A while back I wrote a post in the forum about writing a scene that make you personally uncomfortable.  I received some pretty good feedback.  Essentially, the advice was to let go and just write from the character's point of view.

So, here's that effort:

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The Academy's walls rebounded with the sound of many students rushing down along its halls, laughter and shouting echoing above the conversations of gossip and the planning the evening's activities.  Youth of both human and aelfin descent, with the occasional dweorh scratching her chin happily as her facial hair finally began to come in-it was embarrassing to have boys finally of the age to admire your stoutness when you didn't even have decent whiskers!-crowded the free spaces between classrooms, pushing against each other as some stood still in a small cluster of friends while others moved through toward their next lesson.  The hall was well lit with ever-burning lamps, magical sticks mounted to the walls surrounded by a warm and ghostly fire that only ever extinguished when the dasyu retired the building for the night.  White-gold walls with ivory doors made the Academy feel welcoming and brilliant, the latter effect seemingly giving the students a sense of clarity and focus.  Embossed into the walls above the level of the doorways, lining the hallways, were the effigies of distinguished alumni and faculty of the past.  Perhaps it was with the help of magic, but each face was sculpted with a proud smile as they looked on toward the future of Etlaentes:  the children below.

Typically, however, none of the children ever paid their predecessors much mind, content to go on about their days with the worries of the world far outside the Academy's walls.  This day, however, saw an adult also ignoring them.

Nikol moved through the halls without much difficulty, children parting for him without so much as an excuse or an irritated look.  He was deep in thought, mulling over what he'd seen in the Arena earlier that day.  He was very proud of Vivnienne, her talent with water having come a long way since her first foolhardy attempts.  He chuckled as he remembered her getting excited over successfully causing a ringed ripple in a small pool, her hands clapping as her exuberance spilled over.  Of course, it was even funnier when her loss of focus caused the water to rebound on itself and geyser up into her unexpecting face.  What he'd witnessed today, however, was strides above her childhood experiments.  She'd truly commanded the water.  Oh, he knew he'd probably been a little hard on her about her control of it, but children needed those reminders now and again since it seemed memory was as fleeting in the very young as it was in the very old.  He knew she wouldn't have seriously harmed the boy-magic responded to the intent of the wielder, and hers was not malicious-but she could have done more damage than she'd forgive herself for.  And though Nikol called her "Princess," he truly thought of her as a daughter, and no father easily bears watching his child wrack themselves with guilt.  Vivnienne was a loving soul who understood the need for nurturing as well as discipline.

That was a very rare sign of maturity in a girl her age, Nikol knew.  Vivnienne, someday, would make an excellent mother.  He remembered watching her with Delphi, the boy who'd practically collapsed from exhaustion during class that day.  Nikol saw her need to ensure the boy was fit and not embarrassed by his slip, but also recognizing the need to remain firm with him in her decision to dismiss him from class and see the Healer.

Nikol glanced up as he looked at the room sigils above the doorways he passed, then looked down again and continued his trek.
Delphi's incident bothered Nikol.  Truth to tell, it wasn't the boy singly that bothered him, but rather a pattern the Saent had started seeing recently.  Many of the youth he interacted with were showing signs of tiredness-and the younger the child the worse the symptoms were.  At first he had discounted what he saw, not concerning himself with private matters of family.  Those few whose fatigue had caught his eye he simply assumed to be the innocent victims of a late evening playing games or other such joviality.  But as the months progressed, he saw the fatigue more and more frequently and he grew increasingly concerned until, like today, he watched as it began affecting their actions.

The Captain-General turned down a quieter hallway, the lamps a little dimmer in this section of the Academy.  Nikol came to the end of the hall, turned toward a door with "Nichealle'as Splenidor, Pathways of the Mind" calligraphied onto its face, and knocked.

"Come in," a muffled voice responded, and so Nikol entered.

Nichealle'as' room was swathed in panels of mahogany with deep maroon drapes.  The carpet-a sure sign of her seniority at the Academy, considering standard accoutrements included bare floors-was a rich sandy color.  As Nikol closed the door, the light dimmed and flickered.  He realized there were no ever-burning lamps present, Nichealle'as instead using traditional candles.

The office's occupant was an old woman with stark white hair curled tightly and cut away from her shoulders to form a virtual ball around her head.  She stood facing the window, thin white sheets beneath the curtains obscuring her view but only by a little.  She held her hands clasped in front of her as she leaned against the frame, the wood rumpling the sleeve of her dress ever so slightly.  She smiled warmly at Nikol and gestured for him to take a seat in front of her desk, but then turned her attention back to the window.

Her eyes unfocussed, she nodded.  "No, Rhubert, it's no hassle at all.  I would love to speak to your children.  They should understand how the emotions they feel are translated through their voices and to their audience."  She paused for a moment.  "Oh, no, no.  That won't be necessary.  I'm sure they'll take the lecture seriously enough without enforcing a curriculum around it.  Besides, I'm just a guest speaker."  She smiled and nodded again.  "That sounds, wonderful.  I'll see you then.  Bless you."

Turning from the window, Nichealle'as strode over to her desk and tapped the feorrcurrere lightly, ending her conversation.

"Nikol'don, this is an unexpected surprise," she began, extending her hand to him.  The Saent clasped her hand gently and she took the opportunity to cover his grip with her other hand momentarily.  "It's not often I see you wandering the Halls of Sorcery.  What can I do for you?"

As they both sat, Nikol's chair a plush but small one lined with a woven fabric that was soft and warm to the touch, the Captain-General ignored her question for a moment, still trying to decide how to broach his real topic.

"Was that Rhubert Totania?"

Nichealle'as smiled and reached over to stroke a quill.  "The music director, yes.  He invited me to guest lecture next month.  Apparently he is tired of a nasty rumor that the members of his choir take his class simply to get out of some of the more boring ones.  He is now designing a more rigorous course."

Nikol nodded at that.  He'd heard some of the same rumors, although he also felt Totania was incredibly hard on himself.  Even if the rumors had no basis the director would take them to heart.  He simply did not understand that his passion for music was instilled in his pupils, no matter their original reason for attending, and his concerts were therefore exceptional.  Nikol'don felt the Academy's choir was perhaps better than many of the professional Etlaentean ones he'd attended concerts of.

"I suppose that's his prerogative," Nikol responded, "though he should take care to not put too much pressure on the children."

Nikol frowned as his point for seeking Nichealle'as out suddenly came to the fore unintentionally.

The older woman smiled knowingly, stood from her chair and turned toward a cabinet with a kettle atop it.  An iron stovetop with flame burners was mounted to the top of the cabinet and fire sticks rested in a box on a shelf above that.

"It's a bit late for tea, but I believe you wouldn't mind some caf and chokoc, am I right?"

Nikol laughed and tapped the side of his nose.  "Right you are, sweet woman."

"Of course, this means I'll need to..." she began, lifting her hand over the kettle.  Her palm glowed fiery red for a long moment as she heated the kettle.  "I prefer to do things the way nature intended, but every so often I suppose it doesn't hurt to cheat."  Within moments the kettle whistled, the water inside boiling.  "There we go."  She opened a cupboard and withdrew two mugs, then opened two tins containing brown powders, the caf darker than the chokoc, and put of scoop of each into both mugs.

Nikol gratefully took his cup from Nichealle'as' hand and inhaled the aroma deeply.  "My thanks," he told her, then tipped the mug back and swallowed.

Nichealle'as sipped her drink for a moment, cupping it with one hand while the other gripped the handle delicately, then leaned back in her chair.  It was a high-backed seat that looked throne-like, though the woman who occupied it hardly seemed arrogant enough to demand such a thing.

"You didn't come here to talk about Rhubert," she said softly.  "But your comment about the children...something rings true in that.  What is your concern, Nikol'don?"

Nikol took another large swallow before answering.  He thought for a moment that he'd better slow down-only one more swallow and the mug would be empty, and that would be considered rude by some.

"Your area of expertise is in how the mind generates arcane power, yes?" he began slowly, not really expecting an answer.

Nikol unhurriedly formulated his words, knowing Nichealle'as would be patient with him.  The affix of 'don to his name was a gift from the aelfin people.  It meant "of the people," or perhaps more accurately, "citizen servant."  With his membership as a Saent, a Warder of the Law, it could be said his full name was Nikol Klus, Custodian of the People's Law.  Aelfs only awarded an affix to a human they felt truly embodied its meaning.  Only a couple handfuls of humans currently carried the honor of this aelfin naming convention, and many of them served at the Academy.  Nichealle'as was one of these honored few, only the 'as attachment to her name indicated she was "of the children."

Nikol chewed on his mustache for a moment, brows furrowed, then continued.  "Have you noticed anything odd with the behavior of our youth lately?"

Laughing during mid sip, Nichealle'as hurriedly put her cup down and dried her lips with a cloth.  Still laughing mildly she gave Nikol a wry look.  "This is an academy, Nikol'don.  Every year brings new trends and strange behavior.  Could you be a bit more specific?"

"You have a point," Nikol answered, chuckling himself.  "But I meant something odder than the occasional unkempt head of hair or a near-scandalous wardrobe.  Although, I must say the concoction of part aelfin, human, and trollish language the student body was trying to implement as a new dialect last year certainly fits the bill.  Still, that isn't what I mean at all.  No, during my class today little Delphi almost fainted from exhaustion."

Nichealle'as tsked.  "I never did like the thought of our children beating each other silly.  Are you pushing them too hard, Nikol'don?"

"The first day?  Hardly!  No, Delphi's spell had nothing to do with me or my curriculum.  He's not the first child, nor was today the first time, in which I've noticed this fatigue.  There's also been mention of disturbing dreams."

Nichealle'as nodded and tapped her finger on her desk.  "It's probably just nerves.  With the war and the coming Ascension, tension has been rather higher than normal, and children can sense such things.  Children are a lot more perceptive than we adults give them credit for.  Their minds are open to a lot more stimulus than yours or mine is due to their youth."

Nikol nodded in agreement and scratched his beard.  "But the amount of fatigue and how often these dreams are occurring..."

"Do you remember the trouble with the trolls of the Onyx Mountains some fifty years ago?" Nichealle'as asked, interrupting.  "Although the Saents had the situation well in hand, quelling the rebellion took time."

The Captain-General shrugged and grimaced.  "It wasn't a rebellion so much as simple posturing."

"Either way," Nichealle'as continued, "the possibility of those monsters rushing down out of the mountains to ransack farms and kill citizens made a lot of people very frightened.  Parents changed their families' habits to remain more indoors ones.  Fewer vacations were taken out in the countryside, away from the protection of the Saents.  Though we tried to hide our worry from our children, they still sensed it.  And that worry caused at least one nightmare per household per week, on average."

Nikol bit his mustache again.  "This seems a little more widespread than that."

Nichealle'as smiled reassuringly.  "Current events are more serious, Nikol'don.  There's bound to be more anxiety."  She paused then, and brought her hands together, palms flat, index fingers tapping one another.  "Of course, you already knew all this.  You came to me because you were entertaining the possibility of some sort of arcane problem, am I right?"

Chuckling nervously, Nikol gave her a guilty look.  "You are an expert of the mind in magical applications."

"An expert," she responded wryly.  "Why, Nikol'don, I've never seen you put so much faith in human magical practices before!  Should I be flattered?"

"I don't doubt its power, Nichealle'as, just the methods humans use to capture and wield it.  We aelfs find the human way...brutal, is all."  Not caring about rudeness, he swallowed the last of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  "Still, it is human children who are showing the fatigue, so I figured it would make sense if it were a human magical problem."

"Logical," Nichealle'as agreed, "though I would hesitate to use the word 'problem' to describe the matter."  Nikol grunted.  "I can tell you I have seen no deviations in the patterns of arcane energies of late.  Of course, there are always small fluctuations, but they have not been outside the norm.  Still, let me explain something to you, Nikol'don, since you are not a student of sorcery."

Nichealle'as rose from her desk and strode to a bookcase behind Nikol.  Removing a book entitled, Astral Energies and Emotion, she opened the volume and laid it before the Saent.  The chapter she'd opened to showed a collage of children sleeping, playing, being disciplined, and listening to a story.  As Nichealle'as moved back to her chair, the picture became alive above the desk, moving with her words.  "The Supernal, as the Queen calls it, is a place that reflects the physical world around us.  The physical, in turn, is influenced by the Supernal's energies which fluctuate in response to our needs and desires-a self-sustaining circle."  The image displayed above her desk showed children at play.  Energy swirled around them in light pinks and whites and pale blues.  Nikol understood what he saw to be an amalgamation of the physical and the magical together.  "Left to themselves, children tend to feed positive energies into the astral, but these energies are weak and easily dispersed by the more adult emotions of depression and anxiety."  Nikol watched as the image became one of two men arguing.  The air around them swirled with dark reds and purples, growing darker as the exchange became more heated.  "Now, adults have the ability to deflect some of the effects of these negative energies, but children don't.  Think of a child as a polished silver pitcher.  Any air that touches it for long begins tarnishing the pitcher, changing its appearance.  Children, like the silver, are easily influenced by energies, both positive and negative.  We adults are like the tarnished pitcher-more air does little to affect us."  The image shifted to one a child sleeping.  "We are all more susceptible to influences of the astral realm when we sleep, since we are not generating any, or at least very little, emotions.  It is during sleep, then, that these energies can have the greatest impact, usually manifesting in our dreams."  She reached across and closed the book, the images floating in the air evaporating.  "I trust I've made my point?"

Blowing air through his teeth, cheeks puffing out, Nikol raised his eyebrows and patted the arms of his chair, palms down.  "I suppose you're right.  Perhaps I'm worrying about nothing."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Captain-General.  Your love of children does you justice."

"Of course," he replied, unconvinced.  Standing, Nikol turned to leave, and then paused.  "Would you keep your eye out anyway, madam?"

"I would be hurt if you hadn't asked," she answered with a warm and motherly smile.  "Do not worry yourself, Nikol'don.  We will watch the children.  If there is something to be concerned about, I'm sure together we will discover it.  Until then, I suggest you enjoy your day."

* * *

The Council had adjourned for the day, each of the members retiring to their private abodes on the second tier.  Shlaesa's home, however, was on the same tier as the Temple, a short relaxing walk through the garden away where attendants cared for the lawn and plants.  Shlaesa loved watching the aelfs tend her garden, and was absolutely fascinated by the giant trolls and the grace of their clumsy-looking hands.  Standing in excess of ten feet in height, the trolls were a peaceful lot and amazingly gentle, though admittedly rough and homely in appearance.  Their huge, coarse fingers could dig a hole in the ground with one poke, then deposit a sapling and cover its roots with loose soil, all with the tenderness of an angel.  It was interesting to note that often new vegetation actually weathered better when cared for by trolls rather than aelfs.

Shlaesa stood by a wide window, admiring the beauty of her garden, a diaphanous robe covering her nakedness to her toes, although what it left to the imagination was little.  Minya, an older man who'd served Shlaesa for the better of forty years, offered her a glass of fruit juice, his hands slightly shaking with age beneath the silver platter that held her drink.  He was olive-skinned, someone who'd lived his life under the sun, and originally from the desert country of Aigypt.  As a dasyu, he had few outright freedoms, yet Shlaesa was generous with her people if they had served her well.  And Minya was the very best and most loyal of her dasyu, able to read her moods to such a degree that it seemed as if he could read Shlaesa's mind.  More and more often of late Shlaesa allowed the older man, as a reward, to rest in the garden where he'd shown a small talent for groundskeeping.

"Thank you, Minya," she said over her shoulder, taking the slender glass of juice off the platter.

The dasyu bowed and slowly stood straight again.  His old eyes glancing past her shoulder, Minya spied movement in the garden.  "The King approaches," he informed Shlaesa in a quiet, rough voice.  "Should I prepare more refreshments?"

Shlaesa searched the garden for her son, not finding him at first amongst all the colors.  Sometimes she was amazed at how perceptive the old dasyu could be.  "No, I do not think he will be in the mood.  Better clear the house and draw the curtains, Minya.  He will need calming again, I believe."

The dasyu bowed again and withdrew, although Shlaesa thought she caught of brief look of disapproval from him.  That was, of course, nonsense.  Minya had been with her too long to be shocked by her habits and activities.  Besides, it wasn't his right to judge her.  He knew his place.  No, it was probably just old age twisting his face that she saw from the corner of her eye.

Turning away from the window, she engulfed her drink and glass within a small orange flame, immediately disintegrating it and burning away any remaining residue.  She looked around her chambers and nodded to herself.  Everything was in order, except for the lack of tabbaq scent in the air.  Tlenai liked the spicy aroma and it usually worked to calm his nerves, which was useful for when Shlaesa determined the need to persuade him to one thing or another.  At least, the smell of tabbaq helped start the process of relaxing him.  With a flick of a wrist, gold sparkles quickly dissipated around the room, leaving behind the intended scent.

"Mother!" the King announced without ceremony, bursting through the doorway as if the building were his home.  Pulling off his crimson cloak, he threw it haphazardly across an armchair with a quick snap.

Shlaesa glanced at her son, and then the cloak.  Oh, he is in a mood, she thought to herself.  She knew then that she would need to handle him carefully.

"Yes, my King?" she answered demurely, bending a slight knee to him, not bothering to hold her robe tight against her.

He gave her an irritated look, though his eyes did not immediately meet hers.  "Do not start that with me.  We both know just how humble you truly are."

Shlaesa smiled playfully and approached her son, entwining her arm in his as she led him toward the lounge.  "I am as humble as the situation calls for, Tlenai.  No more.  No less."

"I would have preferred more with the dragon," Tlenai muttered.  "You gave us all a fright with how you spoke to that beast.  For a moment, we all thought he would eat you out of spite."

"I can take care of myself," she assured her son.  "The dragon does not intimidate me."  She hoped her son could not sense the lie.

Tlenai coughed at that.  "I'm not sure anything does, mother."

The King allowed his mother to lead him to a chair in the lounge which supported his back, yet stopped short of his shoulders.  He rested his arms on the chair's supports and breathed deeply.  A slight smile came to his face as he recognized the aroma which filled the estate and he closed his eyes.  Shlaesa kneaded his shoulders and bent low behind him, bringing her lips to the side of his ear, her warm breath on his neck relaxing him further.

"What is it that has you so tense, Tlenai?  Tell me."

The King's breath slowed as he allowed the pleasure from Shlaesa's massage to penetrate.  "To be honest, mother, it is you."  Shlaesa nodded, though Tlenai couldn't see her.  "You are pushing too hard.  If you're not careful, you will ruin everything you have worked for."

"And what is it I am doing, my King?"

Tlenai blew out through his lips.  "Not every one of your sons has faith in your plan, mother.  Gaining power they understand, but your Ascension is something most of them only pay lip service to.  You are fortunate that you have Falkos' support and not just mine, otherwise the Council would have denounced your ideas as reckless and dangerous months past.  And this insistence of yours to seize the people's orichalcum is coming dangerously close to marking you as mad, in their eyes anyway."

Shlaesa moved around in front of Tlenai, her hands working his neck.  Tlenai leaned forward slightly at her pressure, his face lightly brushing the fabric of her robe.  His eyes opened partway at the feel of her robe and Shlaesa knew he was mesmerized.  Breathing more deeply, she moved ever so slightly to position a breast directly in front of his face.  She could practically sense his struggle to not open his mouth.

She smiled at her son's weakness.  The world thought of Tlenai as a powerful man, one of decisive authority.  And, in truth, he was a brilliant leader with innovative ideas.  His concept of the dasyu was genius.  The dasyu were people from the Eastern Lands who were allowed to reside on Etlaentes without the responsibilities of citizenship.  They could leave any time they wished, but to remain on Etlaentes they were required to serve an Etlaentean family.  They could own no property but they had access to the world's finest education, healers, and the assurance of safety and a life of peace-no man not born of Etlaentes could find the island empire by his own power, therefore no man could start a war on Etlaentean soil.  These things were attractive to the eastern barbarians, and if occasionally a family took advantage their dasyu, well there ways to hide such things.

Yes, Tlenai was strong, but in his mother's hand he was but a whimpering babe.

"And what, my King," Shlaesa began, her breath hot again asher fingers loosened the knots in his neck, "would you have me do?  I can only act as my heart tells me, and I know for certain that we are meant to transcend the physical."  Her breast brushed Tlenai's lips.  "Can you tell me any other way to gain the orichalcum we need?"

For a moment Tlenai couldn't speak, and when he could his voice was husky.  "Support the war," he whispered fiercely.  Both his hands gripped the chair's arms so tightly his knuckles showed white.

Shlaesa frowned at his demand.  She did not like the idea of Etlaenteans dying.  After all, she was trying to save her people.  But if the Council was resistant to orichalcum seizures, what choice was left to her?  Would a small amount of blood stain her soul?  Could she live with causing those deaths?  Shlaesa thought of the Ascension and remembered the vision of her people's future.  In her long experience with sorcery, and the aid of a trusted assistant, Shlaesa knew the feeling of allowing the astral realm to completely engulf her.  The feeling of pure magic was intoxicating and beyond anything she had ever experienced.  That euphoria is what she wanted for her children, constant and unending.  Yes, a small amount of bloodshed was worth that.

Lowering her mouth to his, she kissed Tlenai at first the way a mother would a son.  But the kiss became increasingly passionate as she cupped his face in her hands.  She could feel his tension rise momentarily, but then his will collapsed and he gave in.  A hand on her back and the other tightly gripping her buttocks, Tlenai dipped his face into her chest.

"If that is what it will take, my King, then so be it.  But be bold about it.  Recall the guard from all our outposts in the east and send them to Cresa.  Let us walk over the Aktenans like so much rubbish.  Let us finish this quickly!  Do not hold back!"

Tlenai, drunk with desire, agreed without argument.  Lifting her roughly, the King took his mother to bed.