Tale Nineteen, A Dimwitted Professor
"But yet, I still cannot deduce why dear Therese would risk her life so for me."
The scholar waved his glass in the air carefully, as to ensure that none of his white wine would spill over. He took a sip.
"Pardoning that for a moment, I did not believe such a white with a pinkish hue could compare to the reds I drink at Atlasdam," he paused for another sip. "Moreover, I am quite surprised you would partake in such a drink, Sir Olberic."
Indeed, the warrior's bigger hands covered by thick leather gloves would seem less-than-ideal to handle a glass of wine.
"It is Zinfandel, Professor. I do take it from time to time when I only want one drink. There is a taste that reminds me of the stout and whiskey I've had often in the Highlands," he replied with a small smile.
"I must agree," Primrose purred. "This is quite the wine, and very unexpected in the Highlands."
"Grapes are still grown in the lower places. These grapes may not be as flavorful off the vine as those grown in the Flatlands, but they create a good taste when turned into wine. Thus, Zinfandel."
Olberic rose his glass to cheer to his surrounding friends before drinking from it.
"And it's not 'Sir,' Professor. Please remember that."
"I shall try."
He wouldn't, surmised the table.
"But 'nough of that! Professor, you really don't know why Therese followed you all the way here?"
Tressa's energetic question returned the party to the matter at hand. "Come on. You're a professor! You can't really be that dimwitted... can you?"
"In matters of scholarly interest, I am the ideal candidate to learn all there is to learn," Cyrus boasted proudly before instantly deflating. "Alas, when it comes to matters of people, I must admit I lack a certain... human quality."
"Sounds like you ain't much of a human, then."
While Tressa's words were meant to be taken as a joke, judging by her candor, Cyrus seemingly took them as fact. The air around him changed into one of sullenness as any trace of mirth disappeared. He ran his hand through his raven hair, eyes closing as he continued to think about the problem at hand.
Everyone around the table noticed the instant change. Olberic and Primrose's eyes turned towards Tressa accusingly. The merchant had realized too little too late that she had gone over the line.
She sighed. "I mean, Professor... I'm sorry. Didn't mean to say it like that."
"Yet you did mean to say something akin to it," Cyrus sighed before lifting his head. "To be fair, there is quite a bit of truth to your words. I have never connected with many people, save all of you, dear Odette, and a select handful of students and staff at the Royal Academy. Even some of the scholars and educators there have seen me as too bothersome. Yven appears to be proof of that, no?"
They all collectively thought about the battle they had faced today and how the Headmaster of the Royal Academy had transformed into a terrifying creature all too eager to kill them. Cyrus didn't have any doubts as to why that may have been. After all, the scholar was never Yvon's favorite – he always considered the younger man to be too inquisitive for his own good.
A sentiment many seemed to share.
Yet Therese, as Cyrus knew, was now one of them.
She seemed to admire the scholar's intellect. As his friends had seen, it wasn't just that. The young lady saw something else in Cyrus.
That didn't seem to get through his thick, scholarly skull, however.
Even so, the thought of his student did bring a small amount of relief to the struggling scholar.
"Yet Therese and Princess Mary seem not to think that the same could be said for Odette," he remarked bittersweetly. "I am glad to have such dedicated students and a close friend. Their beauty, brilliance, and brevity bring me no small amount of comfort."
The three Travelers sitting around him shared a collective sigh. It didn't take much for Cyrus to return to his usual, oblivious self it would seem.
"My word, those poor girls," Primrose muttered sullenly. "To think Olberic and Therion are pigheaded, this man makes them seem like true gentlemen."
"Might I ask what you speak of, Primrose?" Olberic asked.
"Talk to H'aanit – better yet, talk to Linde. Either of them will provide you with an obscure answer to which you will feign ignorance."
"I don't think they're feigning anything, Prim," Tressa interceded.
The dancer groaned audibly. "I do believe you may be right, my dear."
"Alas! Therese is in safe hands with those traveling merchants to Atlasdam, I believe. So, we need not worry about her any longer. We have other, more pressing matters I do believe," Cyrus continued, as if not hearing a single word from his companions' conversation.
"Please, Professor Albright, no more questioning today," Olberic replied in a panic.
His fearful expression disappeared as Cyrus shook his head. "Not today, Sir Olberic. The coming trials at Duskburrow seem more appropriate to talk about."
"We shall wait on that, Professor. H'aanit has not returned from visiting her master and Hagen, Therion is scouting out the town," – which meant his hands had worked their way into some unsuspecting victim's pocket – "and I am afraid I do not know what Alfyn or Ophilia are doing. They seemed quite secretive today."
"Do you not know, Sir Olberic?"
Cyrus's question caught the warrior off-guard. Everyone else stared at the scholar expectantly, seeming to not know what the scholar meant.
"No, I do not."
"It is Alfyn's birthday!"
Tressa and Primrose choked regretfully on their wine.
"What!? It's Al's birthday!? Since when?" Tressa questioned rapidly once she had recovered.
"Well, he is 21, so roughly twenty-two years from this day."
"Not that, you idiot! Why didn't you or anyone tell us?"
"Hm... I do believe he did not want anyone to think anything special about it, at least that is what I overheard him saying to Sister Ophilia."
Again, the scholar's three companions collectively sighed in unison.
"So, he's a spy, now...?"
"When friends say such things and overhear them, you are supposed to tell us – his other friends – about it," Primrose chided. "We could have thrown him quite the party today."
"Yeah! With lotta booze and good food. I mean, you guys got me, so I could've gotten you the best partying supplies for half the cost," Tressa remarked, standing up from her seat heatedly.
"Yes, but Alfyn wished to keep it a secret," Cyrus replied innocently.
Olberic sighed. "Indeed, and it is too late to change what has happened. However," the warrior mulled over his words for a few moments. "From what Primrose has told us, I do believe he is celebrating it how he would want to."
The group became silent then, thinking what Olberic could mean by that statement. It could've been completely innocent – a dinner for two and a couple of drinks, with some handholding and maybe kissing.
Or it could've been the exact opposite.
They all blushed at the latter thought.
"Oh, we're definitely getting details later, Prim," Tressa assured with a conniving smirk.
Primrose matched her friend's expression and purred, "Of course, my dear. I believe this first blush may turn into first love, yet." She chuckled deeply. "Quite the birthday gift, if you ask me."
"Yeah, but not as good as this one time when I got my cap from my parents!"
Tressa took off her cap and twirled it around her finger. The feather whistled past her face, tickling her nose as it did so. She giggled as if a beloved pet had licked her nose instead. After a few good spins, she replaced it on her head and took a sip of her wine. All the while wearing the same smile.
That hat had memories, it seemed.
"It is quite iconic on you, Tressa. You would not look half the image of a silver-tongued merchant without it," Cyrus complimented all too easily with his charming smile.
Tressa's hands went to her cheeks as they turned red and a smile split her face.
"Aw, Professor, you're such a flatterer," she said.
"He still hasn't learned," Primrose mourned. "Well, what about you, Professor? Do you have a treasured birthday gift?"
The scholar leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin, thinking of his answer. When he had it, he exclaimed, "Ah! It would be the first book I ever received on the history of Orsterra. I believe it was titled Kings of Yore, Tombs of Today: The Elongated History of Atlasdam's Royal Family. That is if I am remembering correctly."
Tressa made a noise of disbelief and rolled her eyes. "Geez, Professor, that was the first book you read about history?"
"Yes, yes, quite the easy text, I know. But still, it did throw me into my scholarly pursuits with a zeal I did not have before that moment."
"That almost makes too much sense..."
"I read that book myself, Professor," Olberic interjected. "But I believe I was in my older years after I left Hornsburg and wished to learn more about Orsterra. I hesitate to ask at what age you received it as a gift."
"Fear not, I was twelve – no, eleven winters, I believe."
"Gods, you're just all scholar, aren't you..." Tressa spoke not as a question, but as a statement. "Sir Olberic, you? Judging from what Cyrus said, you probably got your first sword as soon as you were born."
The warrior chuckled. "Actually, believe it or not, my favorite gift that I ever received for my birthday was a flower."
"A flower? Oh, my, Sir Olberic, you didn't tell us you already held a woman's heart," Primrose purred, becoming much more interested in the conversation.
"I would not call her a woman, but a little girl," he continued with a soft smile. "It was my first deployment under the Banner of Hornburg. Erhardt had let slip that it was my birthday at a local tavern on our travels. A timid, little girl, not even ten winters old, came up behind me and tugged my tunic. I turned around and she held out a small flower saying, 'Happy birthday.' I happily took the flower and secured it to my tunic. Never had I seen someone with such a big smile after that."
Olberic chuckled, a sound echoed by his friends.
"She ran back to her father, the barkeep, after that and pointed towards me. They shared that smile and he gave me a complimentary mug of ale to celebrate, passing on his thanks for how I treated his daughter. That has to be my favorite and most memorable gift."
Tressa wiped away a tear from her eye. "Aw... that's so sweet, Sir Olberic! I didn't know you were so good with children, either."
Again, he chuckled warmly. "I have been told such. Philip, as you two may remember, was like a squire to me back in Cobbleston. His mother always liked how I cared for the lad when she could not."
"You'll make a good dad, someday!"
"We shall see. I believe I have some things that need to be done before I could do something like that."
"So, it isn't out of the question?" Primrose asked slyly.
"I know that smirk, Primrose. You will not trick me into saying anything about... well, about such matters," Olberic caught himself.
He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to sound surer than he actually had.
The dancer giggled. "Oh, but you did anyway, Sir Olberic."
"Alright, alright, 'nough picking on him, Prim. He'll get there someday!" Tressa defended before turning the tables on the dancer. "He needs to take his time, unlike you and our resident merchant-thief."
She didn't fall for the bait. "Do you mean our little battles? Be careful you do not read too much into it, Tressa."
"I'm just saying you guys are like two peas in a pod, so I'll keep my eye on you both!"
"I shall keep that in mind, but what of my favorite birthday gift, Tressa?" the dancer asked innocently. "Do I not get a turn to answer that question?"
Oh, she's good, Tressa thought before speaking. "Yeah, yeah, your turn, Prim! Come on, it's gotta be something good to bring us on home!"
"Well, if you must know, it was my first pair of dancing slippers that my father gifted me years ago," she answered matter-of-factly. "They were nothing special, as I have learned. But they were my first pair and something that I hold close to my heart."
She leaned back in her chair and briefly reminisced about her first performance for her friends and family. It was a silly dance, really. A fleeting moment of twirls and leaps that a little girl would believe to impress anyone for whom she performed. Even now, looking back at this moment, the dancer realized it wasn't a performance solely for the act of performing, but for building confidence in her chosen path as a dancer.
At least, that's what Primrose believed.
Even now, she couldn't help but think that she was right. After all, years later she still would fondly remember that moment in her life when she discovered her own blossoming confidence.
Everything else that came after that performance was a consequence of her discovering said confidence.
Primrose frowned briefly...
Even possibly...
...but it disappeared just as quickly, leaving no time for her friends to see it.
"Unfortunately, I do not have them with me any longer. They are at my family's mansion back in Noblecourt. Perhaps I will find them again someday."
"And then you could perform for us like we're your family!" Tressa cheered.
Primrose smiled softly, her friend's excitement became all too contagious.
"I believe they are too small for me now, sweet Tressa."
"Doesn't mean you can't put on another performance for us. 'Sides, I don't think Alfyn, Therion, or H'aanit have seen you dance."
That was true. Though, perhaps, she would wait for that moment. After all, she hadn't finished toying with the thief that Tressa had mentioned. Not quite yet, anyway.
"We shall see, but for now, I believe we still have other matters to attend to, such as finishing these glasses of wine."
Primrose rose her glass to the center of the table, a motion that everyone mirrored all too eagerly. With excited cheers, they continued learning about their birthdays, gifts, and parties, remembering the good times they had before they departed on their journeys. All the while, they continued to pick at Cyrus for his lack of social graces and misunderstandings with women.
The poor, poor Professor Albright.
An altogether all too brilliant mind for his generation, felled by the simple act of socializing.
Though his failures don't lie in his inability to speak, but rather in his inability to know when to stop speaking.
Such is the curse of the academic.
Alas, it is time for our travelers to lay bare more of themselves to see.
For who knows when there will next be a celebration of life, or of love, or of something else entirely...