The name Steelford Academy did not leave Alekke's mind.
It clung to him through the rest of supper, through the scraping of plates, through the awkwardness of his presence, through the long walk back to his small room. It followed him into sleep, and he could not sleep.
Morning came anyway.
His breath fogged in the dimness, and the wind muttered nonsense.
"Steelford Academy," the thought whispered again.
A place south. A place of southern steel. A place of knights.
A place of knights…
Alekke had to get up. He had to.
He sat up slowly. His bones felt stiff, as if the name Steelford Academy had hammered him into a new shape.
He dressed in silence, pulling on his tunic, his boots, his belt.
Steelford Academy…
Steelford Academy. Founded during the reign of King Vaelor the Iron-Hand after the Iron Wars. Built on the ruins of an old fortress where the riverlands meet the southern plains. Forged on discipline, steel, honor.
Alekke was none of those things.
He stepped into the corridor.
The keep was waking: servants murmuring, guards yawning, and the smith's hammer beginning its morning sermon somewhere in the yard.
Alekke walked, boots tapping softly against the flagstones.
Steelford Academy… Knights…
These were the only two thoughts pulsing in his head.
Steelford Academy… A place where boys became knights.
He descended the stairs.
Alekke pushed open the courtyard door.
The sky was a washed-out northern grey, and frost clung to the training posts.
Across the yard, Haldren and Brynn were already practicing, unusual because they both despised getting up early in the morning for anything at all.
Brynn looked more motivated and encouraged, and Haldren was no different.
The news of Headmaster Aric Vaelor coming over to Rimefell to admit students probably lit a fire inside them both.
They both probably really wanted to be admitted into Steelford; who could blame them? They're just normal boys.
He stepped slightly further into the yard.
Lady Elin stood near the wall, her posture straight as a spear, with Karia and Signe beside her. Signe looked bored, like always.
Eirik stood a few paces ahead of them, arms crossed, watching Haldren and Brynn with the appraising gaze of a man who had seen the battlefield. He murmured to Haldren about his footing and corrected Brynn's grip with a tap of his knuckle.
Alekke hesitated at the edge of the yard. Would it be fine if he could join them? Just like he did yesterday? Is it alright?
He took another step forward. Frost crackled under his boots, loud—too loud; it made him feel exposed.
…Another step.
…Another step.
"Alekke!" Brynn was the first to notice him. He waved his hand that wasn't holding a sword. "Come! We're practicing; want to join!"
Haldren shot his brother a look, then glanced at Alekke, a quick, unreadable look, but it wasn't unkind; it was almost encouraging.
Everybody's eyes slid toward Alekke.
And Lady Elin's gaze landed on him last. Her face tightened into that frown he knew too well. the frown that said everything without a sound.
You don't belong here. Leave.
Alekke's breath hitched.
He pivoted on instinct, retreating before the heat in his cheeks could betray him. His steps were quick, almost stumbling, as he slipped back into the keep's shadowed edge, away from her gaze, from all of their gazes.
Behind him, Brynn's voice cut through the yard.
"Alekke? Alekke! Wait! Where are you going?!"
There was confusion in it. A little hurt, even. Brynn had never been good at hiding his feelings. Alekke didn't look back.
He slipped around the corner of the keep, boots skidding slightly on the frost, nearly hitting two servants.
He ran back inside the keep. Ascending the stairs. Down the hall. Into his room. Shutting the door.
Alekke took a deep breath.
It didn't help.
Steelford Academy…
Knights…
These two thoughts tangled and tightened, looping around everything, and now they don't know where one ended and the next one began.
Alekke looked down at all the books and tales of great knights. They were scattered across the floor where he'd leave them, thin little volumes with their cracked spines.
Thick tomes with faded gilt lettering, stories he'd read so many times the pages had softened under his fingers. There was Ser Aldric the Bold and the Seven-Oath Brothers. The Knight of the River Gate.
The books stared back at him now.
"Yes! I am an idiot!" he hissed, voice cracking in the cold air. "Now shut up!"
He scrubbed at his face with both hands, fingers digging into his skin.
"Stupid," He muttered. "Stupid, stupid—!"
The books didn't move. They just watched. They just know.
They were unbelievably disappointed.
Alekke's breath trembled.
He lay down on the floor beside the scattered books, their pages fanned.
He grabbed the nearest tome and launched it upward with all the force of a boy who had run out of better ideas.
The book immediately betrayed him, dropping like a stone and striking him in the face.
Alekke just lay, blinking at the ceiling as the book slid off his cheek and flopped onto the floor with a judgemental rustle.
Steelford… Knight… Academy
He let his arms fall out to the sides, palm up, like he'd been defeated in some grand duel by a leather-bound opponent. The ceiling beams stared down at him with the same silent disappointment as the books.
His breath fogged up upward in thin, shaky wisps.
He blew air at the ceiling; he blew air everywhere around him.
Nothing cared.
He felt very small.
Very stupid.
Very… Alekke.
He laughed.
It wasn't a real laugh. More like a thin, broken sound that escaped without permission.
Alekke covered his mouth with the back of his hand, as if he could shove the sound back inside.
He stared at the rafters again, eyes stinging.
"I'm… overreacting…?" The words slipped out in a whisper, thin and uncertain.
"No kidding…," he muttered.
"...I want to be this great knight… big castle, endless food, all of it. All of it…" He sighed, deflated.
He wanted to laugh—maybe crack a joke, say it was a joke.
It'd hurt a lot less that way.
Nothing came.
Not even something bad.
He sighed again, this time more breathy.
"...Steelford Academy..." he said, quietly.