Alder's Grove

Addergoole-verse, Early 2012 (in the middle of the Apocalypse)
I was thinking about Luke during the apoc, his oaths, and... his friends

Agmund Fridmar was, of course, not unaware that his cy'ree, his Students, and those called cy'Luca, Luke Hawk's Students, were in a bit of a cy'ree battle, and had been since there were more than three of them to glare at each other across the Dining Hall.

But his Students' animosity toward Luke's Students - and, sometimes, he supposed, towards the man himself - did not mean that Agmund had to feel anything of the sort, nor did the cy'Luca's animosity towards cy'Fridmar and towards Agmund mean that he couldn't help out Luke in a tough spot.

And the fact of the matter was, Luke was in a tough spot right now, although he would probably have preferred that Agmund and the other professors didn't take notice. There was a war raging - or, at least, there were dozens and dozens of battles raging, and if you shook them all out, you could see two or three sides that were relatively consistent. There were cy'Luca, former cy'Luca but still the same wide-eyed, eager Warriors for Good, out there fighting against ancient would-be gods. They were losing, on average, but there were doing far more good than one might imagine they would have, and their wins were spectacular.
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Part II: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1215458.html

Written to rix_scaedu's question here: Who were Agmund Fridmar's parents and who was his Mentor?

1841

Artyom looked to his father, to his mother, and back to his father. Neither of them had shown any surprise when, four weeks ago, Artyom had woken in the middle of the night to find himself a cubit taller and four hand-spans wider. "Aren't you a great bear," Artyom's father had said, but he'd been smiling. Artyom's mother had just said "I'll write to Magnus."

Magnus, it appeared, was a Norseman a hand-span again taller than Artyom and quite a bit broader. He had bowed deeply to Artyom's mother and called her Star-Catcher, a name Artyom had never heard before. His bow to Artyom's father had been polite but much less deep, and he'd called him Gospodin Ivanov.

Artyom's mother was not a gentle person, but she was using her soft voice now, the one she used for hard things. "Artyom, this is Magnus, called the Winter Hound, and he will be your Mentor. He fought by my side, in the days when we were warriors."

There was a story there, Artyom knew it. But there was also no room for argument in his mother's voice. "Gospodin Winter Hound," he said, instead of arguing, and bowed deeply. He'd always known he might have a Mentor, if things turned out one way or another. It seemed gaining a cubit in height was one way for things to turn out.

"It will be a long voyage, young warrior. Say goodbye to your parents now, and, should all be well, you will be saying hello to them in some years as a new person."

Artyom nodded again. There was no point, he could tell, in saying that he didn't want to leave, that he had no wish to be a new person. Things had been decided. He bowed to his mother and to his father. "Good-bye," he said. His voice cracked, but he ignored it and, politely, so did they. "I will return."

His mother's hand landed hard on his shoulder. "You will return to us, my son. Go now into the hands of your Mentor, and may the gods guide your steps."

Artyom turned to the gigantic Magnus. "Sir. I am yours to teach."


see obsolete Russian units of measure.

To rix_scaedu's commissioned prompt in the My-Hobbies-Ran-Into-Each-Other-And-I-Blew-My-Gas-Money-Budget Emergency Fundraiser

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After: Fridmar & Love
“That was a lovely speech you gave Ana.”

“You were not intended to hear it. Come in, then, Mikhaíl, rather than keep talking in the hallway.”

“Oh, but that’s all I wanted to say.” Looking innocent and entirely unbelievable in it, Mikhaíl the Linden-flower stepped into Agmund’s office and shut the door. “It was a lovely speech.”

“It was what she needed. Sit, then.”
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