he managed to look her in the eye, unlike the day before, and pointed to the score near the top, a mark of sixty two out of a hundred, not bad for her first academic essay at this level, “but here we admire free thinking. Don't be afraid to toy with different ideas,” he encouraged and let go of the paper.
Once all of the papers were returned, Malcolm got to his feet and paced around to the front of his desk where he lowered himself to sit against the edge, lost deep in thought, or so his stance might suggest. There was a dark patch on the right shoulder of his shirt where the fabric had been dabbed with a damp cloth to clean away sick-up Elsie had spat out on his shirt. His hair was dry but unkempt, not oiled and slicked back as it usually was, the curls resting in much thicker loops.
“I have to apologise,” Malcolm spoke up all of the sudden. “The question posed to you all was a little bit of a trick. The real answer is, nobody knows, the labyrinth hasn't been rediscovered since that first documented trip by a man we know only as the explorer. And I think that's a good lesson to learn, that not all history is accurate, that it is often exaggerated and made bigger and better than it might have actually been. Before books and journals, or even the discovery of paper, the only way to pass on history was through stories, and that is something history never lost, the ability to be told and spread far and wide through story.”
He walked over to the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk. Malcolm stood with his back to the class, the long sleeves of his shirt folded up, and hand raised, ready to write. “I want you to call out and tell me some of the other pieces of history in Rynmere that you believe are no more than fables.”

[Violet]

Violet had not been expecting any grade at all. After all, she wasn’t officially a student and had only put in the effort because she so enjoyed seeing Malcolm and wanted to see more of them. As his called for his students, they rose and got their papers before returning to their seats. Unexpectedly, she heard her own name. She sat still for a moment before rising from the desk and approaching him, a satisfied smile on her face. It was a pleasant surprise that he had taken the time to grade her paper, and she had to try to keep her smile from turning into a smirk.

‘It was well-researched’, he had complimented her. The room suddenly seemed much warmer than it probably was. She reached out to grasp the paper, and Violet was met with resistance on his end. He was holding her there, her pale blue green eyes searching his face for signs of his intent. Was he finally returning her playful games? She had glanced down and saw that she had been awarded over half marks. It was more than she had expected. Then there was his voice, chiming in about free-thinking. Her head tipped in a shallow nod as he released the paper and allowed her to wander back to her space in the back.

She watched him keenly as he took his place at the front of the classroom. He looked much more unkempt than usual. Even his hair was less than tidy. Of course, he was still quite attractive even in a state of messiness. Violet was practically leaning forward in the desk, anxious that their intrigue continue. Malcolm was apologizing to the class for what he had called a bit of a trick assignment. She laughed beneath her breath as he called for classroom response.

Some people before her shouted out a few outlandish stories they had heard. Violet cleared her throat before she spoke up. “What about the ‘historical’ story that Rynmere is a Jacadon turned to stone, defeated by Verne Andaris? What if this was all just here and Andaris found it, made up some convincing story to make his house the ruling class?” When she fell silent, her heart was thumping wildly in her chest, and her eyes were searching every inch of Malcolm in anticipation of his reaction.

[Malcolm]

“The tale of Lord Warrick and the Giant!” someone called out.
“Of the rivers Zor and Avari!” another person called.
“The Witch of The White Well!”
Malcolm wrote all of the comments down as quickly as he could, his writing linked and difficult to read to the untrained eye. Violet’s voice was easy to pick out in the crowd, and he paused part way through writing her opinion down. “Ah,” the mortalborn smiled, “that's a tricky one, see, Lord Andaris was never a king and had no noble house while he was alive. He was an adventurer and an explorer. His daughter was the first queen of Rynmere, married of course to one of Lord Warrick’s son.”
“Warrick and the Mer-woman!” A younger man shouted.
Malcolm shoulders shook with mirth, and he jotted the tale down along with the rest. By the time the students had finished calling out, half of Rynmere’s history was up on the blackboard. Malcolm stepped towards the front of the class. “You see what I mean?” they had proven his point for him, “sometimes it's difficult to tell whether we follow true history or the tales of a master storyteller.”
“Are you able to tell us if any of them were real, ser?”
“To do that I would have to admit to being over four hundred arcs old, and we all know that would be ridiculous.”
The students laughed. “Then of your best opinion,” the same woman asked.
“I think it's true that one of Warrick’s sons fell in love with a Mer. I don't think love discriminates,” he admitted, “and if your travels ever take you to the southern reaches of Idalos, I'm sure the pirates in those waters will tell you of their love for the Mer, who I've heard can be particularly charming.”
“What about the witch?” A boy he knew as Francis spoke up.
“People claim she still lives in the woods near Krome, why don't you go and ask her yourself?” Malcolm smirked.
“Fieldtrip!” Someone laughed at the back.
“Well we all know The White Well is real,” he shrugged. “While seeing is believing to some extent, sometimes you must just use your best judgement,” the warden added.
A girl in her early twenties at the front of the class raised her hand, and Malcolm gestured for her to speak up. “Is it true that The End Stone was gifted to the people of Rynmere by the immortals?”
“One of the immortals,” Malcolm agreed, “but I couldn't tell you which, only that it wasn't Vri, who all of you might suspect.”

The lesson turned into more of a question and answers session than the usual classes he ran, but so near to the end of the year, Malcolm didn't mind too much. He had managed to cover most of the curriculum, with only a couple more papers to go, one he intended for them to work on while he was away on campaign in the Eastern Settlement.
He set the assignment before the students left, asking that they all pick one of the tall-tales listed on the blackboard and research it. They were to find proof if possible, and write a large, three thousand word essay on their chosen topic which explored the for and against arguments before delving into what their research and findings told them. He wrote all of the listed topics down to make sure no one strayed from the list, and tucked the piece of paper away in the top drawer of his desk to fetch at a later date.
As the students made their way from the classroom, Malcolm took up his coat and followed them out, venturing outside for a spot of fresh air.