A bell chimed to mark the start of class.
Bran managed to jump back to his seat just in time as their history tutor strode into the classroom, carrying rolls of parchment in his arms. He let them scatter on the teacher's desk before turning to face the class. "Oh, good, we're on time. Good morning, class!"
He and his classmates returned the greeting in their usual monotony. Three-quarters of them hadn't slept a wink last night, working on their reports for Politics & Governance. Most of them looked close to passing out, while some already had their heads on their desks. The pre-lunch period was never a good time to be teaching.
"Anyway, all of you should have received your new history notes. Today we will be starting on the last topic of the Modern History segment, which is the Third Valg War."
Bran slumped back down into his chair. He didn't need to hear about this again.
"Bet you're already an expert on this, right? I mean, all the bedtime tales?" teased the classmate next to him. She also happened to be his cousin. Aveline Ashryver.
"Shut up," he muttered, but he saw her gaze was fixed on their tutor in front of them.
Their history tutor had pinned up a giant coloured map of Erilea on the blackboard. "The borders you see that divide Erilea today have remained largely unchanged since the Third Valg War. The war took place over fifty years ago, but the seeds of it were first sown perhaps seventy years ago, when the Adarlanians sent a Valg prince into the borders of our kingdom and assassinated every member of the royal family." He swept his eyes over the room, and seemed to linger on Bran for just a few seconds longer.
"Subsequently, with the kingdom weakened, Adarlan sent an army to conquer our nation, which eventually has been come to known as the Fall of Terrasen. For the first chapter, we will take a closer look at the political and historical background to..."
And so the tutor launched into a full lecture on Adarlan-Terrasen relations as well as the details of the Valg possession of King Dorian I Havilliard. His voice soon faded into a drone, mixed in with the sound of furious scribbling from those classmates that were still awake. His cousin was busy flipping through three different notebooks. Bran had his set of notes on the table too, but didn't bother writing anything down. Heck, he doubted he even needed them.
Lord Chaol Westfall of Anielle, Hand of the King… Lady Yrene Westfall of Anielle… Queen Ansel Briarcliff of the Western Wastes… King Dorian II Havilliard of Adarlan… the names of major military and political figures from across the continent peppered the tutor's speech, and Bran's gold-ringed eyes would dart back upon each mention before returning to study the Plain of Theralis outside the classroom window. The tutor's lecture was a story he had heard repeated a hundred times around the hearth, either from various bards, his parents, or his parents' friends. The kingsflame is in bloom this season, he thought, looking out at the red flowers that dotted the Plain. Apparently they hadn't always been this common.
There was a break in the tutor's drone. Someone was asking a question. Yes, Berold?
Wait, why didn't our queen just sacrifice Lady Lochan? asked Berold. Bran pretended he wasn't listening, but his fingers curled around the edges of his desk.
What do you mean?
In the conclusion of the naval battle against the Valg Queen. I mean, there'd be some struggle for sure, but the queen could have escaped and then they wouldn't need to go through all the trouble of finding her. I don't want to sound overly critical of the queen but it seems illogical that they wouldn't sacrifice Lady Loch-
With a loud crash, Bran's table fell to the floor, and he stood up to face Berold, who looked taken aback by this sudden movement. "Who the hell do you take my mother for?" He pointed a finger at his classmate, whose face had turned red. "A true leader doesn't sacrifice comrades. Unlike your father who hid away in Orynth, like a useless bastard!"
"My father was thinking of the best way to defend our kingdom! Your mother is only queen because of him!"
"Enough! Both of you! Enough!" their tutor slammed his fist down on his desk.
"He insulted the queen!"
"We are all entitled to our own opinions here," said the tutor, crossing his arms.
"And I'm not?"
"Of course you are entitled to yours. But I require that you express it in a respectful way."
"Respect is reserved for people who are deserving of it. Not for this whining pig!"
"You call me that one more time-!"
A knock came on the classroom door, cutting Berold off short. It creaked open, and from outside came a familiar voice. The tutor walked over to the door, wide-eyed and trembling. "I, uh, wasn't expecting this visit, Headmaster. Your Majesty."
"I was here to meet with the Headmaster, but surely it won't be too much trouble to see how Terrasen's children are taught," said the voice. Bran immediately flushed, righting his table and sitting back down as quickly as he could. He ignored Aveline who was doing her best to keep herself from laughing.
"N-no, of course not, Your Majesty. Um, you should know, this is your son's class." Their tutor's voice had dropped in volume, but he could still hear him. Thanks to his heritage.
"I know. That's why I requested the Headmaster bring me here." The tutor bowed low, and he stepped back into the classroom so that their new guest could enter. The entire class stood, and Bran reluctantly did the same, keeping his face turned towards the window. If not for who his mother was, all his classmates would have been making fun of him by now.
"Sit, sit," said the guest. For it was none other than the Queen of Terrasen herself, Aelin Galathynius. A smile brightened her face, a face that had hardly aged despite her seventy years.
The tutor coughed. "Her Majesty and the Headmaster will be sitting in to observe the rest of the lesson. We will continue where we left off."
"Where did you leave off, Halswell?" asked his mother.
"Er, hm, well, two of the students were engaged in a, uh, lively debate regarding some events that occurred during the Third Valg War, Your Majesty."
"Ah, was that the commotion I heard from the corridor?" Bran glanced up at his mother. The queen winked at him. Relieved, he grinned back at her, straightening in his chair.
"I-I'm sure one of the students can tell you about it," said the tutor.
"It's alright. I heard the whole exchange," said the Queen. Berold slid down in his seat, staring down at his lap. The fool.
"Perhaps it might serve the good tutor well if I gave a firsthand perspective as to the events that occured," said Aelin. The Headmaster went to sit at the back of the classroom while their tutor yielded the front of the classroom to his queen. Today she was dressed in silver and green, and the kingsflame antler crown sat upon her head. Around the classroom, his classmates were completely transfixed by their queen before them, not even whispering to each other.
His mother did really know how to capture attention.
"Our navy was outnumbered, even with the addition of ships from Melisande," said the queen. "We had to find a way to defeat Maeve quickly."
He remembered this story. He was first told it by his father when he was fifteen. It is one of my most terrible memories from the war, he had told him.
What happened? He had asked, as they sat together around the hearth fire.
Your mother and the witch-queen Manon Blackbeak used Elena's mirror to enter a different dimension. They saw what had truly happened in the First Valg War, when Elena failed to destroy the Valg King Erawan completely. For some reason, the mirror deposited them near Maeve, who had captured Elide Lochan. Lorcan had betrayed us all and summoned Maeve to their location. She threatened to take Elide Lochan with her if your mother did not come along willingly. Turns out, your reckless mother had already planned for this scenario, and she purposely let herself be captured by Maeve so that she could get the Wyrdkeys away from her.
"Wait, you don't mean… it was all… planned?" said Berold, his mouth agape.
Bran had asked his father the exact same question.
Yes, and none of us liked it. Especially not me, nor your uncle.
"Naturally. A queen always plans for her people, you know. Perhaps something your father should have noted."
Berold slid further down in his seat, a suitably chastised expression on his face.
The queen gave a nod to their tutor, returning his class to him, and she walked to the back of the classroom to join the Headmaster, passing by Bran along the way. She squeezed his arm as she went past.
Halswell coughed. "Well, thank you Your Majesty for that enlightening sharing. I certainly could not have taught that in as engaging a manner as you did." At that, the entire class snickered, and their tutor turned a fine shade of red.
"Looks like Aunt Aelin's done it again, huh? Lord Ironwood's not going to be pleased about this!" said Aveline.
But Bran was facing away from her, looking out onto the Plain again. Halswell's droning had restarted.
Later that night, as he busied with finishing his report in his room, a knock came on his door.
"Enter," Bran called out, and it was his father.
"So," he said, arms crossed. "Were you going to tell me why you insulted Lord Ironwood today?"
His son groaned. "Did Mother tell you?"
"I suppose it's just our bad luck that you inherited her temper, but not enough of her wit. Look, I'm always up for putting arrogant lords in their place, but you need finesse. Do you understand?" His father's eyes flashed.
"Yeah, I get it." He met his father's eyes.
"Good. We can't have that old bastard lodging complaints every week, can we?" And he ruffled his hair before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him with a gust of wind.
He was alone in his room now. Lantern light danced off a crystal on his table that held a kingsflame flower. He stretched, loosening the knots in his shoulders.
Well, this thing's almost done. He wrote out the last few sentences of his report.
"From a utilitarian point of view, the choices of Queen Aelin Galathynius often did not make sense. Till today, historians still ponder the rationale behind many of her actions, and she has offered them little explanation. But I believe results speak for themselves: Terrasen is a thriving kingdom. Indisputably, we live in a better world."
And finally, at the bottom, he signed off with his name.
Written by: Brannon Whitethorn Galathynius.