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[hider=Clarissa and Nate’s Wild Ride]
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[center][b][color=7041A5][h1]Nathanael Gloucester[/h1][/color][/b][/center][hr]


[color=FF650E]“Thank you.”[/color] Clarissa led the way out of the classroom. She'd spied the verdant sitting areas off the Reception Hall though she hadn't the time to walk them yet and this would afford her two birds with one stone. Still, she paused and nearly reconsidered. The Archbishop stood watching the commotion as students poured out. Saints above, she wanted to talk with him. The opportunity to meet with the closest person to the Goddess and hear his thoughts on the affairs of the world was not afforded to everyone, but she had a goal and that was keeping their House stable, if not peaceful. Hopefully, The Archbishop would still be available after she concluded her business with Nathanael. 

[color=FF650E]“Can we expect more muttered insults and daggers hidden in poignant pauses? I can't imagine you'll find that enjoyable a few weeks into the year.”[/color] Clarissa cut straight to the issue as they crossed from the classrooms into the Reception Hall, and then again out into the verdant open space on the other side. [color=FF650E]“Jorah is an unorthodox choice for his position, but that was out of his hands. I'm not certain what he's done to deserve your vitriol. Is there some shared history I'm unaware of?”[/color]

Brass tacks was the strategy, it seemed. It was not unsurprising, nor unwarranted. Nathanael kept his gaze trained ahead, face devoid of expression. He mulled over the possible ways to play this. A simple apology could suffice, or perhaps a deflection? The truth was too unremarkable to be a viable strategy. Unless…

[color=7041A5]“I slept poorly last evening.”[/color]

Nathanael’s expression shifted slightly. A small grin. The compulsion was still in effect. A rule was learned, though the method by which he was unable to lie remained unknown. Perhaps this was something he would have to deal with while on the school grounds. It would be an unfortunate curse to live with, but one that could be exploited. His face returned to its former, stoic expression, as he looked back to Clarissa. [color=7041A5]“I… have been stressed. Seeing the daughter of the man who killed my father has been taxing. And my harshness towards Jorah is a reflection of my disappointment in this institution. It’s faculty act with an immaturity that is disheartening, and their decision to name Jorah the leader of our House here, even if political, seems systemic of poor leadership at this academy at large.”[/color] He took a deep breath. The truth felt taxing, or was it any prolonged speech. He had not spoken this many words to a person in ages, often opting for efficiency. But, he delved to offer more. [color=7041A5]“I hope to be disproven. I do not want my time here to be a waste.”[/color]

[color=FF650E]“I will admit I am not fond of the decision to elevate Jorah to House Leader; I wanted the role and while I understand why they wouldn't choose me, a significant portion of my own irritation stems from the fact that Jorah doesn't like these positions. Everyone knows he prefers to follow his whimsy and drift with the tide, but we aren't here to settle back into our typical roles. We're here to learn and grow as people and leaders and relegating Jorah to class clown wouldn't have given him that opportunity, nor would it given the rest of us an opportunity to experience following an inexperienced leader. But Jorah has my full support and I hope that if you don't yet trust him, you will at least trust that I will be at his side when he needs a helping hand. The Leicester Alliance isn't a monarchy for a reason; we cherish our differences and find strength in supporting each other to be greater than the sum of our parts. We need only apply that founding principle here and rather than engaging in decisive action so that we rise above any challenge this year may throw our way.”[/color] Clarissa offered him a sympathetic smile afterwards. 

[color=FF650E]“Of course, I would not ask you to forget or forgive the tragedy that took your father from you. It was awful that happened and you certainly didn't deserve to be bereft of him, but I simply ask for the tiniest smidgen of tolerance. Just enough to ignore Isolde if that's what you need; a school and a church are no place to aggravate the wounds of you and the girl who had no knowledge of her father’s horrific decision. However, if the sleeplessness or the stress of daily interaction becomes too much, I am always willing to offer you some respite with tea and a decent book, if you find yourself needing to hide away for a bit.”[/color]

Nathanael’s expression remained stoic. [color=7041A5]“I understand your position, Clarissa. And I will do my best not to taint relations between my classmates any further.” He paused, his knuckles growing white at his side as he gripped his book tighter. “I believe there is some wisdom in your estimation of Jorah’s appointment. I have greater faith in you, and if you wish to fully support Jorah in his role, then I will follow suit.”[/color] His grip lessened. He did not like having to be so careful with his words.

[color=7041A5]“I do not necessarily agree with your understanding of the principles of the Alliance, though. There is strength in separating out territory and dividing it among autonomous rulers, and strength in an understanding of mutual protection as opposed to establishing a central authority through which all action and rule must divert from. But the Alliance is no stronger than the sum of its parts due to differences: that doesn’t make sense.”[/color] His voice was plain and boorish, akin to an auditory reading of a textbook rather than his own thoughts. He turned his gaze briefly towards Clarissa when he was finished.

[color=FF650E]“Thank you, Nathanael. I'll do right by your trust.”[/color] Clarissa offered him a sincere smile when he looked at her. [color=FF650E]“Perhaps difference is the wrong perspective, but rather it's diversity. Our government is a stage for success, but a stage doesn't do anything. Assembled in a market square, a stage is empty and barren. It's just needless clutter. But when the players take the stage, it becomes a limitless place where miracles and horrors beyond our imagination are possible. It's the same as the Alliance. Our treaties, structures, and laws are pointless without the people they are intended to serve. We exist to foster a nation where the hope and imagination of our people grow without obstacles, unfettered and free, and it is this hope that creates the spirit of the Alliance. It is that spirit in your soldiers who defend the southern border and your farmers who till the land sunrise to sunset, in the soldiers of the Goneril’s defeating wave after wave of Almyran invaders, in the master artisans we provide to others for their talents in architecture and defense, and it is in the coin and foreign goods brought in by Reigan ports which promote innovation from places unknown. It is this spirit which makes us greater than dusty history books or faded maps can capture, that makes us greater than the sum of our parts, and it is our duty to ensure we continue with progress rather than stamping it down beneath the demands of tradition.”[/color] She had stopped in their walk at one point, her focus entirely on Nathanael. She snapped her fingers at the end, excitement at a sudden realization.

[color=FF650E]“Oh! I can't expect you to understand without experiencing it! Would you care to come to Edmund after this year? You can come see the spirit of the Alliance up close and personal for a bit!”[/color] Clarissa offered eagerly, clapping him on the shoulder. [color=FF650E]“And I doubt all of my people know what you look like on sight, so we can simply introduce you as my friend if you were uncomfortable carrying your title in a different territory.”[/color]

Nate raised an eyebrow. Clarissa did have a gravitas to her that even he was not immune to. His mind wanted to poke holes in her logic, but the spirit of her words were enough to keep even him silent. Her offer, however, was rather shocking and confusing. He lifted his book to his chest, holding it close to guard himself. If she was under the same compulsions as him, then all of her words had to be true. There was room in her words for unsaid deceit, perhaps. She didn’t say she wasn’t luring him to her territory so she could gut him. It wasn’t in her nature, from what he had seen. No… no she was a more terrifying beast altogether: an optimist. He mulled over her words for a moment, before letting a sigh escape his lips. [color=7041A5]“I am interested in getting better clarity on what you mean. If a trip to Edmund would provide that clarity, then I suppose I can set aside my nerves for a time to see it done.”[/color]

[color=FF650E]“Excellent. I look forward to your visit when our time here is done.”[/color] Clarissa paused as their short walk brought them back around to the Reception Hall. [color=FF650E]“Now, I must beg for your leave. I spied the Archbishop on our way out and I cannot pass up this opportunity to speak with him while he has the time. It was an insightful conversation, Nathanael, and I hope we can make your time here worthwhile.”[/color] She offered him a courtesy and briskly walked back to the classrooms.[/hider]

Clarissa halted halfway to the Archbishop. A frown and a sigh escaped as the bells rang. She’d spent too much time chatting with Nathanael and she missed her chance. Still, she permitted herself a moment to bask in the tolling of the bells. Hearing them was always a comfort, like a brief moment of sunshine on days the cold seeped wet and bitter deep into the bones. The sound drew her attention skywards. Her frown turned into a small smile, personal and warm. As a child, she always imagined the voice of the Goddess whispering in the bells of her church. It was a comforting belief and despite having put that away as a childish fantasy, the security and relief it provided still kept back in. Now, she heard it as the soul of the church, an extension of everything it stood to offer those who needed it most, a moment of respite in the chaos and confusion of the everyday. 

She only lingered a moment though. The blond Professor shouting through the courtyard gave them their directions. Clarissa took a moment to consult the paper the Professor had left available for them and she barely resisted rolling her eyes. A significant portion of the future leaders of Fodlan were neatly crammed into one Unit. Whoever placed them together certainly wasn’t playing a subtle game; although, Clarissa agreed - the connections and bonds they forged here could only help raise Fodlan to greater heights. She just didn’t like being slammed together like dolls in the hands of a five year old. She spied Jorah heading into the correct classroom and briskly followed.

Clarissa listened to Lysander with rapt attention. She wasn’t off the mark. Lysander did want them to break tradition and connect more closely than they had in previous years. The solemnity he opened class with struck her and she could help mulling over what he meant. This impending discord and instability he believed they would face… Fodlan faced concerns at every corner, from the plots of vengeance and power grabs within the political landscape of every nation to plague or famine when the weather turned against them. What storm clouds had the Church seen darkening the horizon that they felt the need to point them out so vaguely? Still, she strongly agreed on one point: the time for tradition was over. As they entered a new era, they would have to adapt, grow, and shed the trappings of yesterday for the sake of the future. And if the Church believed something devastating was coming, then she would stand with their judgment.

Though, she wondered why the Archbishop felt the need to organize this Unit personally. If fostering unity between the nation was the Professor’s goal, it made sense to put anyone who would have even the slightest impact on national policy in the same Unit. Why did the Archbishop feel it necessary to involve himself in an easy task? The question bothered her but she’d put it aside for now. She’d ask Professor Roland after class. 

The other professors proved an interesting collection. While she didn’t get much other than an obvious distaste for being here from Professor Malathice, she certainly agreed with his sentiments aboutProcessor Michail. Boisterous and sophomoric, she would prefer to impale herself on her own sword than have to deal with a second Jorah. She loved him to death, but he was a handful. Having another, who was in charge of her education and activities for the next year, already threatened a vengeful headache and a worse mood. 

And when Jorah jumped onto the bench, she knew this was going to be a long year. It took everything in her not to slug him in the leg, but that would turn this into an even worse spectacle so she instead just seethed. He’d get the message, not that he'd care, but the second this was over, she was going to give him the talking to of his life. She sighed and stood, smoothing her skirt to collect her thoughts after Jorah’s circus act. 

[color=FF650E]“Clarissa von Edmund, heiress to the Margravate of Edmund of the Leicester Alliance. I enjoy horseback riding, sailing, scripture reading, and engaging conversation over evening tea, but I loathe liars and the indecisive. Whatever distressed our Professor, the Goddess has put us all here for a reason. I am honored to have the opportunity to grow into those expectations with all of you and look forward to what greatness we can all achieve in the future.”[/color] Clarissa bowed her head and curtsied as she finished, settling back into her seat and subtly kicking Jorah in the shin for looking like the cat that got the cream.