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3rd Person View
"Whose next then?" Martin was calling as Horace, grinning broadly, stepped back into the line. Alyss stepped forward gracefully, annoying Martin, who wanted to nominate her as the next candidate.
"Alyss Mainwaring, my lord," she said in her quiet, level voice. Then, before she could be asked, she continued, "I request an appointment to the Diplomatic Service please, my lord."
Aron, the Barron, smiled at the solemn looking girl. She had an air of self-confidence and poise about her that would suit her well in the Service. He glanced at Lady Pauline, the head of the Diplomatic Service.
"My lady?" He said.
She nodded her head several times. "I've already spoken to Alyss, my lord. I believe she will be an excellent candidate. Approved and accepted."
Alyss made a small bow of her head in the direction of the woman who would be her mentor. Will thought how alike they were - both tall and elegant in their movements, both grave in manner. He felt a small surge of pleasure for his oldest companion, knowing how much she wanted this selection. Alyss stepped back in line and Martin, not to be forestalled this time, was already pointing at George.
"Right! You're next! You're next! Address the Baron."
George stepped forward. His mouth open and closed several times but nothing came out. The other wards watched in surprise. George, long regarded by them all as the offical advocate for just about everything, was overcome with stage fright. He finally managed to say something in a low voice that nobody in the room could hear. Baron Arald leaned forward, one hand cupped behind his ear.
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that?" He said. George looked up from the Baron and, with enormous effort, spoke in a just-audible voice.
"G-Gorge Carter, sir. Scribeschool, sir."
Martin, every stickler for the properties, drew in a breath to berate him for the truncated nature of his address. Before he could do so, and to everyone's relief, Baron Arald stepped in.
"Very well, Martin, let it go." Martin looked a little aggrieved but subsided. The Baron glanced at Nigel, his chief scribe and legal officer, with one eyebrow raised in question.
"Acceptable, my lord." Nigel said, adding, "I've seen some of George's work and he really does have a gift for calligraphy."
The Baron looked doubtful. "He's not the most forceful of speakers, is he, Scribemaster? That could be a problem if he has to offer legal counsel at any time in the future."
Nigel shrugged the objection aside, "I promise you, my lord, with proper training that sort of thing represents no problem. Absolutely no problem at all, my lord". The master scribe folded his hands together into the wide sleeves of the monk-like habit he wore as he warmed his theme.
"I remember a boy who joined us some seven years back, rather like this one here, as a matter of fact. He had that same habit of mumbling to his shoes - but we soon showed him how to overcome it. Some of our most reluctant speakers have gone to develop absolute eloquence, my lord, absolute eloquence."
The Baron drew in a breath to comment but Nigel continued his discourse.
"It may even surprise you to hear that, as a boy, I myself suffered from a most terrible nervous stutter. Absolutely terrible, my lord. Could barely put two words together at a time."
"Hardly a problem now, I see," the Baron managed to put in dryly, and Nigel smiled, taking the point: he bowed to the Baron.
"Exactly, my lord. Well soon help young George overcome his shyness. Nothing like the rough and tumble of Scribeschool for that. Absolutely."
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Rangers Apprentice
FanfictionY/n, the daughter of Halt, knows more about young Will than he does himself. But she has sworn to her father, the mysterious Ranger, that she will not give away that information until the time is right. After Will is denied of his apprenticeship for...
