Lament of a Noble Born

Clang. Clang.

Despite how much I love her, I really do hate Mom sometimes.

Clang. Slash.

Not in the sense that I hate her, more in that I hate the things she drags me into.

Clang. Clang. Smack.

I still love her. But...

Smack.

“Fuck!”

Even love has its limits’ and for me, that limit was Mom’s ruthless methods of teaching me to wield a weapon properly.

You see, a few weeks ago, I got into a bit of an altercation at the Academy. During a routine practice dual, where students are paired off against one another for training purposes, I may have gotten a bit more physical then I should have been with my opponent. The session that day was to get more comfortable using staffs as a focus to cast spells; in essence reducing the overall mana needed to cast a spell. Because staffs made using magic easier, it meant the other kids could use spells they normally couldn’t use because of the inherent ‘cost’.

This is all a long-winded way of saying the student I was assigned to duel decided to take a page out of my playbook and teleport around the area and hit my blind spots. The hits were never enough to knock me down, but they did start to piss me off after three whole minutes of him doing the same thing over and over again. Now far be it for me to nay say my own strategy; but damn was it annoying to be on the receiving end. Not helped by the kid’s constant goading and jokes as all my counter spells missed their mark due to the aforementioned teleporting.

So once all that annoyance boiled over into frustration, I may have teleported next to him and struck him in the knees with my staff.

And struck him several more times when he was on the ground.

…

And I refuse any accusation that I hit him more than twice on the back of the head!

Thankfully I was able to avoid any punishment, beyond a stern reprimand, by successfully arguing to the professor that while he said never said we could use our staff’s as ‘blunt weapons’ he also never explained that anyone ‘could not use them as blunt weapons’. My logic was flawless, and I avoided any consequences! While I avoided any official punishment, a letter was sent home saying, while I was correct in my logic, what I did was very wrong and that I should face some form of reprimand at home.

Instead, Mom bought me a cake that very afternoon to ‘celebrate’.

Later on, Mom approached me with an offer to teach me how to use weapons properly. Without really thinking, I of course accepted. Afterall, before I was reborn I loved playing games as a “sword and spell” kind of person; blasting fire with one and, and slicing’n dicing with the other. It also gets rid of the biggest weakenss of a mage, that being an inability to fight without magic. And while I did refuse her help years ago during the entrance exam, I have to admit I’ve kind of warmed up to the idea.

Maybe I should have realized I was in way over my head when Mom gave me a subdued slasher smile when I asked her what to expect…

So here I was, keeled over on the grass nursing yet another set of bruises on my sore body. While I was glad that none of her strikes broke the skin, it was hardly a tradeoff that my entire body was polka dotted in black and blues. Thank God for blunted blades I guess.

My attire didn't make it any better. Mom was insistent that I learn the same why her Mother, in other words my Grandmother, taught her. So that meant I was here in little more than a strip of red cloth wrapped around my chest and a set of short shorts, that might as well just be slightly longer panties given how much they covered, to keep my decency. She didn’t even let me have shoes! Said I needed to ‘feel the earth’ beneath my feet.

If there was any consolation, Mom wore as much as I did in these sessions: meaning almost nothing.

Not that I minded it all that much. In fact, at the time I thought that this worked better for me. I could feel and regulate mana more effortlessly without being encumbered by clothing; the thicker the clothing, the more difficult it is to channel mana into spells. Hence why most mages wear robes, since they provided the best mix of decency and mana regulation.

That was the ONLY reason. It was definitely not because of the slight thrill I got from running around almost naked with my beautiful looking Mom (who was almost naked herself). Nope. That had NOTHING to do with it. I also never gawked at her slender frame.

Never.

On the note of bodies, I will say that it’s quite the novel experience to have my own pair of tits. Not the obscene ones from anime and other entertainment in my past life that reached a disgustingly large size that they would snap a normal person’s back, normal breasts. Where once they were small bumps, they had been steadily growing to the size of genuine breasts. From what Mom told me, after catching me that one time catching me sizing up my tits in the mirror, that they were perfectly normal sized.

But back to the training, whatever I had been thinking would happen between us in these ‘training sessions’ did not manifest in the way I thought they would…

“Come on sweetie!” I heard her cheering over the way. “I know I didn’t raise a quitter. Come on! One more time and we’ll call it a day!”

Groaning, I used the blunt sword she gave me to train with as a crutch, slowly working my way back to my feet.

The usual pattern our training would go down would be me training to use a sword for a few hours. Learning the proper way to hold and swing it I mean. She would even allow me to swing at her to try and hit her, like she was some walking target dummy. I never actually hit her, but she did parry my strikes off and gave me feedback on my swordplay. That wasn’t the problem, it was the ‘mock duels’ that came after the practice that I had issues with. Though calling them duels implies a sense of equivalent power between both parties.

There was no equivalence between us.

Now I knew Mom knew how to fight. Even before she pulled out a pistol, she insisted I use for the entrance exam, there were hints that she was a competent fighter. A rough upbringing, that was not necessarily on the ‘right’ side of the law. It’s kind of a given she would learn how to protect herself. I just expected her to be good with knives, hand to hand, some swordsmanship obviously, and have really good reflexes. But knowing how to fight, and the acrobatic bullshit she regularly pulls off are two very different things.

She’s just too damn fast for me to hit, even with magic! No matter what spells I throw at her, or how fast I cast them, she just moves out of the way. Even if I teleport away from her and throw masses of arcane missiles or fire balls, nothing hits! I’ve even seen her do flips and twist her body about midair before slicing my spells apart midflight with ease.

In our first duel, she crossed the distance between the two of us in a couple of seconds before knocking all the air out of me with a quick jab of the sword grip to the chest. She caught me before I crumpled down and, with that smug smile of hers, asked if I was ready for another round.

And this occurred for over every time we practiced together. Each bout lasted seconds at most; with me on my back or otherwise on the ground as a result. The worst part, for my pride, was that I knew she wasn't taking me seriously. She seemingly used the same move to throw me to the ground every time; almost like she was telling me “I’m doing the same thing again and you can’t stop me”. The sweat that accumulates on her body wasn't from exhaustion but from the humidity.

And after every duel, she would rattle off everything I did wrong. My feet were not positioned right. I was holding my sword too tightly. Then I was holding it too loosely. And so on.
Waiting for me to indicated I was ready, she twirled her blades about absentmindedly.

‘Just one more beating and it’ll be over for today,’ I muse to myself. Readying my blade, I nodded and silently prayed for it to not hurt that much.

Mere seconds later, she had closed the distance between us. Sword ready to strike, she held her posture for a couple seconds. Her ‘handicap’ for me I suppose, slowing herself to let my reaction time and reflexes keep up with her. Otherwise, there would be literally no way for me to even keep track of her, let alone keep up with her.

When we first started, the small delay was just long enough for me to register that I was about to be hit. Now, after having strengthened myself and worked my nubile body to its breaking point, it was just enough time for me to almost block the strike.

Almost.

Her blunted blade effortlessly avoided mine and struck my arm. A quick jab of her foot struck the bone of my ankle, causing me to lose balance. However, as I slid down, I was quickly scooped off my feet.

Instead of an ignoble landing on the grassy ground, Mom had seemingly caught me mid fall; holding me in a bridal style. She smiled, I groaned.

“You’re improving,” she told me. “Soon enough, you might be able to actually hold your ground against me. Remember, you don't need to stand still in a duel. Standing too still against a foe who relies on agility is not the wisest of moves.”

“Yes Mom,” I muttered, just glad she didn’t jab my stomach.

While I groaned as she pulled me into a tight hug, continuing to go on about how much I was improving, I absently noticed that my head was currently very close to Mom’s breasts. They were sizable (for an elf) and, If the indents on the small band of cloth keeping them from being was any indication, quite perky at the moment. I forced down a stray thought of what they would feel like between my hands…

My feelings towards her have always confused me. Not in the ‘do I love her’ or not sense. I did love her. She may not be my first Mom, or even this body’s real Mom, but she took me in and raised me as her own. It was impossible for me to not form some type of bond with her. So yes, I did love her. But the sense of confusion I feel to her first came upon me when puberty started in full force.

It was a strange time when I started becoming attracted to people again. Like a switch had been flipped and I was back to my normal self. Ignoring the new, wider scope of my attractions, I noticed I was looking at Mom the same way I would view any other beautiful, sexy woman. I felt ashamed of having those thoughts and tried to just ignore them. Arguing with myself that it was just a ‘phase’ that I would grow out of.

But a few years of feeling shame about it, I kind of just threw up my hands and gave up pretending I wasn't attracted to her. At first, I thought that because this is my second life the westermarck effect isn't kicking in because subconsciously I was fully formed already, and I knew she’s not related to me by blood.

All of this is only made worse by how close our ages were. Yes, a girl who is fifteen and a woman on the cusp of her fifties are “close” in age. Joking aside, to a population that lives two to three thousand years on average, a difference of three to four decades is basically nothing. Add in the whole ‘not physically aging past your twenties for the next thousand years’ thing and high elves have a pretty screwy view of ages. Hell, I can’t remember the number of times I’ve been mistaken for Mom’s ‘little sister’ when she’d take me to the market. Thankfully, Mom didn’t add anything to those remarks, but neither was she quick to correct them.

Moving back on topic, the biggest issue isn’t that Mom is hot, it’s her inherent promiscuity and open nature. She walks around the house in some of the thinnest, most revealing clothing I’ve ever seen. While I understand that it was just for her job, that doesn’t stop my body’s reaction to her fetishized outfits or revealing dresses and gowns. I can only remember a handful of times she would cover up and dress more ‘appropriately’ on her way to ‘work’; and most of them occur during the winter months where she has to bundle up more.

Thankfully, she does change out of her those clothes quite often and into things more ‘comfortable’ for her. Sadly, for my own sake, her casual outfits might cover even less at times. Crop tops, tube tops, and ridiculously short skirts make up her ‘normal’ wardrobe. On lazy days, or days she just can’t be bothered, she just wanders around in nothing but her panties, her tits on full display. On other days, she is completely bare.

So yes, Mom’s quite open with her body, but where do I reach the ‘promiscuity’ bit? Well, not only Mom open with her body, but she is also open about sexual related activities. Mom has never been shy about talking of her job to me and she certainly doesn’t mince her words about what she does or has done. Hell, just a few weeks ago she apologized in advance for not speaking properly to me for a day because a client she was going to see has a tendency to overdo it and, in her own words, “fuck her throat until it was raw”.

True to her word, the next day, she had some difficulty speaking. Granted it recovered over the course of the day thanks to potions but still what a thing to say!

Add in all the lewd humor and innuendos she says, which have been growing in frequnecey as I get older, and I’m surprised I manage to keep a straight face most of the time; though I’m pretty sure the jokes are just to see me sputter about and blush rather than actual invitations to something more.

Ugh. I can already feel my face heating up at the thought…

“Now then,” Mom’s words brought me out of my inner thoughts. “Let’s head home and see to your bruises. I know just the potion to make the soreness go away.”

“Great, so can you put me down now?” I wriggled in her grasp to distance myself from her chest, yet incidentally getting more aroused as my bare skin moved and ran across hers. The warmth between our skin’s connection causing me to get more ‘excited’ than I ought to be with a parental figure.

“I can,” she stated as she walked towards the city, not commenting on the contact between our bodies.

Incidentally, she didn't let me go until we were back home.

--
--

“You know, I’m probably training more by healing you all the time than I am at the chapel,” Cerrea quipped as her glowing hands bathed my bruised body in healing light. “You're worse than some of the paladin initiates.”

“I know.”

Turns out having a priest in training as a friend is a really good thing when fate has seemingly conspired to make me get into situations on a regular basis that leave me sore and bruised. Siristra might be a tough teacher in her own way, but she never puts me through stuff like Mom does!

“I still don’t get why you're not wearing proper training gear,” Cerrea went on, her glowing hands moving from my arms to my sides. “Paladin initiates may not wear all that much while training themselves, but even they wear a basic chest piece and protective gloves.”

“I know,” I groan as the soreness from before slowly disappears under the healing glow.

“And even then, why train a caster to be a warrior? Paladins might be able to wield the Light, but they are first and foremost melee fighters. The Light is to augment their capabilities rather than be a replacement to their weapon mastery and plate armor.”

“I know,” I repeated again, knowing full well where this conversation was going from the number of times, she’s went on about it.

“What your Mother is trying to do seems like the reverse; training a mage to be a warrior. Using a sword to augment your spellcasting. Which doesn't make much sense for a person being taught to be a dedicated ranged spellcaster. Give me a staff and I’ll rain the Light’s wrath on the wicked. Give me a sword and tell me to charge the enemy, I’m just as liable to hurt myself as I am to actually hit them.”

“I know.”

“If you’re so insistent on being a battle-mage, you should seek one out rather than let your Mother roughhouse you for a few hours every week!”

“I know…” If I could find a battlemage I would.

As the last bits of soreness ebbed away under her healing hands, and the glow vanished, Cerrea pulled away and huffed.

“Anyway that’s just my opinion on the matter,” she clarified. “Now, this is where I would normally tell you to be more careful in the future. But knowing you, I expect your limping form to be here again in a week’s time.”

“I know, and thank you,” I stood up, stretching out my newly healed limbs.

“Oh no need to thank me,” Cerrea deflected. “As a priestess, even one in training, it’s my job to heal and care for all in need; no matter how injury prone they are.”

No one so innocent and pure as Cerrea should be capable of pulling off such a smug smile. I feel as if this is my fault. That interacting with me over the years has tainted her pure soul. She’s learned too much snark and smug from me.

“I’m not injury prone,” I tried to wave off her accusation. “It’s just a coincidence.”

“But of course,” Cerrea sounded sincere. But again, that smug smile hidden behind her hand. I just huffed to myself. Cerrea rolled her eyes. I could even tell she was thinking something along the lines of ‘little girl’ in her head despite us only being a few years apart in age.

“So Syllia, I have a question.” Cerrea changed the topic.

“Yeah?” I asked, happy for any new topic to discuss.

“How-” She hesitated for a moment, biting the bottom of her lip as she fiddled with her thumbs. “How...do you tell someone you enjoy their company?”

“In what sense?” Enjoy can have two very different meanings. I want to take her at face value and assume it's something wholesome. But I’ve learned too many times how something wholesome looking can in fact be the height of degeneracy.

“I mean...not simply to enjoy their company, but that you wish to…enjoy their…-” she stopped short. She retreated her head into the relative cover of her hood. I heard her say something, but the fabric muffled her words.

Looking down, I could make out some of the redness on her face from the bits that her hoodie didn't cover. Taking my seat next to her on the rock again, I weighed my options. She seemed quite embarrassed about this. Or self-conscious. Best to use humor to diffuse the situation.

“You know you don't need to be so circumspect with me,” I began. “I will gladly accept any confession you have for me! What renegades we are. A mage and a priest. Even if society frowns on it, I shall gladly take you as my wife and we shall live out our days in the peace and seclusion of the Eversong!”

Then I heard it. A girlish snort. Laughter held back by the hands. Her previous indecisiveness and embarrassment dissolved in a fit of giggles. After a minute, Cerrea emerged from her hoodie-cocoon. Her face was still red, but she seemed more confident.

“I’m sorry Syllia but,” her tone took a playfully serious note. A hand reached out for my shoulder. Cerrea looked into my eyes with all the seriousness she could muster. “While I care for you as a friend, I don’t see you in that light.”

I ‘recoil’ in ‘shock’. Hand clutches my heart as I fall backwards onto the rock. Cerrea laughed.

“My heart is broken,” I lamented. “I fear I shall never know true love again.”

“Oh stop it,” she managed to speak up between her laughter. A playful slap on my hand reaching out to the sky.

“Woe is me.”

I started laughing at myself not long after.

Eventually, we managed to calm ourselves down enough to have a proper conversation.

“So, in all seriousness,” I began, seeing her finally calming down as well. “What’s this about?”

“It’s a bit complicated,” Cerrea rang her fingers together as she looked for the right words. “At the chapel there's this boy. Sorlan. He’s in my age group, but training to be a paladin rather than a priest. And...”

“And you like him?” I quipped.

“We’ve been friends for years,” she didn't answer my question, choosing to continue her story. “The first time I met him, I thought he was an idiot.” She smiled at the memory. “A brute even. I was sitting in the chapel learning my chants quietly, when this loudmouth barged in and started making all this noise. He wasn't yelling or anything, but when you're in a quiet room trying to read something, everything sounds louder than it really is. His constant desire to start a conversation with me or ambiently comment on the room was grating.”

I raise my hands up defensively, “no need to explain that to me. Mage, remember?”

Thinking back, I do remember a similar situation occurring to me in the study hall of the Academy. Some boy was hitting on a servant girl. Making several inappropriate comments. Pretty sure there was some touching involved beneath the table given her heavy breathing and red face. And they were doing all of this, in the library. Like dude! Couldn't you take that somewhere else?

Everyone was staring at them. The pair, in turn, seemed oblivious to all the annoyed eyes on them.

As the ire against them built up in the room, a flash of light enveloped them. When it disappeared, it became obvious that they were hit with a polymorph spell. Where a student and servant had sat, now two tiny dogs occupied the space. Quite laughter broke out amongst everyone. The symbolism obvious to all. The two were then promptly scooped up by the librarian by the scruff of their new canine necks and taken out of the building.

Good times.

“I hissed at him to be quiet,“ Cerrea continued her story. “When he kept talking regardless, I picked up my prayer book and walked out. Unlike most of us training at the chapel, he's an orphan so he also lives there. So, one day, I’m walking to the chapel and these older kids from the village surround and start heckling me.”

She gripped her hands tighter together at the memory.

“They said Quel’Thalas was no place for human lovers. That I should just move to Lordaeron and become a sex worker if I wanted to be ‘taken’ by humans so badly. They used slightly more derogatory language and insulting slurs, but that was the gist of what they said.”

You know that stuff doesn't even surprise me. I’ve found high elf culture as a whole has this tasteful mix of xenophobia and racial superiority. Even in my classes at Dath’Remar it was hammered into kids' minds, purity of the race, purity of the culture, purity of the blood. Quel’Thalas was the most civilized kingdom in the known world and its people were the most cultured and civilized race in the world.

And that was from the self-proclaimed ‘most open minded’ professor on campus. Hate to see what a close-minded teacher would tell their class.

“I’m used to that sort of slander by this point,” she went on. “Despite how useful priests and the Church have been to the kingdom, and no matter how much good we do, there are still those who continue to see the Church as a human institution attempting to infiltrate our society. My instructor has told us it has gotten better since the Wars; but that close minded people will always find something to attack us for.”

“I-” I didn't know what to say to that. I’ve never experienced anything like that. Then again, I'm a high elf going to school to become a mage. There is literally nothing more stereotypically high elven than that.

“But this time was different,” she took a shaky breath before continuing. “They didn’t just use words to attack me. They said I should get ‘proper’ training if I wished to be a human’s servant. They grabbed me, tore my robes, ripped off my undergarments, and threw me to the ground. They grabbed my head and shoved me face first into the dirt. Being held down, and hearing the rustling of clothes, fingers pulling at my... I feared the worst.”

Holy shit….

“Then I heard a voice call out to the attackers,” she gave a small smile. “It was Sorlan. It was providence that he was walking to the village that very morning to fix his practice sword. Seeing me in distress, he attacked the boys. It was over in seconds. They were a bunch of village misfits, Sorlan was a paladin in training; the result was obvious. Several broken bones and missing teeth later, the boys ran.” She looked up to the orange leaves of the Everson trees. “After that, he gave me his spare shirt, we went back to the chapel together, and we’ve been close friends ever since.”

“And you want to take the next step,” I finished.

Cerrea blushed and nodded, “yes.”

“So what's the problem?” I asked.

“The problem is that Sorlan, while one of the friendliest people I know, is a bit…ignorant when it comes to the hearts of women,” she gave a nervous chuckle. “No fewer than two other girls, also friends of both him and I, have made no secret of their affection for him. Similar stories to myself, him being a galivanting hero in their times of need; then slowly falling for the dolt he is. While we’ve tried to indicate to him we are open to a more… intimate relationship, but Sorlan is as aware as a troll when it comes to picking up subtly of this sort.”

Casual racism aside, I didn't need to hear anything else. I know what’s wrong with this boy. Harem Protagonist Syndrome (HPS). Big heart, dumb mind when it comes to obvious signs of affection. Oof. Bad luck Cerrea. But something that can be put to rest using my former male mind, and my knowledge of tropes.

“Just be blunt with him,” I told her. “He sounds like the type of guy who will just downplay or understate any subtle signs of affection as just being ‘friendly’ or him just misinterpreting it. So be as direct and blunt as possible to make sure he understands your feelings.” Standard vector of bypassing HPS, leave no room for misinterpretation.

Cerrea looked at me, owlishly blinking at my response. “I would like to argue that you’re wrong about him but that sounds very much like something he would do.”

“So it’s decided,” I stood up and pointed at her. “Next time you get a chance, you’ll walk up and just tell him how you feel. No side stepping or round about talking. Walk straight up to him and just say ‘I am interested in you Sorlan, do you feel the same’.”

“That’s...actually what Priestess Vallan said to do when I asked her for advice,” Cerrea mulled over my words, finger playing with the sleeve of her robes. “I didn’t want to do that since it seemed a tad too, straightforward…and that maybe there was another way to get him to realize my- our feelings.”

“Trust me, with boys like him, being blunt is the best way to avoid any romantic tension,” I nodded at my own wisdom. I was confident that this thing between Sorlan and Cerrea would work itself out; maybe the other girls too. After getting it through his seemingly thick skull that Cerrea was genuinely interested in him, two possibilities emerge; either he reciprocates, or he does not. Simple.

All I’m happy about is not being so blind to obvious affection. You think the signs of affection this blatant should be obvious enough to anyone with basic social awareness, yet sadly this is not the case. Some people are just too dense for their own good.

…

Wait…

“Hey Cerrea.” A thought just occurred to me! Cerrea said that her friend was a paladin in training? As in someone who knows how to fight but who may not just utterly curb stomp me in a handful of seconds?

“Yeah?”

“Your friend, Sorlan,” I started, “do you think you can introduce us?”