As the two of them traveled the winding corridors, Araminia did her best to memorize the layout of things. She wanted to make sure she gave no one a reason to be any more hostile towards her then they already had reason to be. Though at first she simply nodded and let him lead on, trusting him to know where he was going, she eventually gave up, realizing she was hopelessly lost already, and that her time would be better served paying attention to the words he was speaking, not that they were easy to ignore.<br/><br/>She slowed a little as they passed the classrooms, listening both to her escort’s explanation of what was happening, and catching snippets of the teachers lessons. There were no screams of agony, no blood sacrifices. If anything, this place looked disappointingly similar to the Academy back home, before it was ripped from existence by the red mist, everything and everyone contained within slaughtered. Her father was no innocent man, to be certain, but there were atrocities committed on both sides, and yet all anyone seemed to care about was the things her father had done. Even the Queen Regent’s ripping of her former countrymen from their homes if they had family in Whitemarsh, exiling them for fear they might be spies, with nothing but the clothes on their backs as they were force-marched to the border. She pressed her lips together, forcing her thoughts to return to what Aronmar was saying. This place was nothing like the den of iniquity her father had always warned her of, and that helped to ease her. Perhaps things would not be so bad here. After all, there were libraries, and from some of the lessons, people as enthusiastic about history as she was. Maybe she’d be allowed to sit in on some of them, well aware that history was taught differently, depending on perspective. Until the recent war, the Enclave had always sat appart, watching and observing but never meddling. Save for the war, their version of history was probably most accurate. After all, it was hard to be unbiased when you’d chosen a side, even if her father had made that choice quite easy for them.<br/><br/>As they finally ascended to the fourth floor, she found herself marveling at the number of books each of these studies contained. There was one room with three young adults no older than herself, pouring through stacks of tomes as if desperately searching for some vital piece of information, bickering quietly amongst themselves. She found herself suddenly jealous of them, the freedom they had that she never did, and probably never would, and the camaraderie that they shared, while she had been tutored alone, and only in subjects befitting a princess. What use were her skills with the harp, or fine needlepoint here? It wasn’t like she could make amends for her father’s crimes with a fancy little hand stitched pillow reading ‘i’m sorry’.<br/><br/>Of course where they traveled next did nothing to improve her state of mind. These were the rooms that had belonged the the Red Mist Generals, as her father had called them. Some had been slain in battle, others captured and killed. Her father had put a bounty on each of their heads, sending everyone into a frenzy to ensure they met their end one way or another. She hung her head sadly, before realizing she’d stopped in the hall and looking back up at him as she quickened her steps to catch back up with him.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">“I’m sorry…” </span>she murmured softly, looking at the closed doors with sorrow filled eyes. Her father had always told her that she was far too kind, that these people would have killed her for sport, but in some ways, her father had done the same thing to them, and since the end of the war, being taken to Highcairn’s capital of Brighthaven, and than her travels here, she was seriously having doubts.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">“I can’t even imagine… my father wouldn’t even let me help with the wounded…”</span>a twinge of bitterness crept into her voice. In his efforts to protect her from the horrors of war, her father had isolated her from everything and everyone, and she had no common ground to stand on with those she met, no way to truly understand what they had experienced or gone though.<br/><br/>The whispering started again before they reached the entrance to the subsequent hall, her eyes widening as she watched the red mist swirl around them, touching her companion but almost avoiding her. She could easily imagine the whispering coming from the mist as though it was alive, repulsed by her mere existence. The trembling returned as she heard the voice echo from beyond the doors upon which the ever formal Aronmar had knocked, parting for the two of them to enter. And enter she did, timid and meek, though that seemed to vanish as her eyes lifted from the floor to the massive walls, not of wood or stone, but lined with shelves and filled with books. An entire library for one man; the Grandmaster of the Enclave. In all her nights she’d dreamed of a library like this one, with more knowledge than she could hope to acquire in a lifetime. It was only the booming words of her companion’s unusual speech that snapped her back to reality, bowing gracefully as she would have to a visiting king, back home.<br/><br/>She said nothing, clasping her hands in front of her and saying nothing as the two men embraced, revealing the closeness of this tight knit community here. They were family, something that was not lost on her. And her father had ordered them slaughtered. But it hadn’t been her. She’d been but twelve when the order had been given, and as the king’s youngest daughter, she’d had no say even in what books she was permitted to read (though in truth that hadn’t stopped her). Surely they would not intend to hold her accountable for her father’s crimes. Still, the trembling returned, especially when his cold gaze turned to her, even though his words were formal, and the rest of him betrayed no hint of distaste. She bowed again, her mouth dry, though forcing herself to be polite and remember her manners.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff"> “Thank you for your hospitality, Grandmaster Ralasizon. You have a most engaging and fascinating school. I hope to be able to learn much during my time here.”</span>satisfied that she had both expressed her interests while complimenting him appropriately, she fell back into silence, her fear only betrayed by the trembling of her lower lip, and her overly expressive sea green eyes.