Alright I have this down now, I have a game plan set up to over half way through in detail. And for the record about the song; it's actually based off of a song we sing at camp, and I absolutely love it. At camp we only sing from "the river she is flowing" to "Oh mother carry me back to the sea" the rest was me.


Will stood with the masters he had been aquainted with at the banquet. The diplomat, the scribe, the battle master, the artist. The artist fidgeted unhappily; Will had found him to be a very nice man, and knew he was dreading telling Alis. But she simply wasn't capable of what he needed. Will turned to look at the Wards.

There were eight of them. Two were burly boys who were obviously going for battle school, one was a tall thin girl with very pale blonde hair, and bright green eyes. Alis and her held hands. Sisters? Perhaps. They looked nothing alike. There was a boy of average height, making eye contact with the scribe. There was a boy with very composted expression, not making eyecontact with any, and standing very straight. A diplomat. There was a girl with long slim fingers, grey eyes, and a stick of charcoal behind her ear, who was watching the artist. There was another boy and girl, hands interlaced, looking in separate directions.

Will noticed with some interest there was no one yelling at the Wards like there had been when he was in their shoes, 10 years ago. He decided he liked this way better.

"Gregory Thomas," the Baron said with a kind smile to the boy making eye contact with the scribe. "Please step forwards... Who would you like to be apprenticed to?" he said easily.

"Scribeschool, please my lord," he said, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. The scribe nodded.

"Accepted." The boy let out a relieved sigh, and stepped back into line.

"Klarey Smitherson," the Baron said, looking at the blonde girl holding hands with Alis, and their hands dropped. "Please step forwards... Who would you like to be apprenticed to?"

"Diplomatic services," she said quietly and evenly.

"Accepted." She smiled, and stepped back to hold Alis' hand.

"Isabella Mollay," the Baron said. "Please step forwards... Who would you like to be apprenticed to?" The girl with the stick of charcoal behind her ear stepped forwards.

"Artistry, my lord," she said. The artist nodded, but didn't speak. She stepped back in line. Will shifted his weight imperceptibly; the ceremony was getting repetitive and very very boring.

"Chrysanthemum Arid," he said, and the girl holding hands with the boy stepped forth. "Who would you like to be apprenticed to?"

"Physician," she said quietly, making fleeting eye contact with the man standing behind Will.

"Accepted," he said.

"Donald Freewall," Baron Gerald said, and one of the large boys stepped forwards.

"Battleschool," the boy replied.

"Accepted."

"Arribald Leeson," the Baron said, and the boy who had held hands with the girl stepped forth.

"Chef," he said quietly.

"Hmmm..." the chef took a step forwards, and prodded him in the stomach. "You'll do."

"Charlie Baldwell," the Baron said, and the other large boy stepped forwards.

"Battle school," he said.

"Accepted."

The Baron sighed notably, noticing he was down to Alis. "Alisandra Smitherson," he said, and before he finished her name she had taken a step forwards. "Who would you like to be apprenticed to?"

Alis looked at the artist, very sadly. She opened her mouth, paused, and then said, "Battleschool."

The room broke into an uproar. The Baron looked completely stunned, and raised his hand for silence. The battlemaster stepped forwards.

"I don't think we can take her..."

"Why?" Alis demanded, rebellion in her tone. "Because I'm a girl?" Anger flashed through her face, then faded almost instantly to a controlled look of contempt.

"No," the battle master said, irritably, color in his face. "You are also much too small. I doubt you could lift a sword much less swing one." A look of cold fury flashed across Alis' face.

"Give me your sword then, and I'll prove it," she snapped. The Battle-master hesitated, but the Baron motioned him to do it anyway. He slid his sword out of his scabbard, and handed it hilt first to Alis. She took the sword in her hand, and the Battle-master released abruptly. She seemed for all the world to hold it effortlessly, though the Battle-Master's and Will's trained eyes could see the strain in her shoulders and wrist to support the heavy broadsword. She reached out with her other hand, holding it in a double grip. The tension faded although Will still saw it was an effort. She spun it in a smooth circle, using her wrists. She did a left side cut then a right; again Will noticed how much effort it took to halt the blade in it's swing.

"She's good," the Baron whispered to the battle-master. The Battle-master only shook his head.

"She's too small and it takes too much her strength; she'd never hold her own in battle," Sir Lawrence said with a frown. "My answer still stands. No." He took the sword back with ease, sliding it into his scabbard. The Baron sighed.

"What's your second option?" the Baron tried.

"Diplomatic," she said shortly.

"Declined."

"Scribe."

"Declined."

"Artist," she broke down and looked at the man, pleading. He just shook his head sadly.

"Can any of you take her?" the Baron asked, looking around the room. Will wanted to speak out and take the girl... but the Ranger Corps didn't have girls. Will and the others she hadn't called out all shook their heads. Alis squared her shoulder, and held her chin high. "Then I suppose we'll be finding a farm in need."

Will saw the way her hands shook, but she didn't make a sound. She stepped back into line, and the Wards all turned and walked out. Last in line, she paused, and looked over her shoulder at Will. They made eye contact, until she broke it and closed the door behind her.