Chapter Text
The office on the top floor of the building overlooking the courtyard was small and cramped further by the clunky desk, stacks of piled books, and the couch and armchair set up against the in-wall bookcase. Certificates were mounted on the wall in frames that had long grown smudged and sticky from seasons of increased heat and humidity. It didn’t help that the frequent rain shower contributed to not only the appearance of damp spots on the ceiling, but also the smell. It was musty, compounded further by the books that had lived there for years without being touched.
For Professor Targaryen, it was sufficient. He was among the only professors in his field with his own office, and even though his office was roughly the size of a closet, it had served him well over the years. The department had offered to upgrade him to a room that was a whole ten centimeters larger in width, but he could not be bothered to relocate all of his possessions to a new room. He was afraid to confront just how many years he’d given to Oxford University’s English Language and Literature department.
He sat back in his seat as the door to his office opened, a pair of eyes turning up from the floor to meet his gaze before the door was wedged further open. “Professor Targaryen?” The girl said as she stole a quick glance at the paper in her hand. She lingered in the doorway and pointed behind her. “I’m not sure if this is the right office, there’s no plaque outside.”
“You’re in the right place. Welcome.” He said. She let the door shut gently behind her before she stepped forward into the office. She extended her hand for him. “Baelor.” He introduced.
The girl shook his hand and introduced herself just the same, though the blush that came over her cheeks was all that caught his attention. “I sent you an email over the weekend regarding my first paper?” She began.
Baelor chuckled and nodded his head. “Yes, I remember, hence the reason we agreed to meet at this time.” He said. “I didn’t forget.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “No, Professor, I didn’t mean to insinuate that you would have forgotten, I just figured—“
“Why don’t we sit at the couch?” He interjected gently, his other hand coming over hers to assure the girl that no harm had been done and that he was merely joking. She rolled her shoulders but eventually nodded as she followed him to the couch, her bag coming down onto the ground in the tight gap between the couch and the coffee table. Baelor took a seat in the armchair and leaned forward while his elbows came down upon his knees. “Why don’t you begin and tell me how your term is going?”
She looked to him, meek and somewhat surprised to hear the softly spoken Professor ask her about her beginning few months at New College. Baelor studied her carefully and noted the way her throat gently bobbed as she swallowed an imaginary and persistent lump. She smoothed her hands over her pants and furrowed her brows together as she tried to find the words to accurately describe how her term was going. Baelor gave her the time and space, his patience a virtue and his eye keen to use this time to study her. “I was a little daunted by the reading list. It’s not anything out of the ordinary, and I know it’s the standards of such a prestigious institution, but I admit it was quite dense.”
“Yes, the department does tend to throw students into great depths right from the start. If you can survive the reading list, you can survive anything. Did you survive the reading list?”
“Yes.” She admitted. “I read it all.”
“Then that is half the battle won.” Baelor noted as he nodded assuredly at her. He watched her stance slowly relax, her eyelashes fluttering and her shoulders dropping from beside her ears. “How have your tutorials been going? Do you find them helpful? Stimulating? Are your peers offering enough mental challenge as to make the time worth your while?”
She slowly leaned back against the couch, her back only touching the backboard when he subtly nodded at her. “Yes, tutorials have been helpful.”
“Good.” He mustered softly. He watched her hands as they rolled against her pants again, her chest filling with air while her features tensed gently. “So your problem therein lies with your paper then?”
She blushed gently but eventually nodded her head. “I wasn’t expecting such a poor mark.” She admitted softly, her hands smoothening out over her pant leg. “I wanted to see if maybe you could give me feedback so that I could avoid the same mistakes for when our second paper is due.”
Baelor nodded his head. “I think that’s more than fair. Do you have your paper with you?” He queried. She nodded and quickly scrambled through her bag to recover the paper she’d written for the class. “Can I offer you any tea? I would offer coffee as well, but my office is hardly big enough for a kettle, let alone a drip coffee machine.” Baelor offered as he stood to his feet and meandered around the armchair and coffee table to reach the small table where his electric kettle had been plugged in. He had two mugs and a small canister with different tea bags at the ready.
“Yes please.” She said.
“I have English breakfast, earl grey, and chamomile, which would you prefer?” He asked as he turned the kettle on to heat the water. “Perhaps chamomile for shot nerves.”
She looked up at him and blushed as he offered her a kind smile. “I’ll take earl grey, thank you.” She said. Baelor nodded his head and promptly set the tea bags into the two mugs before he poured the water into both mugs. He set both mugs down onto the coffee table before retrieving a biscuit tin.
“I try not to eat too many of these, but they’re awfully addictive.” He said as he took a sip of his tea. The girl across from him retrieved a biscuit and moaned softly before she nodded her head at him.
“It’s good.” She mustered, her fingers coming over her lips as she finished her bite.
“Alright, let me see your paper again.” He said as he retrieved his glasses from the breast pocket of his shirt. She handed him the paper and anxiously gripped onto her mug while he skimmed the contents of her paper over again to remind himself what it was that she wrote. She hoped in part that he might realize that he’d made a mistake in his grading, and that the dock in her grade would be reversed purely because of some mix up on his end.
That did not happen. “Yes, I remember this paper. The writing style is good, you have a good grasp on the reading materials, half the battle again.” Baelor said without lifting his eyes from her paper.
“But?” She asked.
He looked to her and gently shook his head. “You did not analyze beyond merely reiterating what the authors said. This first paper is arguably the most personal of the four you’re responsible for. While it is great that you understood what it was that the authors were saying, merely agreeing with their sentiment is not enough. I want you to go further and give me your take on the importance of English language and literature as we know it. Really question who decides the rules of the gamut. Who are these authors to English literature and why should they hold such importance? Do you think they actually hold much importance, or have we merely exalted them to a level that is hard to pull them down from? That is what I want you to discuss in this paper. Your paper style and formatting are all beautifully done, I just wanted some of your voice as opposed to the voices of all these men and women who died hundreds of years ago and bear no witness to your critiques on them. Does that make sense?”
She nodded her head, but it was clear she was disappointed to have missed the mark with this paper and thus leave such an impression on him. Baelor looked her over carefully and slowly nodded his head at her. “Go on then.” He began.
“I’m sorry?” She asked.
“Tell me what you would have written in your paper now that I’ve clarified what it was I wanted from you.” Baelor said. She sat up slightly and looked him over in subtle confusion, her lips pursing and her brows pulling ever so slightly together. For a moment the pair merely stared at each other. Baelor made no advance to clarify further, as she was a smart girl, of that he had no doubt.
He watched her attentively as she began speaking, her hands first nervously gripping to her tea mug and her knees rubbing together before she eventually set the mug aside and used her hands to gesticulate her points across. Baelor silently listened and smiled when she rose interesting points, though he did not interrupt or add his own commentary. He merely sat back against his seat and smiled thoughtfully, his fingers soon coming over his lips and under his jaw as he watched and listened to her intently.
It was an hour of discussion before Baelor finally changed the grade at the top of her paper. Her lips parted, her eyes turning towards his as he nodded his head. “That’s exactly how you should be writing your next set of essays when the time comes. Well done.” He drawled.
“Thank you, Professor.” She mustered near breathlessly.
“Please, call me Baelor.” He insisted as he left a note to himself to change her grade in his system. He handed her the paper and watched as she stretched her hand out to take it just the same. She stood to her feet with him and cracked the most honest smile she’d given him in the past hour. Baelor smiled just the same and soon moved with her, though he returned to his desk and she went towards the door. “Your peers in tutorial, they didn’t comment on anything we talked about today?” He eventually asked.
“I have just the one peer.” She said as she glanced over to him from the door. “He’s…interesting, to say the least. Mentally stimulating in another way. If the topic of discussion was anarchy and the political stance of these authors, he might have landed some points with me.”
Baelor hummed but smiled at her. “No doubt an interesting perspective. I want more of that, your voice.”
“Yes Prof—“ she began before she stopped herself short. “Baelor. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He said. She left the office again, taking with her a newfound and renewed spirit and hopefully some insight on how Baelor wanted her to write from this moment forward.
The door to the office opened again after some time, and when Baelor looked up, it was none other than his son. “Hi dad.” Valarr said as he gently let the door fall to a heavy shut behind him. Baelor smiled mirthfully at his son before Valarr sighed aloud and set his bag down onto the seat opposite his desk. He sat down just the same and rubbed his eyes gently. “Have you left at all today? It’s a nice day. I got you some lunch.”
“I just had a student in for a meeting regarding her paper. What have you been up to?” Baelor queried as Valarr set a sandwich wrapped up in parchment paper atop his desk, a bundle of napkins coming down just as well. Baelor quietly thanked him before he leaned into the side of his seat and twiddled a pen between his fingers.
“Finished lecture for the day, had some lunch with Kiera, met up with the rugby boys. We were thinking—“ Valarr began.
“A dangerous pastime for your peers, I imagine.” Baelor interjected.
Valarr sucked in a deep breath. “It won’t be too many people at the house. Just the boys, some of their girlfriends, Kiera. I would have suggested we all just frequent a pub in town, but you know there’s too many of us. And feeding the team alone would be too much short notice for a pub or a restaurant to handle. It will be a quiet evening.”
Baelor chuckled. If his son thought he had been born yesterday, then perhaps Baelor would have believed even a modicum of what Valarr was suggesting. Even still, it was hard for Baelor to wrap his mind around an entire club of rugby players and their girlfriends having a quiet evening, even if the likes of Valarr were involved. “I suppose your uncle and I could get dinner tonight. I’m trusting you, Valarr.” Baelor eventually said in assurance.
Valarr smiled and nodded his head. “Thanks dad.”
“Please do not let anyone upstairs. Library is off limits too. If anything breaks, please just let me know and set it aside. And nobody touches anything that belonged to your mother.” Baelor listed off.
“I know, dad.” Valarr said as he nodded his head and rose to his feet again, his grin growing as his mind began to race with all of the preparation that would need to take place for the party he planned to host.
“Invite your cousins as well.” Baelor said. Valarr froze in place and glanced back down at Baelor, as if he’d misheard his father. The reaction made Baelor tilt his head and eye his son carefully. “Daeron, Aerion.”
“Dad, Duncan’s going to be there.” Valarr breathed out with the shake of his head. “If you don’t want anything to break, I don’t think we should have him and Aerion in the same room together. Aerion’s still bitter about the whole thing with Tanselle. Besides, neither he nor Daeron play rugby.”
Baelor chuckled and nodded his head. “Neither will the majority of people you end up inviting. You have to include your cousins, or forget it.”
Valarr withheld the groan lodged deep in his throat. Perhaps at some time he might have felt some keenness to spend time with his cousins, but Valarr had crafted an image for himself that neither Daeron or Aerion could replicate, and he cared immensely about the image he presented before his peers and teammates. Baelor could sense the conflict Valarr was feeling and felt somewhat unsettled by the entitlement his son possessed. “If they have plans?” Valarr eventually asked.
“You won’t know until you ask them. I love you, Valarr. Everyone is out by midnight.” Baelor said. Valarr sighed but eventually nodded his head and collected his bag from the seat, his hand waving his father off before he left the cramped office once more. Baelor sighed aloud as he looked over his work. Perhaps he might not have dinner with his brother after all, as it seemed he had his work cut out for him right here.