Who: Zacheus Aleyne and Storm Kapur. What: Zacheus has a few questions for Storm about his fellow squires. Where: Shieldwyrm Hall, mess hall. When: Earlier this month. Rating: G. Status: Complete.
The mess halls of Shieldwyrm were always rowdy at noon. Hungry, jostling fighters crowded the space, many in a rush to or from their duties. As any squire would say, lunch was not the best time to be at the bottom of the totem pole. Storm found himself wishing he could have stayed at the Cathedral for the morning, for Hellwyrm’s mess hall was certain to be better than this. But mandatory morning classes at Shieldwyrm were mandatory morning classes at Shieldwyrm, even for noble squires who did not often have to, Ajora forbid, fall in line for a meal.
At length, the squire had his lunch. The heavy throngs, however, ensured that finding a seat would not be an easy venture. Sucking in his lips, Storm made his way around the room in search of a familiar face—or, at the very least, an empty chair.
Recent events caused Zacheus to appear at Shieldwyrm more and more frequently, much to his displeasure. It was a perfectly serviceable guild hall, of course, but almost always teeming with people. The archer couldn't abide crowds in the best of moods; he had no patience for the mad lunch rush when he was in such low spirits. The Outlands were tumultuous and dangerous at the moment, with bandits and plagues sweeping east, but he still found the thieves and rabid creatures preferable to this.
Fortuitous timing caused him to look up from his meal just as Storm was looking for a place to sit. Zacheus knit his brows in thought as he regarded the squire, then waved him over. He managed to look a little less surly as he gestured to the empty chair across from him.
Storm took it eagerly, gratitude evident in his expression. While the squire could not confess to knowing Zacheus very well (the Aleynes were closer to Conan than to himself), it was easy to be in the archer’s company. The man was refreshing change of pace from the guild’s bolder personalities. In this regard, Storm could not help but feel that he and Zacheus were similar. Neither of them, the boy felt, was particular outgoing where most other fighters seemed to be.
“Good afternoon, Zacheus,” he said. “It is a pleasure to see you returned to the city. Have you been home long?”
"Only a couple days." His response was followed by a long moment of silence as Zacheus busied himself with his stew. That's how it appeared, at least. In reality, he was going over his most recent talk with Conan and wondering what he could hope to glean from a conversation with young Storm Kapur. Conan and Storm's close friendship was bemusing—but then again, it was a similar in nature to his relationship with Rictor, wasn't it?
He speared a piece of beef on his fork as he studied the squire's face, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a small smile. "How've you been, Storm? The Korporal hasn't been giving you a hard time, has he?"
“I have been well,” Storm replied. “And no more than necessary, I do believe.” Of course, the squire was unlikely to speak ill of his mentor even if the Korporal had been unduly demanding. Storm was not immune to the squirely affliction of lionising his mentor.
“He has challenged me to knock him down in a spar,” the boy went on to supply. “I have been preparing for it, although I doubt I will be able to manage the feat.” Which likely meant that he would not receive the letter of recommendation he needed to partake in Sir Shaw’s classes. It was a pity, but if the Korporal did not deem him ready for the classes, there was little Storm could say in argument.
"Hm." His free hand scratched at his chin as he reclined in his chair. True, Zacheus had no idea what Storm was capable of, but the chances of him knocking down Rictor Cassul were very slim. There wasn't enough advice in the world to even those odds, but he felt comfortable giving him a few pointers.
"Perhaps. But your mentor is slow and terrible at guarding his right flank," he replied thoughtfully. "It isn't a lost cause."
Spoon hovering over his stew, the boy blinked up at the archer in surprise. The advice was not at all what Storm had been expecting. (Although, of course, ‘slow and terrible’ by Zacheus’s estimations was certain to mean another thing entirely on a squire’s level.)
“Thank you,” was said after a contemplative pause. “I will be sure to consider this in my strategy.” Storm flushed for a moment, embarrassed. To require strategy for a simple spar was no doubt excessive. Eager to change the topic, the boy added hastily, “On another note, have you had the opportunity to see Conan yet?”
"I have," Zacheus replied with a nod. He thought back on the conversation with the squire with some fondness, a good-natured joke about their pranks forming on the tip of their tongue — and then he leaned forward suddenly, mentally switching gears. "Speaking of Conan," he began, his tone becoming much more serious. "What can you tell me about his relationship with Sir Fitz? Only your observations, of course. I'm not asking you to betray his confidence."
Storm frowned. “I would not say that it is altogether favorable. I believe Sir Fitz may be… losing patience.”
"Hm." It was nothing he didn't already know. The relationship between mentor and squire was very tenuous at the moment. But there was something else Storm could help with. "The two of you spend a lot of time together. Have you ever noticed his marksmanship?"
“Of course,” the squire confirmed. “You never want to go up against Conan in a snowball fight.” And yet, he recalled suddenly, such were not the only instances Conan opted to use this particular talent. Storm’s gut instinct was, as ever, to make a loyal defense. “Did you catch him doing something… untoward? Certainly he meant no real harm.”
“No.” There was a beat. “Well, I did catch him shooting gumballs at monks,” Zacheus admitted, “but he’s not in any trouble. He has remarkably good aim for someone his age. Untrained, even.” The archer didn’t seem to notice the note of admiration that crept into his voice.
But what was he going to do with this information? There was no polite way to tell a man he barely knew what he ought to be doing with his squire. Zacheus speared another piece of meat with a bit more force than necessary.
“Perhaps you could train him in his aim,” Storm suggested. “I do not think it is a matter for which Sir Fitz can contribute significantly.” It was not uncommon for squires to take classes under other fighters every so often, and perhaps, he thought, Conan might be motivated to do well under Zacheus’s instruction.
“If it is not forward of me to put forth, of course,” the squire continued carefully.
“Not at all,” Zacheus replied quickly, shaking his head. “It’s something I’m willing to consider, but I would have to talk to Sir Fitz first. And if he is reluctant to allow Conan additional training while he’s still having, ah, behavioral issues…” The archer trailed off. A few rounds at the range wouldn’t be noteworthy, but he would have to clear regular training sessions with Conan’s mentor.
Another pause stretched between them before the archer changed the topic. “Would you happen to know a squire by the name of Morgayne?”
“Of course!” Storm said, spine straightening. Again, his stew was forgotten. “Do you intend to instruct her as well?”
“Ah—well, if she’s interested,” the archer replied slowly. It was a vague response, but Zacheus had no interest in bringing up the girl’s backstory and his relationship to her. “Who does she squire for?”
The boy was uncertain as to whether or not Morgayne would appreciate his divulging the information. At the same time, it was insubordination to withhold the answer. Storm took a moment to consider his response. Even if he pleaded ignorance, there was no doubt the archer could find his answer elsewhere, perhaps from someone who would paint Morgayne in an unkind light because of the assignment. The notion set Storm on edge, even though his own estimation of the assignment was untoward.
“Lady Marcos,” Storm answered. The boy appeared to be quite unlike himself then, brows furrowed and jaw clenched, ready to redress the first hostile word against the other squire.
Well. The older man was surprised by both the answer and Storm’s defensiveness, but he schooled his expression into one of complete neutrality. “Ah, I see. Lady Marcos is a skilled fighter, there are certainly much worse knights to be paired with,” he added politely, mustering up the most generous thing he could think to say about the fell knight.
Storm deflated. It appeared there would be no need to—he wasn’t certain. Defend Morgayne’s honour? The consideration left him feeling flustered; he returned diligently to his stew. Yet even that contained moment of aggression had tired him.
“How are you and Morgayne acquainted?”
“We met in the Outlands.” More vague answers. The two squires were obviously close, but Zacheus had no idea how much Storm knew about the girl’s background. It wasn’t his place to say anything—to anyone, for that matter. His eyes dropped down to what was left of his stew. Barely a forkful left. Glancing around the mess hall, it seemed like most of the other fighters were finishing up as well. The dense crowd was finally thinning, the usual din was dying down.
“Thank you for… all your assistance, Storm,” he said quietly, pushing himself up off the bench. “I wish you the best of luck with in your spar against the Korporal.”
“Of course, Sir.”
His own stew nearly finished, the squire rose as well. With a respectful exchange of nods, the pair parted ways.