AN: This story is placed directly after Aslyum: Rescue.
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Somewhere in the north, snow blanketed the land in shimmering white drifts, dazzling the eye and stealing warmth from whoever ventured into it. Here, while it wasn't precisely green or warm, it wasn't cold, and it wasn't dead. Winter here was more of a dormant, sleepy period, with half the fields fallow and the others filled with winter crops, vineyards usually taking up one side of the road or the other. Centaurs occasionally raided out of Valenwood, to say nothing of the Bosmer, but it was rare this far into the Empire proper.
Justin still found himself getting used to it two years later. Winter seemed to be the only time he wasn't broiling in his mail. He still had no clue what possessed Tiber to move down here. Perhaps there was something to the whispered tales of the long ago hero running mad.
The one thing he would say Cyrodiil had going for it were the colors. Cyrodiil was ablaze in colors, even during its coldest season, and he let his eyes feast on them. It was quite probably the one good thing about his little quest, and somewhat eased his grumbles. Unlike some brothers in his family, he didn't get handed Shor's own hammer upon completing his Rite of Passage, and found it necessary to distinguish himself some other way. Bringing Shor back to the lost heathens of Tiber's Empire sounded like a good idea at the time.
His first summer quickly disabused him of that notion. At least then he'd had Gabriel's company. Grousing and complaining helped when he had someone that understood and sympathized. Now, with them split up to seek word of their oldest brother, he didn't even have that comfort.
The road branched ahead. The main one kept going, straight and well-maintained. To the side a massive, gnarled old stump that had obviously resisted being removed several times stood tall and proud, if somewhat cock-eyed, sporting a sign that was very faded, and ended in "ville." A fox sat on the road before it, staring right at him as if it had been waiting, tail curled around it's legs.
"Well hello, messenger. Shall I take the road less traveled by?" Justin dismounted to get a better look at the fox and narrow path. Would his horse even fit?
The fox looked at him as if saying "Don't be cute," before sauntering off behind the stump, following the dirt path. When he rounded the tree after it, it had vanished.
"I say—hic!—friend, cou'd ya get—hic!—off my—hic! HIc!"
"What in Shor's…" Justin looked down to see the pile of leaf litter actually concealed a drunkard. "Sorry, friend, you blended right in with the leaves. Let me help you up." He extended a hand after hastily backing off him. He would have sworn nobody had been under his feet just a moment ago.
"That's—hic!—real nice of ya," the Breton said, blinking reddened eyes in a way that suggested both that the light hurt him and that his vision wasn't all that stable. "Did it work, then?"
"Did what work?" And this was why Justin avoided drunkeness. Oh he drank, he partied, but he enjoyed remembering his fun. What good was a good time if you forgot it?
"Am I a—hic!—tree?" the man asked hopefully. "She likes—hic!—trees."
"No, my friend, you are not a tree, but a man covered in leaves and drunk enough to rival Sanguine." The man snickered, then swayed. "Can I help you get somewhere? Is someone waiting for you somewhere?" Justin dusted the man off and checked him for injury.
The Breton perked up. "You think she's—hic!—waiting? Maybe she's still—hic!—there!"
"I have no idea who she is, or whether she'd be wherever 'there' is. Where am I taking you?" Justin wedged his shoulder under the drunk's, and got him to some semblance of vertical.
"Tha' way," he waved indistinctly down the path. "The inn. Nice place. Good wine. Pretty Bosomer." He grinned up at Justin and squinted, "You're—hic!—pretty pretty, too. No Muffin, but—hic!—pretty."
"I, uh, thanks?" Justin shook his head, and whistled over his shoulder for his horse. "Charger, come!"
"Well, tha's not—hic!—nice! Gotta—hic!—do some work-up. Don' mind the—hic!—nickname, though," the man said, reaching up to pat his cheek.
"Uh, Charger's my horse. He'll carry you to the inn. I don't think you could walk that far, even were it just out of sight." Justin wobbled the man around so he could see the big dapple sauntering to him.
Abruptly the drunk's eyes got wide and he scrambled behind Justin, peeking over his shoulder and putting most of his weight on him. "Hic! HIC!"
"Easy, Charger won't hurt you. He's the most laid back horse I've ever worked with." Justin rubbed his horse's nose, who wuffled his hand, and snorted when he didn't find his sugarcube. "Now, now, you've not had your evening feed. No sugar until then. Maybe this inn will have a proper stable, eh?"
"It has a—hic!—post," the Breton said. "You—hic!—smell nish."
"Uh, thanks?" Justin gave him an odd look. "Here, let's get you and Charger acquainted, and get to this inn, hey?"
"Don' like—hic!—horses," the man said, squinting at the large blur taking up most of the road. "Dey—hic!—kick."
"If Charger kicks you, I'll buy the rest of your drinks for the night." Justin was pretty sure he was safe. He'd not known Charger yet to kick anyone. "But either way, I'll need his help to get you to the inn, so hold your hand here, and let him get to know you."
"Ah-eh!" he cried, falling over and flailing slightly on the ground, leaves flying. Charger, that wiley old horse, snorted again, and seemed to shake his head at the drunkard's antics.
"Come on, up you get." Thoroughly worn out with the drunkard, Justin flopped him bodily across Charger's back. He jostled a bit at the sudden weight, but settled with Justin's hands on his reigns. "Come on, Charger, a full ration of oats, a good rubdown, and then we can both hit the sack. What do you say?" He led him up the path. He wondered why the little fox wanted him to meet the sot? Only time would tell.
"I don'—hic!—like dis," the man complained.
"Not too crazy about it myself, but if you can't walk, you need to ride." Justin smiled as Charger bobbed his head, as if in agreement.
"Why doesn't she—hic!—like me? I'm—hic!—nice!" the drunkard whined. "Been—hic!—everywhere. Followed her—hic!—all way here. Tried to be a—hic!—tree. She's so mean!"
Justin beetled his brows, trying to make sense of it. "I have no answers for you, my friend. I just met you, and I've not even met her, whomever she may be."
"Bitsy—hic!—Bosomer. Not so bitsy," he slurred.
"Bosomer? Do you mean Bosmer? Did someone name themselves that?"
"Greeeaaat tits," he giggled.
"Ah, of course, what else would entice a man to such lengths?" Justin rolled his eyes. He'd seen his share of lovely bosoms, but nothing that would entice him to more than a shared evening of pleasure, certainly none worth following a girl. He said none of this out loud. Gabriel warned him such things tended to get results of the 'oh really' variety from Divines and Daedra alike. Twice likely amongst the Affiliated.
"You know, I—hic!—like you," the man said, then vomited over the side of the horse. Charger danced neatly out of the way, picking his feet up daintily and snorting at the drunkard.
"Truly? I find you, uh, interesting, as well."
"Aw. That's—hic!—sweet. What's—hic!—digging int' me? Not what I—hic!—want digging int' me."
"Let's see, then." Justin looked, and adjusted the man more comfortably. "I'm not sure how you managed it, but you worked yourself up over the pommel. That should be better." Justin squinted down the narrow track. "I see lights. We must be nearly there. Just a little bit longer, now."
Soon enough, Justin had his horse under cover, and was walking the man into the inn. "Could I have some assistance, good Innkeeper?" called the young knight.
"Just a moment!" the man—surprisingly enough, another Nord—called, looking up from a game he was playing with a slight figure at the counter. The woman was Bosmer, in the form fitting armor habitually worn by some of the forest dwellers along the coast, the leather corslet dyed in green and gold that made the autumn shades in her hair seem to glow.
She looked up, green eyes going wide when she saw them. "Oh, Anu and Sithis," she swore.
"BITSY!" the drunkard cried, launching himself with impossible speed out of Justin's arms and into the full chest of the Bosmer woman, throwing his arms around her narrow waist as if the pair of daggers tucked into her belt weren't poking into him.
"Hi, Sam," she sighed, well used to this by now. Grabbing hold of his head and forcibly removing it from the front of her armor, she dropped him on the floor, where he sighed, gazing up her legs happily. She grimaced at him and wiped the back of her hand against her forest-green leggings as if she'd touched something slimy.
"Ah, I'm sorry. I found him in a pile of leaf litter, this was the nearest shelter. I couldn't leave him there. Even here, he could die of exposure overnight." Justin rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. "Name's Justin, I'm a knight of Shor." He held out a hand for her to shake.
Her eyes flickered down to the hand a moment. "Ironic," she said, then shook. "He could use the cooling down, if you ask me."
Justin raised eyebrows at her. "Past freezing?"
"You're right; not cold enough," she said, shaking her leg where Sam had rolled over and was caressing her calf.
The bartender returned from the back room, wide grin on his face as he set down a case of mead. "You're in luck, kinsmen! I keep a case of Blackbriar for the few Nords I get through!"
"Shor's blessings on you, man! It's been a long road since I've had a proper mead." Justin cosied up to the bar, grateful for the hefty mug.
Savoring his first swallow, his eyes landed on the gameboard, eyebrows rising. "Now I'm impressed. I don't know whether I want to play the winner, or hide."
The innkeeper laughed. "Be my guest! Fox here has been kicking my ass!"
Justin was very proud of himself for not spewing mead all over his host. What were the chances? A fox led him to the drunkard, led him to a Wood Elf named, appropriately, Fox. What was it with his family and Shor? Outwardly, he smiled at her, making her raise an eyebrow in inquiry. "Fox, eh? Funny that." He tapped his Triple Fox medallion.
"I said it was ironic," she gave him a wry grin.
"Should I mention the fox that led me to our friend on the floor, then?" He shook his head. "Subtle, Shor is not. Now, the question is, why did he want me to meet you?"
"He wants you to get your butt whooped at talf?" she suggested sweetly, replacing the game pieces.
Justin chuckled, "I wouldn't put it past him. I'm not the tactician in my family." Sam giggled drunkenly from the floor, even though he appeared to have curled up around the bottom of Fox's stool and fallen asleep. Justin looked at the sleeping sot questioningly, before waving an expansive hand at the board. "Do you want attacking, or defending?"
"Oh, attacking, please," she said with feeling.
"You played defending against me," the innkeeper said curiously.
"Because you said yourself you weren't good at it," she wrinkled her nose at him, and he swatted at her with a towel.
"We who are about to be humiliated, salute you." Justin gamely saluted her, before taking a seat opposite her to defend his king from her attacking forces.
She gave him an odd look. "I've heard something similar before," was all she said, experimentally moving a piece in a predictable way.
Justin studied the board, then studied her. "You're testing me, aren't you? That wasn't your first inclination." He moved to counter, and marshalled his forces to defend his king. It was a personal failing, but he could never bring himself to run for the edge. He always had to stand and fight.
"You brought Sam back to a bar. That argued for gullible," she glanced up at him, mischief dancing in her eyes.
Justin shrugged, "I found a helpless man in the middle of the woods, with no way to care for himself for the night. That sort of gullible is part and parcel of being in Shor's Order. Call it a job hazard."
"Sam, get your hand off my butt," she said calmly, capturing one of Justin's pieces.
"Sam, please do not make it necessary for me to protect the lady's honor," Justin sighed. Either he would wind up feeling like a brute for picking on a drunkard, or he'd wind up owing the nice innkeeper for furniture. He really didn't want to be unwelcome in the only inn for a hundred miles with decent mead.
"Oh, would you?" she grinned at him, looking very mischievous and twice as troublesome as any drunkard could hope to be.
"This is a test, isn't it? Shor's testing my fortitude." Justin wiped his hand across his face. "Why did we follow a trickster god again?" He captured a piece, removing it from play. He was still outnumbered badly on the board, but her pieces had to come to him, he simply had to play spider in the web.
"Self-flagellation?" she guessed, twirling a piece idling on the counter.
"Must be," Justin looked at the board again, "So, where were we?"
"I was capturing your pieces," she said, holding one up and flicking it through her fingers like a coin, only to make it vanish and appear in the other hand.
"Well, then, it can keep this one company." He handed her one of her own pieces, and she stuck her tongue out at him. "What? You start with more to begin with! Don't play injured party on me, now," he laughed.
"You can injure—hic!—me!" Sam suggested.
"I'm about to, but you won't like it," she warned, glancing down at him.
"I'd be willing to find out," he purred.
"I know," she sighed, sounding very long suffering.
"I have to ask, how long have you two known each other?" He couldn't make up his mind if they were antagonistic friends, or friendly enemies. He couldn't quite suss them out.
"About two months," she said, looking upwards as if for patience.
"I missed you!" Sam cried, latching onto her legs.
"You've been gone half a day," she kicked him.
"Ow!"
"Told you that you wouldn't like it."
Justin could only shake his head in amazement. Two months was also about how long since they'd received word from Gideon. His brother was as punctual in his letter writing as a dwarven timekeeper. The first month was cause for worry. The second month had them start towards his last known location: home in Skyrim.
"You have frowny distracted face," she observed, leaning close to him to peek up into his face from where he'd looked down. Her eyes glowed green in the shadow of his shoulder.
He gave her a wan smile. She was pretty, and if he weren't on a mission already, he'd be tempted. "Just reminded me of a worry, is all." He looked at the board, "And I believe, this is yours." He handed her another of her pieces he'd captured.
"I'm familiar with that," she said after a moment. "I swear, the longer I'm out, the less you humans look alike, but…" she shook her head. "You remind me a bit of someone."
Justin grinned at her. "Well, I can safely say you're an original." He shrugged, "Maybe you've met one of my brothers." He gave her a toothy, teasing grin. "And I hear those in the Order all resemble each other after a while."
"Yeah, met a few of you so far. Mostly you have endearingly odd in common. Also liking my breasts and telling stories," she shrugged.
"I rather feel like appreciating your generous endowments is a universal trait." She didn't seem to mind, so he appreciatively eyed the assets in question. "A man would have to be dead, or unmoved by feminine wiles to ignore those works of art."
She looked startled for a moment, then laughed. "Yup, paladin of Shor, alright." The innkeeper was giving her one of those looks that said she should perhaps be reacting differently, but her upbringing had been so weird she had no idea what he was hinting at.
"Not yet," he flushed. "I'm just a knight. I have two brothers who have reached that rank, though."
"I—hic!—wanna admire!" Sam cried.
"Water please," Fox requested. Taking the glass of water the innkeeper gave her, she upended it on Sam's head, then politely handed it back to the innkeeper. "Your move," she added, nodding to the board.
"Oh yes, how remiss of me." He captured another piece, handing it to her.
"Watch your king," she said.
"Hmm, so I see. Looks like I'll have yet another glorious death under my belt." Justin was thinking furiously. He knew he probably wasn't going to win, but he did want to at least put up a good fight. She still had half again more pieces than he did.
"Loosher buys—hic!—next round!"
"You are more than able to buy your own booze," Fox remonstrated.
"You're so mean, Bitsy," he whined, sitting up and rubbing his cheek against her thigh.
"You want mean? Keep doing that," her voice lowered dangerously as she slanted him a glare. Sam got a very interested look on his face, but released her.
Justin studied the board while she dealt with her…whatever Sam was to her, and he grinned. Oh, he was still losing, but he thought he saw a way to draw it out a bit longer, and perhaps frustrate her a little in the process. It should at least salve his wounded pride a smidgeon.
The Bosmer paused, frowning at the board. "Did not see that coming," she admitted, pushing Sam away when he tried to nuzzle her hip, then moved a piece. Justin handily added it to the growing collection.
"Sam, could you please nuzzle him for a while? You're distracting," she complained, absently pushing his face away. Sam agreeably transferred his attention to Justin's leg, cuddling it like a pillow.
"Um, Sam, you're neither family nor do you have key components to hold my fascination, mayhap you should curl up at the table with a good mead?" Justin suggested.
The Breton paused, then grinned slyly. "Not strong enough. Kid's stuff."
Justin sighed. "Innkeeper, you don't by chance have some of that juniper swill from the Reach? I keep hearing it's strong enough to peel bark."
Looking up from the game and wrinkling his nose, the man said, "Yeah," and headed to the back.
"You're going to regret that," Fox warned, moving another piece.
"I am very uncomfortable with a man hugging my leg, for a number of reasons. If it'll keep him off me, it's worth every septim."
"Sam's not a man," she said, then glanced up at a knock on the door. "Excuse me, but I believe that's for me." Hopping down, proving herself even shorter than he'd thought and nimbly dodging Sam's attempt at a hug, she walked smoothly over to the door, where a Dunmer man peeked in and glanced about. "Shade," she greeted him, then stepped outside with him, closing the door behind her.
Justin looked down at Sam, brow furrowed. "What did you do, that she won't even grant you humanity?"
Sam giggled, clambering up into Fox's abandoned chair with difficulty. "I can beat—hic!—just about anyone drinking," he said, as if that answered the question. Perhaps it did. "I can beat you drinking. See if I—hic!—can't."
Justin shrugged. "That's not hard. Not much sense in having a good time you won't remember. When I drink, it's to savor the flavor," he glanced down at his mug, turning it, "or a memory."
"Ah, but I'm already drunk," Sam reminded him. "And I can still beat you—hic!—drinking. I can beat any—hic!—Nord born! Nords are—hic!—where was I going with this?"
Justin was laughing. "You were trying to prick my racial pride into a drinking contest, so you can laugh at my drunk ass."
"Why not?" Sam shrugged. "You're laughing at—hic!—my drunk—hic!—shapely behind. Tell you wha,'" he leaned forward, placing a finger along his nose. "You're a pally. Paldi. Pladidle. A thing of Shor, right?"
"Yeees." Justin drew the word out in mild alarm. He felt like he might be a lute the drunkard was tuning up to play. He didn't care for it one jot.
"I—hic!—really like Bitsy. She's…shapely. Good at things. Flirty. Bitsy…not so—hic!—fond of me. She—hic!—fell hopelessly for somebody else. You—hic!—drink me under the bar, I encourage her to run back to—hic!—her Treenord and never darken her—hic!—doorway, by which I mean I remove the Mark of Sanguine that she desperately wants to lose before she can see her beloved again."
Justin's brows drew down even further. "You did what? Why?" He was being goaded, knew he was being goaded, and he still felt that righteous ire rising anyway.
"Because I—hic!—want in her pants, and have a—hic!—thing about ticking off Mara," he shrugged.
Justin sighed, cupping his nose in his hands, thinking it through. "You want me to drink with you. If I manage not to puke my guts up, you remove the mark from Fox, allowing her to return to her love. Do I have that right?"
"Yup," the man smiled cheerfully. Not all the red in his eyes was in the whites. There was a definite crimson hue to his irises.
Justin studied him. "You're no ordinary Sanguinist, are you?" It was more a statement than a question. Why did Shor think he had a chance in hell against a champion of Sanguine? Was this to teach him a lesson about holding his liquor? Or just his god having a laugh at his expense?
"Not in the least," the smile was all darkness and mirth. He waved a hand at the innkeeper as he came in with a case and the man passed right out, leaving the alcohol hovering in the air. "Shall we?"
"Why are you pinning her freedom on me?" Justin asked.
"Because," Sam poured himself a mug from the thick, aromatic alcohol from the case, "her True Love is one of your…paladin brothers."
Justin sighed heavily again. "You've boxed me as neatly as a talf king."
Handing him a mug, eyes not even remotely human anymore, the Breton replied, "I have. Cheers."
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He was oddly damp and cramped for having found shelter the night before. Justin groaned, sunlight slicing through his eyelids into his aching, gummy eyes like daggers right to his brain. His stomach roiled and his mouth tasted awful, and for the life of him, he couldn't remember a thing.
This was especially problematic when he tried to move and realized he was tied to a tree.
His left shoulder felt strangely numb and tingly, but a pain deeper in the muscle distracted him from his nausea. He'd never been more thankful he'd been taught to cast under duress. He just never figured he'd use it for a damned hangover, but the shoulder ache felt worrisomely like a stab wound. Shor only knew what that meant had happened. He groaned.
"Well, good. I was a little afraid I'd—hic!—killed ya. Old Red would never—hic!—forgive me," slurred a familiar voice.
"What? Old Red? What happened?" Justin groaned again as the heal cleared cobwebs and dulled the ache in his shoulder.
Laughter crept into the drunken slur, "You got yourself stabbed, is what. I do love watching her—hic!—work."
"What did I do? Why? Did you doctor my mead?" Justin felt panic rising. Had he disgraced his vows? He remembered big green eyes looking up at him, but that was the last, and without context, he felt bile rising again. Justin cast wildly about to face the speaker…only to cringe against the tree to see a Dremora sitting there laughing at him. "What?" The migraine that had eased off with the first heal threatened to come raging back, along with whatever remained in his stomach.
"You, my friend, are a—hic!—fun drunk," Sanguine stated, clapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, sorry; that probably hurt. Bitsy has a habit of poisoning her daggers first, throwing them later."
"What. Happened?" Justin growled. He didn't even know if reparations would help him at this point, but he couldn't even begin unless he knew. He set another heal spell to cleanse the poison from both his wound and his head. He needed all his wits, though apparently they'd been sorely lacking last night.
"We-ell," Sanguine drawled, sliding down next to him beside the tree, "You and Bitsy were getting—hic!—along so well, I went to get more mead. When I—hic!—came back, she was spitting mad, and you were bleeding. Kinda sorry I missed that, actually. You were—hic!—rather excited about something." He shrugged, "Anyway, ready for another round?"
Justin looked at him as if he were mad. "Firstly, how did I get black out drunk in the first place?"
"I told you," he said smugly, "I can drink anyone under the—hic!—table."
"That does not explain how I got drunk." Justin's brows were drawn. "Did you trick me into it?"
"Of course not. You went in with—hic!—eyes wide open. You also went into Bitsy's room with your—hic!—eyes wide open. That's why you're—hic!—tied to a tree."
Justin's hung his head, defeated. He quite probably was no longer a knight, not if a woman had to defend herself from him. He leaned his head back, thumping it hard enough into the bark to shed leaves. "Is that it, then? I was lead to you to prove once and for all I'm not paladin material?"
Sanguine gave him a pensive look. "You really want to—hic!—know? I was incidental. You were looking for info on—hic!—dear Giddy. I was looking for—hic!—fun. If you want to know about the pladiddle thing, go find out what—hic!—happened."
Justin stared at him a long moment, then surged to his feet, ripping the ropes loose. "I'll do just that. I have penance to perform. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I'd just as soon nay see you again." He stalked off towards the road, a shrill whistle for Charger ringing through the trees. He half expected his horse to have abandoned him, after last night.
Thankfully, Charger was still happily dozing in the leanto, with plenty of hay, and a suspiciously damp feed trough. Someone had been well fed. He headed inside, afraid of what the Innkeeper would have to tell him. The man was industriously sweeping up broken bits of wood from the floor, whistling off-key. He glanced up when Justin walked in and paused, frowning slightly.
"Wasn't sure I'd see you again."
"My apologies. I have never gotten that drunk before, and have no intentions of ever repeating it. May I pay for damages, or do repairs?"
"You already did," the man waved that off, tossing a bit of chair leg into the central fire pit. "You tried to do it twice, actually. I told you that it wasn't necessary, but you insisted."
Justin felt his shoulders hutch. "It is, though. I do not aspire to be a drunken lout, being careless with other people and their things. Apparently, I did both last night, and I must make amends." He hesitated, but he had to know, as much as learning what it was would hurt. "What…what did I do to Fox?"
"Fox?" the Innkeeper looked surprised. "Nothing, so far as I know. You two were getting along so well I went to bed. Fully expected to find only one room in use, actually."
Justin sighed. "Is she still in town?"
"I think so. Went off with that Dunmer friend of hers this morning. He's been living with the merchants." He brushed the stiff bristles of the brush into the cracks between the wooden floorboards. "Odd fellow, that. I'd wonder how they met, but they act like they're related or something."
Justin fished out enough to pay for a room again. "My thanks, Innkeep. Again, I am sorry for the troubles last night." He fetched Charger, and headed into the little town proper. Hopefully, Fox wouldn't be too hard to track down.
There wasn't a whole lot going on. Some kind of placid village market was taking place in the square, mostly foodstuffs and raw flax. A few merchants wandered through, obviously there for the flax. The inhabitants were overwhelmingly Imperial, but another Nord waited by a well, clearly a bored mercenary. A single Khajiit was watched warily by the outsiders, but the townspeople seemed used to her. Near the end, a rather ugly little man was handing out rolls while encouraging everyone to come to Temple that week for services. There was no sign of the Wood Elf, but she was rather short.
Belatedly, it occurred to Justin this might be a good time to top off his supplies while he searched, and started moving purposefully about the market. It had been a long while since he'd been through a market of any size, and small village markets tended to dry up before noon. Fodder for Charger; trail rations; he even lucked into a rough toiletries kit with soft, beeswax soap. As he collected his purchases and checked over the other offerings, he kept an eye open for Fox. Her autumn hair shouldn't be that hard to spot in this crowd of browns. She'd stand out clear as a tiger lily in a field of white daisies.
Halfway to the end, he found a booth that obviously belonged to a bee enthusiast: beeswax candles, raw honey, honeycomb, more of that same soap, even proper mead. He bought a bottle to compare it to what he grew up with, hoping the soothing taste would ease the last of his hangover. He was pleasantly surprised, and stood there slowly sipping it while looking for Fox. While he sipped, his eyes roved back over the candles, and he felt his eyebrows rising. They were ornate, detailed, and didn't seem to fit this sleepy little hamlet at all.
He picked up the nearest one to look at the details more closely. Abstract lines of flowing flowers and jewel-like shapes rose and fell out of the wax like waves, showing new details whenever the light hit a new spot.
"I'm pretty sure she must have been bored," the man behind the counter said, watching him examine it. "I certainly don't have the patience for that."
"Who did this?" Justin asked. "It's beautiful."
The man tossed his overgrown curly hair out of his eyes and smiled politely. The expression looked far too old for his round, freckled face, and certainly for the absolute mop of brown, tangled waves covering his head like a bird's nest. "I don't give out my resources to merchants, sir. If you have a commision request, I can pass it along."
"Do you have some wax for a press, then?" Justin fished his triple fox medallion out. "I've a feeling Shor's Keep would keep you busy, if your artist could make candles with this on them."
Making a thoughtful noise, he leaned over the counter and peered at it. "Actually…" he turned to the candles and turned them around to see the sides of them, then lifted one with a grin and showed him the exact same pattern, repeated several times across the face, like a noble's crest would be woven into cloth in offset rows. Each one was slightly turned so that the foxes appeared to be tumbling. "Think she has you beat."
"Shor's beard, really?" Justin's eyes widened. The little foxes seemed to wink at him from the wax. "How much?"
Without batting an eye, the Imperial said, "One hundred septims."
Justin winced. "Is this an Imperial haggling thing?" He was still learning, and he wasn't as well off as he was before this little stopover. "I've still got to transport it to Shor's keep, and I've no way to ensure it doesn't melt enough they'd even be interested in ordering, and they certainly won't pay a hundred septims per candle. Fifty, and you provide a way to keep it cool 'til I get it there."
"That's hand carved," the Imperial said, still smiling. "And what you do with it is not my problem. I might be able to help with the transport, but not for free. I have bees to manage."
Justin looked about. "Either you mistake me for more flush than I am, or you mistake how badly I want the candle. I can't imagine many of your custom can afford a hundred septims per candle, and, as you said, you have bees to support."
Looking thoughtful for a moment, he replied, "How long have you been in Cyrodiil?"
Justin chuckled. "Not long enough to learn haggling, obviously. I can promise you interest from Shor's Keep, if I can get it there in pristine condition."
"Thing is, my artist moves in and out of the area," he confessed. "I made a mold off that candle, but that's going to be the only handcarved one. The rest will be perfect copies, though, and I can make more of them."
"That's still better than the Reading Room has." Justin thought a moment. "How good is your courier service?"
"He can get a load to the nearest temple from here in about four weeks, by his usual route." Flushing and scratching his nose shyly, he added, "I, uh, used to study a lot of maps."
"Do you have any of the molded candles handy? How much would you charge the Keep for, say, a hundred?" Justin was thinking furiously. "I'll buy one of the molded, write up the potential contract, and pay for your courier to send it and the contract." He wistfully set the hand carved candle down.
Leaning against the table, the Imperial did some calculations. "About forty septims per candle," he finally said. "That would include travel fees and the merchant's percentage. So, four thousand septims."
"Do you have any of the molded ones right now?"
"Yeah," he said, ducking under the counter and popping back up with a candle nearly identical to the first.
"Excellent." Justin beamed, but then his brow wrinkled. "Um, how elaborate are Imperial contracts? What you offered sounds reasonable to me, I'm pretty sure the Keep can afford that for good candles. Hell, the smell alone is better than what they're using."
"Well, there's a hitch there," the Imperial admitted with a bashful smile, "I can't read."
Justin sighed. "Who do you know that can read that you trust? When the contract comes, have him read it. For now, I'm giving you fifty septims for the molded candle, and a good piece of parchment. I'd also appreciate you pointing that courier out to me." Justin looked thoughtful a moment. "You wouldn't happen to have any ice wraith teeth this far south, would you?"
"Er…what?"
Justin chuckled. "A way to keep the candle's details from melting. Is there an alchemy shop?"
"No, but there's a witch," he shrugged. "We usually get our potions from her."
Justin nodded. "Is she in town today?" Justin did not enjoy the idea of traipsing through unfamiliar woods to find a witch.
"Sure. She and Sh—er, um. She's gossiping," he looked back and forth nervously, as if he had accidentally outed a sibling's misbehavior to their parent. As if to cover it, he gently took the candle from Justin's hand and started wrapping it in a bit of cushioning wool, then rough parchment, securing the entire thing with twine.
"I'd appreciate pointing her out?" Justin craned his neck to scan the little square one more time.
"Just go down this road a little here," he said, leaning over and pointing the rest of the way out of town. "Her house is just a ways off the road. She's, ah, Breton or something. There's, um, goat skulls at the turning." He scratched his cheek nervously.
Justin smiled. "No worries. There was an old Reachwoman that lived on the farm just up the road from us. She said she got tired of the nonsense back home. Kept me and my brothers in one piece despite our best attempts otherwise." Justin put his money on the stand next to the hand crafted candle. "For the candle and parchment, my friend. Thank you."
"Be polite," he warned. "Don't mention the skulls and tell her Milo sent you for…what was it? Wraith teeth?"
"Ice wraith teeth, or whatever you use around here to keep things cold. Frost salts, maybe." Justin saluted him with his half finished mead. "And excellent mead, as good as anything Blackbriar ever brewed. My thanks, again."
Milo smiled politely again as someone puttered up, nosing through the jars of honey. Justin collected his purchases, nodded one more time, and went to find the Breton Witch's place.
For once, something was actually as easy to find as advertised. The hut crouched on the side of the path as if it wanted to get up and run away, shifting with the wind and making all sorts of noises with every gust. Shutters rattled and the eaves groaned, the chimney whistled and someone hummed lightly in the back, doing something up in a tree covered with tinkling and chiming bits of metal and crystal.
"Good day, ma'am. I was told you might have something like ice wraith teeth, or frost salts for sale?" Justin called from the road. He wouldn't approach until he was invited. He wasn't sure if that was just Reach manners, or universal Breton manners, but he didn't feel like healing another knife wound.
The figure in the tree paused, then swung down and hung from the branch by her knees, peering at him upside down. "Oh, Anu and Sithis!" she muttered, audible somehow in the hush that surrounded them.
"Fox? I believe I owe you several apologies, and possibly penance, if the knifewound and treebinding is anything to go by?"
"I've had your brand of apologies, PuppyNord, and I think I'll stay right up here," she called, narrowing her eyes and standing on the branch.
Justin's brow furrowed. "I have no idea what I did last night, but I can assure you of two things. Penance does not involve approaching your person, and that is the first time in my life I drank to excess. I still don't know how it happened." Justin aimed his best hopeful expression in the general direction of the foliage. "And you must be the first person in history to turn down free slave labor. No wood to cut? Heavy loads to haul?"
"Not my house, not my wood, not my circus, not my scamps," she said, glancing about then jumping from one branch to another, slightly further down. By all rights, she shouldn't have made it.
"Is there anything you will let me do, to make up the abysmal way I treated you?"
"Just leave me alone," she grumbled, without looking at him. "And get that expression off your face," she added, leaping into the next tree over and shimmying up it as easily as a staircase.
Justin sighed. Perhaps it was time for a redirect. "Is the lady of the house at home? I need to see if she'll sell me something to keep this cold enough to ship. Maybe frost salts or ice wraith teeth."
"She's at the alchemy lab inside. I wouldn't disturb her unless you like getting Ice Spikes thrown at…you know what? Go. Don't knock."
Justin's shoulders fell, and his face with it. "Will you not let me offer you a real apology or make amends?"
"Get that look off your face, PuppyNord," she said, real warning creeping into her tone.
His brows furrowed, his frustration growing. He raked his hair, leaving his usually neat braids awry. "What? I should be happy I accosted a woman I just met badly enough she needed to defend herself, and won't let me apologize?"
"Scowl if you want, but stop looking like I kicked you," she replied, sitting down on the branch, facing away from him.
"I deserve kicking." He muttered, and settled with his back against his horse's warm side.
A pinecone hit him square in the side of the head. "Stop feeling so sorry for yourself, PuppyNord; it's really getting on my nerves."
"Then let me apologize, assign me a penance, something, and I'll be out of your hair. Shor's beard, woman." He rubbed the sore spot. "It's not like I want to make the situation worse, but atoning for one's trespasses is part and parcel of being a paladin."
There was a moment where the air was filled with nothing but faint elven cursing before she finally looked at him, ire burning bright in her green eyes as she put her hands on her hips. "You don't need penance for acting like a man. I'm used to that. I just…" she looked away, frustrated, and muttered again. "Just go away already."
"Fox, what sort of hell have you lived in, that you think that's normal male behavior?" Justin all but yelped. "Real men do not press unwanted attentions on a woman. If that's what you've been taught, if that's what you've experienced, then you've been taught wrong, and I'm sorry to have added to it."
She stopped, giving him a quizzical look. "What all exactly do you think you did?"
"I woke tied to a tree with a knife wound. I have no idea. Last thing I remember are your big green eyes staring up at me. I think you were kicking my ass at talf?"
"That I was," she crossed her arms, glaring at him.
"What did I do, and why will you not let me apologize?"
"Fine," Fox sighed, leaning against the trunk of the tree. "Go ahead and apologize."
"I am sorry, for whatever I did that you felt you needed to protect yourself from me. It was out of line, and I promise it will never happen again."
She nodded, hair shining in a bit of sunlight. "Feel better?"
He gave her a hopeful look. "I'd feel better if you gave me some dangerous task, so I actually felt like I did something to make up for it."
Her pretty face scrunched in confusion. "You want to do something dangerous to apologize to me? How does that help me?"
"You have something I can do that would help you? That's even better." If he had a tail, it would have been wagging.
Looking slightly dismayed, she uncrossed her arms and stared at him again. "Oh, no. You're doing it again."
"What? What am I doing?"
"Nevermind," she sighed, sounding very morose. "I've got to get going. Please avoid following me this time."
"Honestly, I just came here to get something to keep this candle from melting in shipment." He showed her the wrapped parcel.
"Candle?" she yelped, nearly falling out of the tree as he surprised her just as she was about to jump.
"Some of the finest I've seen. I'm hoping the Keep decides to use them. They're better than anything they're using now. They even have Shor's own symbol on them." He unwrapped the candle to show her. "Milo should make a mint, if I can get it to the Keep in good condition." Justin looked up from his find to see her flushed cheeks. "Fox, are you okay? Do you need to sit, or? Can I offer you some water?"
"I've got to go," she squeaked, turning and hopping to another branch, painstakingly making her way to the thicker canopy surrounding the yard. Once she reached it, she vanished in a flurry of movement.
"Well, that was plain odd," Justin noted.
"Hey look, there's a little—hic!—shell on that," a familiar voice said from right over his shoulder.
"Shor's still mad at me, and putting up with you is my penance, is that it?" Justin was quite frustrated, angry, and felt in no small part the drunkard had to have played a part in his humiliation last night. He was feeling reckless enough he might just punch a dremora, even if it left him a smoking pair of boots.
"Actually," the Daedra belched, "Shor's not—hic!—mad at you at all. Wouldn't have let you—hic!—find 'er if he was."
Justin eyed him warily. "And I can trust your word, why?"
"Well, see, you can't, but I do know what I'm—hic!—talking about," Sanguine draped an arm over Justin's shoulders, looking once more like the sodden Breton he'd met the night before.
Justin breathed a long sigh out his nose, pinching the bridge between finger and thumb. "What do you want now?"
"I wanted to—hic!—thank you," he smiled, showing strangely white teeth for a constant drunkard. "You've been—hic!—so, so fun to watch. All twisted up inside and twisting her up inside and maybe she'll—hic!—go do something interestin' now. Y'know, instead of—hic!—climbing trees and—hic!—carvin' candles."
"She carved this? How did she know the symbol?" His fingers ran gently over the shell motif cleverly hidden among the running foxes.
"Told you herself she—hic!—met some paladins. Not my fault you dinn—hic!—think to ask which ones," Sam snickered.
"This is detailed. Not many people can do this detailed a piece just from seeing the medallion swinging on a neck." He gave the Daedra a dark look. "And strangely enough, I remember absolutely nothing of what transpired after the talf game. I told you that this morning while you were laughing at my situation."
"Oh. Whoopsie. Bitsy has met a couple of paladins of Shor. They're real—hic!—fond of her. She returns the favor. One of them was—hic!—ah, I'll get to the—hic!—point," Sam took a deep breath, as if what he was about to say required concentration. "She knows exactly where your—hic!—brother is at. Friends with his wife and everything."
Justin eyed the Daedra, thinking hard. His first inclination was to run after Fox. Sanguine probably knew that, and was probably counting on it. Thankfully, paladins of Shor were also taught to think. "By extension, so do you. Haven't I provided enough entertainment already? Is he well? Is he in danger?"
"He was in—hic!—a Thalmor prison for two months," Sanguine yawned, then pouted. "Wouldn't even let me—hic!—ride along. Anyway, Bitsy—hic!—was there, as was—hic!—my Muffin, and some other interesting people."
"Thalmor prison? Gideon, what in Shor's name…" Justin had to wrestle his thoughts back under control. Obviously, if Fox had been there… "Where is Gideon now?"
"Dunno, don't care," Sam shrugged. "I'm more interested in following Bitsy Bosomer around."
"You had your fun with me already, will you not at least tell me if he is well?"
"He'd be better if Bitsy went back. She took something when she left, you—hic!—see," he grinned.
Justin sighed; his brother was okay. He felt rather like a lute being tuned by a bard, a scary, manipulative bard. "You're not going to tell me what, either, are you?" He wondered if he should tell Sanguine he was wearing the exact same grin Gabriel wore when telling just enough truth Justin got the hiding for something they both had done.
"Nope," Sam declared happily. "I'm telling more than I—hic!—normally would just tellin' you she—hic!—stole something. What's the point in watching the game if I throw too many balls in?"
"While ironic, I do have this aversion to being an unwitting tool to gods," Justin folded his arms. "You want me to follow Fox, and make a pest of myself, possibly get knifed again." His eyes narrowed, "And you said 'took,' not 'stole.'"
"They're synn…cinommon…sinab…sinasinas…" Sam looked confused.
"They may mean similar things, they are not exactly the same. I took this candle from the stand, but I didn't steal it." Justin carefully packed the candle away. "And I still need some sort of cooling agent," Justin sighed. "Isn't there some other way to entertain you that doesn't involve me getting stabbed by Fox?"
Sam thought a moment, then shrugged, "I could try being a girl for a while."
Justin closed his eyes tightly. "Aye, if that doesn't count as penance, I know not what would. Stop pouting. You somehow got me drunker than I've ever been in my life, and then laughed all day at me trying to make it right. I am now seriously contemplating entertaining a Daedra that can shift bodies on a whim just to keep you from causing further mischief…" Justin had to stop as the sheer lunacy of the situation struck him. "You're actually Sheogorath, driving me mad for fun."
"Nope; he's with Giddy," Sam smirked, standing and brushing off his robes. "You—hic!—know," he eyed Justin thoughtfully, "all this talk has me missing my Muffin. I'll—hic!—pick up this conversation—hic!—later." With that, he vanished in a little burst of black light.
"Gideon, what have you gotten yourself into, that Sanguine knows who you are, and Sheogorath is keeping you company?" Justin shook his head, and settled in to wait on the Breton Witch.
.
.
Sam swaggered back into the inn, slouching at the counter and grinning at the Innkeeper, who gave him a wry look. "And what are you so pleased about?" he asked, pouring the apparent Breton a drink.
"Well, she's on her way back to Skyrim. Finally. And that girl thinks she—hic!—has no discipline," he shook his head, taking a long drink.
"Good," the Innkeep said, leaning on the counter and pouring himself a drink. "He's been moping. I don't like it when my followers mope." Knocking back the alcohol, he snickered. "How'd Justin look when you left?"
"Like a kicked—hic!—puppy. What'd he do to you, anyway?" Sam inquired, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing. I just like to keep my followers on their toes, and he is trying for paladin, after all," the Nord said, grinning. "What kind of Trickster God would I be if I didn't pull a few tricks now and then?"
"A good point, my friend!" Sanguine crowed, saluting the other immortal with his mug. "Though you're going to have a different—hic!—follower moping for a bit, if I don't miss my guess."
Shor laughed, "I can put up with it until they cross paths again. It will be worth it, I think, just to see his face when he learns." Sitting back against the pillar behind the bar, he fiddled with his glass. "These…spies Gideon helped liberate. These Young Ones…are they all as fun as her?"
A slow smile crept across the Daedra's face. "Pour another drink, Old Red. You're gunna get a kick outta—hic!—this."