Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

~ Unwritten, Natasha Bedingfield

"So, your daughter wishes to train as a page?"

Lord Wyldon sat at his desk, rifling through a rather disorganized stack of papers and trying not to look too incredulous, despite his current emotions. He hadn't even entertained the possibility that there was the slightest chance that any girl might someday have the idea that she could step forth to try her hand at a knight's training, much less be let do so by her parents. It had been quite a shock when he had received the letter saying that Lord Marcus of Everstone wished for his only daughter to become a knight – quite a shock indeed.

"Yes."

The reply was curt and pressed, as if the speaker had little time to spare, and didn't want to be speaking at all. Lord Wyldon raised an eyebrow. Lord Marcus didn't have a reputation for being temperamental, but it seemed as though the man was in a right foul mood at the moment. From what snippets of information he'd heard on this man, the training master knew he was not one to cross. Lord Wyldon cleared his throat, suddenly very uncomfortable with the man's steely gaze that was fixed in his direction.

"You do realise that life will be…difficult for her. A knight's road is not an easy one by far. Perhaps she would do better at the convent, or – "

"I have made my decision, my lord, and I assure you – I have considered all the factors that I'm sure you're thinking about right now. Not to seem rude, my lord, but I do have some confidence in my ability to make important choices."

Lord Wyldon took a moment to look at the young girl who had just spoken, something he had avoided doing since he had first seen her as she entered the room. She was definitely not what he had had in mind – for any page, much less a girl – and he was starting to wonder if the entire Everstone clan was out of their minds.

She was a petite little thing, even for her age, with delicate features and a small frame like one would expect from a daughter of a noble house. Her skin was a pale white like the finest porcelain, her round face framed by long, pale blonde hair that fell in soft waves down to the small of her back. The girl's lips were rosy and full, her hands were delicate and long-fingered, and her crystal blue eyes seemed to see everything around her. All in all, she looked like a porcelain doll, and a delicate one, at that. The man leaned over to whisper in the girl's ear. Although his voice was hushed, Wyldon could hear his words clearly.

"There's no reason to be rude, Nathalie," Lord Marcus whispered, "Apologise to Lord Wyldon immediately." This, Wyldon found strange, as most would have reprimanded the girl openly, rather than try to be discreet about. In general, noble houses believed that scolding should be at least somewhat public – unless there were commoners present, of course – as it was supposed to make the lesson stick better. Lord Marcus, though, seemed somewhat uncomfortable with correcting Nathalie at all.

"My sincerest apologies, my lord," said the girl curtseying low, and Wyldon noted for probably the tenth time that she had been there, her heavy skirts, and found himself vaguely wondering if she had only worn skirts to annoy him, "We were set upon by bandits on the journey, and I am currently getting by on very little sleep. I do not believe I am thinking straight."

Lord Wyldon nodded stiffly, standing up and placing his hands on the desk in front of him. "You will find, Nathalie, that although the law permits it and the Lioness is one of the finer swordsmen of our realm," the girl's hands twitched almost imperceptibly with the desire to correct him. Swordswomen she wanted to say, and she is the best, "That such a path is not one for a young girl, and you would do much better for yourself if you were to simply forget this foolish childhood dream and pursue a more accessible life at the convent."

"I respect that opinion, my lord," was all the little girl said. Nathalie's face was the picture of innocence. Lord Wyldon's brow twitched for what seemed like the millionth time that day. He wanted desperately to scold the girl for her impertinence, but she was just being so gods-damned polite.

Nathalie wished desperately to point out that he was only repeating what he'd been saying for the past half hour, and that she considered none of it true. Still, she kept her head held straight, and didn't falter as the training master instructed her – with a great deal of reluctance, she noticed – to go see the tailor who would take her measurements and provide for her a page's uniform and then to arrive at a designated area where she would meet her page sponsor. First, though, she would have to find her room.

Lord Marcus left soon after, leaving Nathalie to her own devices. She found the head chambermaid, Sonia, who although a bit rough around the edges, Nathalie found to be quite an engaging person. As Sonia led Nathalie to her rooms, she also offered a few words of advice.

"Them boys'll be cruel, you can count on it, an' they're gonna do their very best to make you leave." Nathalie nodded; it was what she had expected. "Keep an eye out for practical jokes and the like. Though they might not look it, these boys aren' above doing the nastiest things."

They finally stopped in front of a door at the far end of the hallway. Sonia turned to look at her and sighed. She pulled out a golden key she had hanging on a chain. "I took the liberty of getting a charms-mistress down in Chorus to charm this key for you. It only works if you're the one using it, but you can trust it to someone and it'll work then. I have one of my own, just in case, as I understand that you already have a personal servant?" Nathalie nodded, and Sonia slipped the key into the lock. The door opened to reveal a sparsely furnished room that was decent in size with a bed in the corner, a wardrobe, and a rack to hang weapons. Sonia gave the girl a small lecture about the responsibilities of owning a personal servant, before Nathalie thanked her and the woman left to let Nathalie make herself at home – as much as she could, anyway.

After unpacking a reasonable amount of things, Nathalie headed off to the palace tailor, who, upon seeing her small, bird-like frame, merely grunted and threw her the smallest size uniform he had. She resolved to get her maid to take it in at a later time. Successfully kitted out in her new page's uniform – although she was somewhat disgusted by how the red and gold clashed with just everything about her – she eventually found the crowd of page's where they were to meet their sponsors. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw that she wasn't last. She had never been to the palace before, and had found herself having to ask directions at least twice.

Finally, everyone was assembled, and Wyldon had arrived. Nathalie shifted uneasily as she saw people looking in her direction and whispering, but she held her head calmly. Even though she was the only girl here – and the first to ever be known as a girl training as a page – it didn't mean that she had to be completely ostracized. Lord Wyldon cleared his throat and everyone became silent. He dragged a new page forward, a meek-looking brown-haired boy.

"Carl of Dantin – who will sponsor him?" A boy in the back raised his hands and Carl was shoved over in that direction. Nathalie watched as others were matched up with sponsors in the same fashion. It seemed like an auction, almost, she mused.

"Serell of Kramer." There was there was no hesitation before one of the remaining older boys raised his hand and began moving towards the stocky black-haired boy who's name had just been called. It was then that she realised that some of the boys were waiting for a specific person to be called so that they could sponsor that particular one, not just at random like she'd though. Nathalie suspected that some of them were possibly kinsmen. Eventually there was only a smattering of new pages, and Nathalie was starting to wonder if Wyldon wasn't calling her on purpose, just so that he could see her squirming when she realised she was alone, or if he just wanted to get take people out of the running who might be inclined to sponsor her. She knew – as did the rest of Tortall – that he didn't just disapprove of, but was opposed to the laws saying that girl's could become pages. Nathalie bit her lip. If the training master didn't like her, so be it.

"Nathalie of Everstone." A hush fell over the older pages, before whispers took root again, this time with a few snickers mixed in. No one raised their hand. Nathalie straightened the oversized uniform, uncomfortable with her present situation. "Someone needs to sponsor her," snapped Wyldon, searching the small crowd of pages for someone he might be able to optically bully into stepping forward for her. He didn't want to spend the day trying to find someone who would take her, and he couldn't very well leave her to her own devices.

"I'll sponsor her."

All heads whipped towards the speaker, a tall boy with short dark hair and stormy grey eyes. There was something about his expression that she couldn't quite place, as if he was either mocking her, or being totally serious – she couldn't tell which. Wyldon raised an eyebrow.

"You, Aaron of Drennath? I wouldn't think you one to want to sponsor a page, let alone this one," Nathalie restrained herself from flinching at the implications of the training master's words. It was becoming increasingly apparent that no one was going to let her forget that she wasn't wanted here. From the way Lord Wyldon spoke to him, she could tell that this boy was something of a trouble-maker, or had done something to put him at the bottom of the training master's list. The boy grinned wickedly.

"Of course, my lord Wyldon, I understand completely," a twitch of the man's brow told Nathalie that he knew he was being mocked, "Although I have not expressed a burning desire to sponsor a page before now, at this point in time, I doubt that I would mind one, and as the only volunteer, I believe myself to be the obvious choice."

There was a moment's silence, while Lord Wyldon stared the boy, Aaron, down. Or tried to, at least. After merely seconds of him glaring at the boy, who looked much to cheerful for the situation, Lord Wyldon conceded. "Very well," was all he said, before lumbering off down the hall, annoyance evident in his step.

The new pages all filtered away with their new sponsors, except for Nathalie, who was still distrustful of this Aaron of Drennath. She recognized the family – their house was one of the oldest in Tortall, almost as old as Conté, even – but couldn't understand why he would choose to sponsor her, of all people. Sure, Everstone was decently wealthy and dated back to the book of Gold, but their families were barely even acquaintances, let alone friendly with each other.

Aaron eyed her calmly, still standing at least ten feet away from her. Neither he nor Nathalie had moved since the other pages had left. Standing silently in the empty corridor with only one other person whom she didn't know was getting pretty awkward.

"Are you coming?" he asked, finally breaking the silence. Nathalie looked up from staring at the floor. Something akin to shock was evident in her widened eyes. She wasn't scared, just a little…nervous. Nathalie bit her lip, unsure of what to say or do. "Are you coming?" he repeated, a little exasperated this time, "We should get going or we'll be late." This time, Nathalie hastened forward, internally embarrassed for acting like such a sissy.

"Late for what?" she asked quietly once she was standing beside him. She stood there, shifting from foot to foot and not meeting his gaze. Aaron shrugged, glancing down the hall.

"Beats me."