Rodair, it seemed, had fallen asleep in the Library again.
Master Wizard Shantir smiled fondly as he gazed down on his fourteen-year-old apprentice. Rodair didn’t actually look fourteen; it was hard to guess his age by appearance. He was a skinny boy, with cheeks hollowed so much he almost gave the impression of being undernourished. This semblance, however, was not at all the case, and was largely due to Rodair’s height; he was tall for his age and this forced what fat he had to be sufficient for a larger frame, and thus decreased what fleshing-out it might otherwise have accomplished. In fact, it was so overworked that even through the loose and heavily embroidered robes it could be seen that Rodair was of a very slight build.
At this moment, the mousy-brown hair that usually fell a half-inch short of Rodair’s shoulders was swept across his pale face and trembling like a leaf in a gentle breeze whenever the sleeping boy exhaled; his eyes, a deep brown when they were open, were tightly shut. One bony hand still clutched the quill it had been actively wielding the previous night; Rodair did have a tendency to stay up a little late to study and to fall asleep in the middle of his work. A large tome was serving as his pillow. Shantir sighed and shook his head. He valued Rodair as an apprentice, but the boy really did take on too much sometimes. Most of the time. Not that he thought Rodair really minded driving himself to exhaustion like that, but it worried him sometimes.
‘Rodair?’ Shantir bent down and shook his apprentice gently by his thin shoulder. ‘Wake up.’
‘Mrf.’ Rodair grunted sleepily, uncurling slightly from the position he had been in. His eyes opened and squinted sleepily up at the wizard. ‘It’s morning?’
Shantir grinned. ‘Yes. What were you doing here so late this time?’
Rodair shrugged and sat up. ‘Not much; just reading this and taking notes. You know, I’ve got rather a good idea for-'
‘Later,’ Shantir cut him off with a laugh. ‘Now is time for you lesson. Clean up here and meet me in the practice room in five minutes.’
‘All right.’ As Shantir turned to leave, Rodair began to pick up his things from the floor of the Library. He tucked his book- a heavy volume entitled Spells Inspired by the Natural World and How They Were Developed- under his arm, then with his free hand replaced the books he had borrowed from the Library back on their shelves, put the lid back on the small vial of ink he had been using, then gathered up vial, quill, and parchment and headed out of the Library and into the Chapel.
It was much brighter here than in the Library, and he stopped to blink a few times before hurrying onwards and out of the Chapel into the grounds. He hurried for three reasons: that was how he usually walked, he didn’t want to be late for his lesson- and to avoid any other apprentices that might be lurking around. He didn’t enjoy the company of others much, preferring books to people, and… Well, to tell the truth, the other apprentices scared him and he hoped to avoid any potential encounters with them.
No such luck was his today, however. When he was still a good minute from Shantir’s house, a pack of about six of them began to head his way. He muttered an oath and quickened his step, not wanting to actually break into an all-out run just yet. Nevertheless, the apprentices caught up with him quickly and surrounded him. ‘What’s the hurry, bookhead?’ one of them demanded.
‘Move,’ Rodair mumbled angrily, trying to walk past them.
One of them caught him by the arm, though, and dragged him back. ‘Not so fast. What’ve you got?’ He seized the book from Rodair, as well as the papers, quill, and ink. Scanning the title quickly, he snorted, ‘What on earth induces you to read books like this?’ He let the others take a look, then gave Rodair and evil grin. ‘Surely you don’t need this? Here, let me rid you of-'
‘No!’ Rodair made a desperate grab for his book, but the apprentice snatched it away and another of the group seized both of his wrists in one of her hands. He struggled, but in vain; though she was both younger and shorter than he, he was as weak as his physical build suggested and could do no more than plead as he helplessly watched the first apprentice open the ink bottle and raise it above the open book…
But at the last moment, he stopped; Rodair was not sure if it was his supplications or the fact that the apprentice knew the trouble he’d be in if he went through with the act which stayed his hand. But at any rate, the apprentice tossed the open bottle onto the grass and slammed the book shut with a malicious laugh. ‘Keep your precious book, then.’ He shoved it at Rodair as the other apprentice released his wrists, then he and his cronies departed the way they had come.
Trembling, Rodair dropped to his knees and gathered up his things, recapping the ink bottle even though there really wasn’t much ink left in it from its spill on the grass. Then he got to his feet and hastened to Shantir’s house.
The wizard was waiting for him expectantly. ‘You’re late. Was something wrong?’
‘No,’ Rodair replied quickly, setting his things down. He would not tell Shantir about those incidents; he never really had.
But Shantir realized anyhow. ‘Were the others bothering you again?’ He came over to Rodair and regarded him kindly.
His apprentice just shrugged, which, of course, meant yes. But it also meant no more details were to be forthcoming, so Shantir decided not to prey and instead, pulled Rodair to him in a hug. He felt the rough embroidery of Rodair’s robes beneath his fingers and sighed. Rodair came from a poor family, and thus garishly decorated his robes now that he could, and also to remind himself he was almost a wizard. But while his family was poor, they were numerous, and that was why Shantir could never understand why Rodair just could not get along with others; he was so close to his family. Perhaps just more practice with people was needed. ‘Rodair, you need to make some friends.’
‘Don’t want any.’
‘Surely you get lonely…’
Rodair just shook his head. ‘You’re all I need.’
Despite himself, Shantir could not help but smile at this. ‘You flatter me by saying so, but I doubt it’s really that way.’
‘It-'
‘It doesn’t matter.’ He knew one thing that would please Rodair at least. Such a scholar, that boy. ‘Would you like your lesson, then?’