The journey from Derdriu to Garreg Mach was a lengthy one: with the Oghma mountain range blocking off access from the east, the caravan had go south through Gloucester and across the Great Bridge of Myrddin into Imperial territory, then hang a right at Gronder Field and trek back up north to the mountains. The road was well-traveled, at least, but it was a grueling trip nonetheless, made no easier for the guards accompanying the caravan by the state of their charges.
Jorah von Riegan was in a
fantastic mood.
Despite the circumstances surrounding his enrolment at Garreg Mach, the weeks leading up to his departure had been an agony of anticipation, and by the time they finally set out on the road, Jorah felt like he could have sprinted the whole distance himself. Especially with Clarissa by his side, he was even more airy than usual, not a care in the world as the Riegan caravan lumbered down the road, except maybe to urge the driver to go faster. Ever averse to closed spaces and eager to drink in the scenery he hadn’t seen since he was sixteen, Jorah spent as much of the trip as he could riding alongside the caravan on a horse of his own - albeit tethered to the carriage axle. His father must have given the guards a stern talking-to, because no matter how much Jorah bargained and begged and nudged with his Crest, they wouldn’t let him ride freely. They were right to do so, of course, but that didn't make it any less disappointing.
But despite being pulled along like a captive, Jorah’s spirits never dipped. When he wasn’t pushing Clarissa’s buttons, he was strumming the lute his father had weakly tried to hide from him, serenading the company with every tavern dirge and sea shanty he could remember. Sure, he might have been the source of the circles under the eyes of the guards, but he knew from experience he’d test their patience whether he was singing or not, so he considered it a net gain. At least Clarissa admitted his songs were pretty!
The crossing into Imperial territory was particularly exciting, and had Jorah straining on his horse’s tether more than any other leg of the trip. He’d never been to Adrestia, but laying eyes on Gronder Field brought to mind the stories he’d heard from his father’s Academy days of the grand mock battle held there each year. Naturally, Jorah was fascinated by anything that could lift the Duke’s spirits to such heights - even if they did always come crashing down once the story was over - and drank in as many of the sights as he could, eyes glued to the horizon until they finally happened upon the mountain keep at the end of the road: Garreg Mach Monastery itself.
While he wouldn’t pretend to be profoundly struck by the age and holiness of the monastery, he
was greatly impressed by its scale; the monastery rose from the Oghma mountains like it grew from the very rock, its own spires jutting into the sky alongside the mountain peaks. The place was lively, too, with a busy village at the base and people and animals all over the place. Despite having heard of its surprising population, Jorah had expected a painfully quiet, boring monastery full of stern, pious monks and impatient nuns. What he got instead felt like a miniature city all its own, vibrant and alive with all sorts of normal people. He’d heard the place described as “Fódlan in a nutshell”; if that was true, he couldn’t wait to explore every inch of it.
The address in the cathedral was novel - Jorah scarcely believed that what he’d been told about a twelve-year-old Archbishop was actually
true - but what really caught his attention was the
feel of the room. It was totally different from the day-to-day buzz of city crowds; the new students of the Officers’ Academy radiated every emotion from excitement to dread, like a buzzing bell curve of nervous anticipation that had Jorah’s gut all aflutter, practically vibrating in his seat. He wasn’t sure if it was a good feeling or a bad one, but the excitement of feeling something
different in a crowd eclipsed any of his borrowed reservations.
Oh, and the classroom! Now
there was a place he wouldn’t mind going every morning. True, yes, he had originally planned on shirking his classes as much as he could get away with to explore the monastery and adjacent town, but when
Professor Euphemia bounded in all bouncy blonde hair and slender legs and high-heeled shoes, Jorah couldn’t think of a better place to start his day.
“I’ll make sure to take good care of you!”Ah, Garreg Mach was already exceeding expectations.
“...and the lucky one...is future Duke Jorah Riegan!”Wait. What?
Jorah blinked, sitting up from leaning his head on his hand and glancing around the room. Okay, he hadn’t really been paying attention to the Professor - not to what she was
saying, anyway - did she want him for something? He’d normally be thrilled for a lady like her to call on him, but the very distinct crash he felt in Clarissa’s mood next to him told him that she might have been saying something important. He was left to puzzle over the address and Clarissa’s rapid, concerning decline from anger to melancholy until the papers Professor Euphemia was circulating around the class explained everything.
Jorah von Riegan - House Leader, Golden Deer“What?!” Jorah blurted out, clutching the paper closer to his face and reading it over again. Surely this was a mistake. She said
Jorah Riegan, and he was Jorah
von Riegan, so there must have been another student with a curiously similar name who was chosen for House Leader, right? He looked around the room for anyone who looked like they were thrilled to be in charge, but saw no one. Cichol’s teeth, no wonder Clarissa was pissed!
Jorah could empathize, fuming in his seat with as much potency as a whimsical delight like himself could manage. His dastard father set this up, didn’t he? Ugh, Clarissa was right! Duke Riegan could be dead in the ground and Jorah
still wouldn’t be free of his iron clutches! The man probably thought this was
brilliant, a great way to whip his son into the leader he always wanted him to be. Just
perfect, make him responsible for the students of the Alliance
and get an extra set of eyes on him to keep him from slinking out of class. One of those “elegant solutions” Duke Riegan was known for. Absolutely ideal!
Jorah was contemplating methods of shamefully begging Professor Euphemia for reassignment (it would probably be impossible - his father probably dropped a Derdriu galleon full of money into the Archbishop's lap to make this happen - but it might at least be fun trying) when she spirited herself out of his reach, leaving only him and his remaining classmates, some of whom were already - disturbingly - looking to him for guidance.
What a terrible idea.
Clarissa, Goddes shower upon her all gifts and graces, broke the ice for him; an admirable effort, especially considering the dramatic turn her feelings took in the moments after the announcement. That air of subdued acceptance made Jorah sad; he recognized that mood of hers, and he didn’t much like what it usually accompanied. But if she was going to be good enough to take it in stride and set the stage for him, he’d oblige. Until he worked something else out, at least.
Tossing aside Euphemia’s paper dismissively, Jorah rose to his feet next, turning around to face the greater part of the room as he cleared his throat. Just as he did so, he caught a glimpse of a face that surprised him so much it made him choke: the curly blond head of Oskar Goneril was beaming at him from the back, looking very much like he was trying not to laugh as he offered his partner in crime a double thumbs-up. The stupid grin was contagious; Jorah almost burst out laughing himself as soon as he saw it, and as quickly as it had fallen, his mood soared once again. The absolute shitheel, Oskar never told him he was coming.
“Thank you, Clarissa, that’s an excellent idea,” Jorah greeted quickly, half-choked with still barely-contained laughter. He took a deep breath to compose himself before springing up on top of the desk in front of him, introducing himself to his classmates in a manner much more like himself.
“As some of you may have heard, my name is Jorah von Riegan, and while some of you may remember me as heir to the Duchy of Riegan - or more likely as a distraction at the Roundtable - it looks like this year, I’ll be playing the role of your House Leader.” He smiled winsomely at the class, finding to his surprise that he had at least passing familiarity with all of them - especially the poor Ordelia girl, whose presence was almost as much of a shock as his own appointment as Leader.
“As such, my first act under this new mantle of authority is this: you are all hereby ordered to attend a party tonight to kick off the year and hopefully, to get to know each other a bit more intimately.” He flashed a mischievous look at nobody in particular, accompanied by Oskar
“oooo”ing immaturely in the back, before pointing toward the door.
“My second order is to spread the word about our little get-together to everyone you can find. I want every student at the Officers’ Academy - all three houses - in attendance. Sound good?”He surveyed the class for approval, objections, or questions, ignoring any of the latter two and taking the former as his cue to end his debut.
“Excellent. Dismissed!” He pointed at Oskar.
“Except you, Oskar - you’re in detention.”With that, Jorah nodded to himself and jumped back down to the floor, crossing his arms triumphantly.
“Not bad for my first decree, eh?" He asked Clarissa rhetorically, inwardly bracing for whatever indignance would follow, but too proud to shut up.
"Maybe authority suits me after all."