[The Academy] Students Teaching [Legion]

[Talen Stirling]

30th of Fall 511 A.V. The maple and Pecan trees of The Academy courtyard waved dutifully as they were whipped to and fro by the rough, wet and cold fall wind. The movements of the air were clearly visible in the many fallen leaves that flew from place to place, and around the moving figure of Talen walking huddled but quickly towards the entrance to the old building. His cotton scarf was buffeted wildly by the wind, but stopped dead quickly as he moved onto the Veranda and opened the heavy wooden doors with a shove of both arms, leading into the front room loaded with equipment and clothing. Just after knocking his boots off swiftly on the wooden porch. He moved with a calm familiarity as he walked to the corner and shed his cloack and scarf onto a rack which held a few others leftover from that same day's teaching. He smiled for a moment at how he had to reach not above himself to hang up the coat, and then forced himself to walk past the classes and towards the stairs to the Lieutenant's office. The wooden steps creaked ominously as Talen walked the old road of penitence to Marx's office. He couldn't help but slouch his shoulders and step hesitantly, before he made it to the top of the stairs and walked over to the door to the office, one that seemed much smaller than it had in the past. *Knock, knock, knock,. Knuckles tapped firmly and heavily on the door three times, a changed echo of the times past where he'd knocked on this same door for a very different conversation and purpose.

[Legion]

Ink spread across the parchment the color of a bruised sky, a troubled reflection of the weather blustering at the windowpane. The lieutenant was seated at the desk in his front room, the door to his bedroom partially open. The walls were lined with shelves that were a continuing theme of those in the class room below, mismatched and hodgepodge, begged, borrowed and loaned. Books weighed them down, organized and lined up with an almost obsessive nod toward organization. Delano Marx was a man who liked things orderly, where everything had a home and was easily located by the application of sound logic. It was ironic that he had successfully headed up the Academy for the past fifteen or so years, an occupation that meant being constantly overrun by energetic, messy children; but perhaps it was not so bemusing considering the way he smiled, kindly and open. Despite an almost dashing air about him (doubtless that which along with his archery skill had granted him membership in the Dandy Guild), his learned mind and apparently endless patience, he had remained a widower since his young wife’s death years back. His young son – Jonas -- was constantly underfoot at Academy, Captain’s Hall and the Opal Clinic, as wild and flighty as his father was not. At the knock, Delano did not even look up, having of course heard the tread of ascending footsteps. He completed making his mark on the ledger page and raised his voice if not his head to say, “Come in.”

[Talen Stirling]

The door swung open swiftly, its movement halted when Talen grasped the edge of it and closed it shut softly, while looking at the man before him. To his eyes, Marx seemed the same as ever, any signs of weariness and age hidden by reputation and memory. He stifled a devoted friendly smile as he approached the orderly table, putting on an obedient and disciplined façade, cracked by the shimmer of a humorous smirk. It was strange, approaching Lieutenant Marx in this office again, a thing that had been both dreaded and hoped for in the past. Both teacher, role model and officer, the mix of impressions was confusing. "Good day sir.," The polite greeting snapped off with half a military sound, and Talen shifted on his feet at attention before Marx decided what tone their meeting should take. He'd been looking forward and planning this occasion for a while now, but there was always a kind of tense nervousity when starting something new.

[Legion]

Marx lifted his eyes degree by degree, absorbing every iota of detail Talen Stirling -- former student and fellow Denval loyalist -- proffered in his manhood that he had not in his wilder youth. A matching shimmer graced his mouth at long last, reflecting his visitor's smirk back at him. Mirrors made for curious lessons. "Good day, Stirling," he replicated Talen's tone, but it was without the mockery another might have done. Delano was the straight man in a long laid joke fate kept caught behind His teeth, or so Haimon had once remarked upon an evening of degtine and dice. Pen dropped, ledger nudged aside as he shifted back in his chair with a stretch of long legs beneath the battered old desk. The chair creaked, aged leather familiar with the form of him, and he stretched arms above his head while raising his eyebrows. "Have a seat and tell to what I owe this pleasure." A beat. "I'm not old enough to be senile. You don't have a child yet, do you?" Good gods.

[Talen Stirling]

Talen's shoulders dropped, a more companionable and comfortable feeling falling over him quickly as his superior smiled, greeted him and offered him a seat. He would prefer talking man to man rather than officer to soldier, or teacher to student for this. He pulled back the chair before the table with his right hand, and sat down carefully, a bitter smile coursing across his lips at the unintentionally hurtful question. "Gods, no, sir! Imagine the child it would be," That joke was so sarcastic in nature he almost winced, but instead shook his head to clear his thoughts and looked up with a calmed but edgy smile. "I wanted to talk to you about an idea I had.." He paused, the punch of bitter memories derailing his thoughts before he continued, "As you probably know, being a guard isn't quite enough to make a living off. Sure, so far I've been doing fine and getting along with the aid other's effort, but I was looking for another way to contribute." He was warming up to his point now, and the excitement he had initially felt when he got the idea returned swiftly. "So I thought, what am I good at? And the truth is, I'm not good at all that much. Except with the sword and shield. But perhaps that opens up to one option; teaching others to do so... Just as I was taught myself." He looked up at his own teacher, elder and leader with a relieved exhale that quickly turned into rapt, curious and nervous attention to what he would think of it.

[Legion]

The curve of Delano's smile waxed like Leth's light in a new spring sky as he noted the edge to Talen's words, that self directed bitterness that seemed to be house in so many of the Denvali despite all of the best efforts of the city. There was only so much to be done for a city so long cut off from the world, but to be certain Denval had always given her all. Marx knew very well that Talen had as well. He scrubbed a hand back through his hair and slanted thoughtful eyes at the shelf beside his desk, then back at Talen. Deliberating a few moments longer, he at last rose to snatch the bottle of degtine free of the neat row of ledger books and clunk it down to the desk top between them. This was shockingly out of character of the Academy lieutenant. This was a man who liked everything in order, this belonged here and to everything a season. Flexibility came from within, never outlined in his detailed list of schedules and rules. "We could use an instructor for the younger children," he confessed. "So many of our instructors are so part time and specialized that they'll only take on the older students, the more advanced, anymore. Think you can handle a wild bunch of rugrats running around trying to kill everything in sight?" He raised an eyebrow at Talen, a hint of a smirk appearing, and set out a pair of glasses. He gestured for his former pupil to pour.

[Talen Stirling]

Talen waited impatiently, suspended in that moment between acceptance and denial. He'd come up with this idea out of the blue, although perhaps it had brought out by working with Faylon and remembering what it was like being taught. What the teachers had been like. Regardless, he couldn't even place the feeling, but it had seemed as though a spark had been ignited and it was just right. Now it was all in the hands of Marx, who eyed the shelf contemplatively. Talen eyed him in turn, finding hope in the fact that he seemed to be thinking about it. A hopeful curiosity that turned to disbelief that turned to elated mirth as Marx' suddenly procured a dusty untouched bottle of degtine from the rows of neatly stacked books. Talen smiled widely, all bad memories and worry forgotten in an instant as he saw Marx' break his rules and forms to celebrate his idea. This wasn't acceptance of his idea, this was approval from someone who had always been an authority in his life. "Takes one to know one, doesn't it?" He laughed clearly, unable to keep up a serious facade as he took hold of the bottle of degtine and carefully filled a glass first for the lieutenant. Even in his amusement he was mindful not to spill a drop or shake his hand, such was the discipline of a life as a Denvali guard, hammered in since he himself had been a rugrat. A three-quarter filled glass of degtine slid across the table to the lieutenant, and then he filled up his own with a smiling gratitude.

[Legion]

"Sweet Aquiras," the lieutenant grinned, an expression that caused one to forget the disfiguring scar carving down half his face. "That is the truth now, isn't it?" He settled his elbows comfortably upon his desk and plucked up the glass Talen had poured for him. It was lifted, held suspended in traditional wait until his once-student held up a glass for himself. He tapped his glass to Talen's wordlessly, but this widower was a man of few words when he was not in the full swing of the teaching business. The degtine burned, warming his belly in the cooling weather of autumn. The sensation was enjoyed in silence while he proceeded to consider his companion with patient eyes. "I'm going to give you the littles," he determined at length. "Start with the youngsters, the ones who have had the instruction only of their parents and neighbors in informal hours. Full set of martial training. The goal will be to get them involved with the basics, but more importantly, I will be relying on you to suss out where their best talents lay. What do you think of that?"

[Talen Stirling]

Talen lifted his glass up to the lieutenant's, the moment's gratifying silent acknowldgement unbroken by any words. He smiled faintly as he threw back the glass, humming a low rumble with the warm sensation. That drink in that moment was like a treasure and a victory in itself, and he looked at Marx with curious anticipation as he spoke again. Talen reached out for the bottle and glass, giving the lieutenant a questioning raised eyebrow while holding it above the glass. if he nodded, he filled it while answering his question hesitantly. "That sounds good. But.. I never really had to suss out where my best talents lay myself, because I only had one. I would love to teach the littles, but I am not sure if I even know enough of much else than the sword and shield to be of use to them?" He felt a little nervous again, but it didn't bother him much. There would be a place for him.

[Legion]

The lieutenant extended an agreeable nod toward Talen’s silent offer to pour them out a second round. A hand rose, scrubbing briefly at his jaw while he mulled over the details of their conversation and those of that interminable one he held with his concern for the children of Denval. “It will work out,” he decided finally. “You are plenty equipped to begin their instruction in the basics and your talents are going to expand, I suspect, in natural conjunction with your students’ needs.” There was an abrupt intensity to his regard as Delano attempted to ascertain Talen’s reaction to his statement. A man must expand and grow with the needs of that which relied upon him. That was this lesson today.