Hello! Private RP turned Forum RP turned story! All characters belong to their rightful owners. This story takes place roughly six months after Bellamont was ripped from the Void.
The writer for Bellamont is Vinessa S, who has written the best representation of Mathieu I personally have ever seen. Feel free to check out Vinessa's stories as well, which the primise of this narrative is based on with a mix of some forum elements.
Story will eventually up to Mature rating due to violence and sexually mature scenes.
Thank you for checking this out and please enjoy!
It was yet another lively, bustling night in Whiterun's inn, the Bannered Mare. Being the provinces main trading center, Whiterun had much business running through it daily, be it anyone from merchant to adventurer to humble farmer, all venturing from their distant residences to stop by the city. Thus, the inns were packed by evening. Sometimes one could barely see the floor below the swathes of people. It could take more than an hour discerning every face from another - much less those that are familiar, or those you planned to see.
Which made a simple job quite frustrating for Mathieu.
When the breton first entered the Bannered Mare, he was constantly pardoning and wading through the crowd until he found space. A single empty chair, tucked in a corner near the back of the room. He sat down. Crossed his arms, a deadpan expression on his face, and started assessing each of those faces in the crowd. Now where was this "informant" Isran ordered him to meet?
An Elven man of Dunmer race ebbed and flowed through the buzzing crowd, merry songs of glory and combat chortling through the livey air. The stale scent of ale was rife in the room, and many times the Dunmer man was in danger of getting his clothes drenched with alcohol from an unsteady Nordic hand.
Despite this, the Dunmer himself sported a drink, roomwarm ale held within the cool metal of a cup, which his free hand promptly defended. The man sported a blue skinned hue, however, was searching for someone. A hunter. Or, more specifically, a hunter from the Dawnguard.
Though it was fairly difficult to find anyone in the packed tavern, the Dunmer man figured a vampire slayer would be easy to find. After a bit of searching, the Elven man spied a Breton male within a lonely corner of the room, sitting in a chair.
The man figured this odd fellow was who he was looking for. Those of the Dawnguard always seemed to be the broody type.
With that, the Dunmer approached, taking a careful swig of his ale as he approached, lips touching the smooth metal rim of his cup. Only once he was done , did the man speak, "You one of Isran's hunters, eh?"
Mathieu looked up at the dunmer, a small smirk on his lips. Well, at least he was more fortunate this time. "Yes, I am. I can assume you're the one he told me to meet?" He spoke in a hushed tone, as so that nobody will overhear, though with tangle of voices in room he highly doubted they would anyway.
"Aye. Sounds right." The man spoke, taking to lean against the nearby wall, "Your kind is a lot more easy to spot than I thought. Them gloomy types, you know?"
"But, I'm sure you got more important things to do than talk to me, yeah?" The Dunmer commented, taking a brief sip of his alcohol, "There's a local farm nearby. Have a lot of steer. But lately, their cattle have been winding up dead by morning. You can guess why. It's quiet. No one hears anything. But the family there claimes they saw a loiter around lately. Black robes, missing eye. Assumed female. The farm is nearby, and hard to miss. The ground there is still flushed red from all the cattle."
"Ah, I see..." Mathieu said, "Then I suppose I'll have to take a trip over there sometime. Pay them a, visit. Anything else I should be aware of? About their... "Friend"?"
"Nothing I assume you hunter types can't handle. Though, the family has been concerned they could be harmed. Just check on 'em, yeah? They'll know more. Maybe you might get lucky, and their friend will come to you?" The Dunmer suggested.
Mathieu nodded, and stood up, "Thanks for the information." Quickly he reached down and produced a small handful of gold from his satchel. He handed them to the dark elf and, without another word, started his way through the crowd and out the inn, all too eager to escape the city and set out to burying a hatchet in this vampire's skull.
Whiterun's tundra wasn't the most ideal area for travel unnoticed, but Mathieu had the darkness of night to aid him. And there were also his black robes. They were nothing like his previous set, which would make him appear as little more than a shadow due to their enchantments, but they were good enough. So he prowled down the plains, blending with the shadows as he approached the farmstead. The breton lunged, pressed his back to the side of the farmhouse. He then surveyed the area, glancing around corners for any sign of this farm's loiter, and waited.
The stillness of the night was almost peaceful, despite the bitter cold. Though no loiter could be seen not. After some time, a scream resonated not from the rolling hills of the tundra, but from inside the farmstead.
The sudden scream from within the very walls Mathieu leaned against broke his focus instantly, just as it did the silence.
"Shit!" He cursed under his breath. It'd be foolish to risk the time in running to the other side of the house and breaking the door open, so he opted for right beside him; war axe in hand, Mathieu spun to the tall yet narrow window at his side. A step back, he wound up, and - SMASH! - glass shards fell away as he rammed his elbow into the window pane, a couple more swifter strikes soon giving him a point of entry. He vaulted through the window - uncaring of the cuts he'd receive from the jutting remains of it - and landed before the unfolding chaos.
Inside, the home would appear almost normal. If not for a man tied upon a chair in the center of the room. Golden strands of hair lay cast astrew around him, his body limp and lightly punctured with what appeared to be the very tip of a blade-which clearly would not be fatal. Blood lazily trickled down his body, crimson pooling upon the wooden floor. His wrists were tied so tightly behind the chair that they were a full shade lighter than his body tone. They were also cut and bleeding-clearly in an attempt to escape. He had bruises upon his neck, though they looked more like hickey marks than anything else. Though the man was very much dead. It appeared that he choked to death on a balled up cloth gag.
Despite that, the scent of burnt flesh wafted from the apparent basement of the home.
Mathieu scoffed at the scene, chiding himself silently for failing to be a step ahead of the vampire despite his utmost focus. The culprit was nowhere to be seen. However, he noticed an acrid scent in the air, and when he followed this smell it lead him away from the dead man, over to the basement door. He cringed. An unbidden thought of a memory long past crossed his mind. Still, like that very time, he descended the basement stairs, intent on finding the person he came here for.
The basement was rather dreary, yet at the same time, erie. The corpse of a young man lay upon the floor, stabbed several times. The body of a naked female was chained to a wall, a black sack over her head. Blood was smeared upon her body, though it was difficult to see the type of wounds she had in the darkness.
Sitting in a chair near the corner was a body-clearly the source of the stench. The body was burnt to a crisp, and nearly impossible to characterize due to the damage. The body sported the black robe of a Black Hand member, and upon their one finger rest a golden wedding ring. A satchel lay on the floor, as well as a piece of parchment, perhaps a suicide note.
Mathieu grimaced as the scent of burnt flesh became ever sharper, but still he kept calm even as a glimpsed upon the three bodies. Then he noticed the black robes. The vampire? As he headed toward the burnt body he soon recognized it - and his heart raced. The Black Hand robes. Even in its nigh charred state he knew it well. The body was too burnt for him to discern the figure, whether it was a vampire or not, so he kept tense as he picked up the piece of parchment he saw beside the body. Mathieu unfurled it and read.
On the note was a simple sentence. It merely read thus; "No words exist to describe what I once was."
As the Breton read, a brief clicking noise that signaled the unlocking of one the chains around the naked victims's wrists clicked. Despite the unlocking of the chains, the now freed arm moved not. It was actually quite unclear how the chain seemed to unlock itself.
Mathieu's head snapped to the direction of the click, but he saw no movement beside the naked woman's limp arm drop. No one in the shadows of the basement. Only him. Keeping aware of every possible sight and sound Mathieu decided to fumbled through the satchel the note had rested on.
Whilst fumbling through the bag, Mathieu would find a bunch of random things: a simple cloth shirt, leather laced pants, a few bottles of alcohol, a few phials of blood, needle and thread, an ink well and quill, paper, and random flowers-which were generally bent or broken.
Though the most interesting thing of note was that an aged book was present. Actually, it looked exactly to be the man's old diary. If two hundred some years old. It was kept in good condition, even if the pages had turned yellow with age.
Mathieu had fully realized it until he shifted his attention from his surroundings. The faded green cover, indented with diamond-shaped designs. He flipped it open and there it was - in red letters. "It's all right, mother. It's almost over..."
It was his diary. Written two centuries ago.
Mathieu was stunned silent. Paralyzed, nearly. "Why would anyone?..." The breton began to take in the other items he'd lain around himself. Clothes, writing equipment, overall far less astonishing things. Except the phials of blood. So, this must've been the vampire he was ordered to hunt down, there was no other evidence, but...
"No. No, it can't possibly be... It could be anyone..." A heavy sigh racked his lungs. Mathieu shook his head vigorously, clearing the mere suggestion away, trying to calm himself in case there was anyone else - anyone else ALIVE - with him in this house.
...
... What? Damn this bag! Shealyne couldn't entirely see what was happening, save for the fact that she could see the man's heartbeat, but little else. What was he muttering about?
Fuck. Shealyne thought she was supposed to be ambushing a woman, not a man! Sithis damn it all!
But...that voice...it sounded like? No. No, no. It was just her head playing tricks on her. It was just a man who sounded like him. Or herself thinking he did.
Still...
The woman moved slowly, ever so slowly, to push the bag up so she could see what was going on with her sole eye-an action that she knew was very possible in blowing her play-dead cover.
While she only saw a brief glimpse at the man, it was enough to spread cold fear in her dead chest, and she swiftly put the bag back over her head, as if to hide. Fuck!
Mathieu was thankful all those sleepless nights had trained him to listen to every slight sound, no matter how minor. He hadn't been paying attention until he heard the faintest shuffling. He glanced up. It came from the naked woman again. Suspicious, he stood up (though his legs felt a bit shaky from his sudden shock spell) and headed over to the woman to inspect it further.
While the female could not see through the bag, she could at least see his lifeforce coming closer to her. Her body went tense. Damn! He saw! Or heard! Whichever one it was. But was that truly...?
No. No, no. That was impossible. While drawing breath was not necessary due to vampirism, Shealyne found the lack of breathing strange, as well as scary. And in the rising stress of the situation, the female drew breath-ever so slightly.
Mathieu narrowed his eyes. Instinctively raising his war axe over his head, ready, he clutched the bag covering the naked womans head and threw it over his shoulder - stopping dead at the face underneath. He just, stared. At the face, the woman he was all too familiar with.
Shealyne stared with her sole eye, which was white and wide from fear and shock. A hand, rather than going to attack, instantly went to cover her damaged eye socket, which was heavily scarred and marred, the eye gone, having been stabbed out. The wound was then burned in a desperate form to cauterize it, which one could easily tell by the scars.
This wasn't supposed to happen! She was supposed to be the hunter! But instead, the impossible...it seemed to be...possible? How? Why? Now because of that, she was like a scared pathedic kitten! And her first damn reaction was to hide her scar. Why? Because she was worried that he wouldn't see her as pretty anymore? Pfff! He had a damn axe!
But, still...he had paused. He was staring at her, just as she was staring at him.
Shealyne wanted to say something, but found that her tongue forgot to form words, a ball forming in her throat. So she stared, breath becoming ragged and frantic as her chest began to heave.
Were she mortal, her cheeks would be flushed a red hue of embarrassment-or perhaps turn pale from fear, and her heart would be pounding. Her lower lip quivered ever so slightly, creasing into a frown, as if in an effort to prevent herself from beginning to cry.
Mathieu didn't know what to do. How to react, besides just stand and gawk. For so long he drilled in his mind that he'd never see this woman again. That she had traveled somewhere far away, someplace he'd never venture, or that she had been killed. Yet here she was. What's more, is that she was the one he'd been ordered to kill. The fiend he had to slaughter in service to the Dawnguard.
When they had both been silent for too long, Mathieu mustered the voice to say, "...Shealyne?... It's been too long. Two centuries... And yet I still haven't forgotten." He lowered his axe, though not fully.
The woman simply frowned at that, brow creasing in worry and confussion. When she attempted to speak, at first, she failed. Though upon the second time, she found her voice, though it was shaken and broken, as if spoken in disbelief and heartbreak, "...M...Mathieu? M-mmm...b...but...how? W-why?"
She didn't understand. He wasn't a vampire. He wasn't a ghost. How? Oh, but it was so good to hear his voice again! And he hasn't forgotten? Oh! He hasn't forgotten! He hasn't! Never mind the axe he had!
Shealyne was confused. She was sad, but she was happy. And confused, and scared, and worried, "I...I am glad you have not forgotten...it...it touches my heart, even pains it, even if it does not beat..."
Mathieu was able to manage a small smile with some difficulty. "You could have had me, fooled, really. That corpse... Your, possessions..." He backed up. Only a step. He looked her over, then narrowed his eyes, "What are you doing up there - waiting?... For your, next victim perhaps?" The last words sounded far more caustic then he intended, but he still awaited an answer. He needed to know. With so much time passed, how could he be sure about things?
His last words appeared to strike a nerve within the woman. Or, rather, she just instinctively shot back in response, venom laced within her words, "Do not speak to me as if you are better."
Though as soon as she said that, the Sauveterre exhaled deeply, tone becoming one of a fatigued note, if docile, "I did not mean that. I am winded. My trap worked, alas, I...did not expect you." The Breton pierced her thin lips together, head shaking, "Never you."
"I am being hunted by the Dark Brotherhood. I found that this den was housing its members, and they were slaughtering their cattle, and carving messages within the inner flesh. Someone else would come, slay a cow, and carve a message within the new one. The last one I found stated that a woman would come here. Alas, only you came, and my trap is ruined." The woman ended her thought, though pointed to the burnt corpse, "Can you get my robes, please? And the ring-but do not wear it."
The woman wasn't sure if her Brother believed her. She could be quite the liar. But she had no reason to stay here anymore, and she no longer wished to be naked around Mathieu. He might not like her anymore...
She would have to bathe as well. She had cut herself several times to mimic death. Despite the wounds, she cared more about the cleanliness of her shirt and pants. Her robe can be as dirty as she desired-however ruined-until she cleaned it.
Mathieu nodded silently, and went to retrieve her robes and ring. When he did he returned to her, and held them out as he waited for her to undo her bindings. "Ah. Well, I apologize for my, intrusion. You should know I wouldn't have done so had I been aware..." He was about to admit, tell her why he was truly here, but he thought better of it, pursed his lips. Who would take kindly to knowing you were sent here to kill them?
"The brotherhood still hunts you, then? Not much has changed since we last... Saw each other, hm?" Of course things have changed. He didn't know how he kept himself so casual about it.
"It is fine..." Shealyne spoke as she undid her bindings. Upon being handed her items, she took them, "Thank you, lo-er, Mathieu."
Hmmm. The Breton guessed old habbits died hard as she put on her robes and put the ring in a pocket. The woman then went to her satchel, and began putting the objects inside, "You speak as if...as if it were only yesterday. But I do not understand. How are you alive, here? Do you even know?"
Oh! She had much to tell Mathieu! If he actually wanted to speak with her. And if her lack of an eye didn't send him running for the hills. But he smiled! He smiled at her! Shealyne would take that as a good sign! Yay!
He faltered. A troubled expression on his face, he stared off as he mulled over it. "I'm... I'm afraid I don't know why. I've tried but I cannot find an answer. It's like I was never, dead. Simply, alive. After so long in the... The..." His voice lowered, sounding as if a hiss from a snake, "So long in that wretched BLACK."
The woman's brow furrowed as she finished collecting the items. Uh, oh. She hoped he wouldn't end up getting unhindged as she turned to face the male, "Are you well? It is fine. You do not have to dwell upon it." She would simply leave it be if it disturbed him.
"It's nothing. Truly. I'd expect you to be bemused... It must be more than strange for you I'm sure, to see me like this, as if I never died?" Mathieu said. It seemed like he had composed himself again. The man noticed Shealyne was finished putting her items back, and figured she'd want to be leaving soon. Go ahead, he thought. He didn't have other plans for tonight, anyway. And they had much, much more to discuss.
"It is strange. But it is also a shame you did not come back sooner." The woman spoke, putting on her boots that were in a corner, and focusing on getting her weapon-which was Dawnfang. Shealyne then recovered a dagger, safe in its scabbard.
The Sauveterre simply held the enchanted dagger towards Mathieu, "Here. I kept your blade. It is in good shape."
The woman then pierced her lips together slightly, "I do not know where I will go, after tonight. But I will not stay here." She would probably just bathe right after leaving this farm. And probably wedge her bony ass in a hollowed out tree and sleep in it.
Mathieu accepted the blade, though quite astonished. First she keeps his diary, and then his old blade? Had she truly made a point to keep pieces of his memory even now? "I, thank you, Shealyne. Though I'm surprised you've been keeping this with you. And my diary... It's quite touching."
He took some time to unsheathe the blade, grazing his finger across the edge, feeling the slight chill that ran through him from the frost effect still strong on it. Then he strapped it to his left side, right above the war axe.
"... If you wish, you could come with me. I don't have a planned destination yet but I, wouldn't mind the company."
The female Breton watched Mathieu inspect the weapon, and was quite please he accepted it, "You are welcome." Shealyne smiled slightly. Though she assumed keeping a dagger and an old diary were nothing compared to popping out a child. But the Sauveterre had no need to inform him now and risk over informing the man and making him go into shock or something. Her poor Brother.
"I...I believe I would fancy that, if you were to allow." Shealyne had a lot to tell him. But she didn't want to tell him things all at once. She was glad Mathieu wanted to spend time with her. Or at least speak with her. Yay! And it meant she could finally talk someone's ear off! Double yay!
"Thank you for the offer. I believe I will accept." The Sauveterre resumed to lightly smile before turning to the few but steep steps that led to the outside, double hindged doors of the basement guarding the way out. Shealyne just pushed them open, and realized there was no railings to grab onto. Who made steep steps but didn't bother to put in railings? Someone might fall!
Mathieu followed Shealyne through the bulkhead door closely - perhaps too closely for her comfort... Pah! Old habits, he supposed. It was still peculiar, this situation; at first he believed her well and gone and held to the resolve that near the time he died was the last he'd ever see of her, then that belief seemed to prove true in her little trick with the burnt corpse (which he should've took note of the the robes being untouched by fire, now that he thought of it.) But no. She was with him and they were about to travel together, just like before... But that wasn't wise. He couldn't act with her as if it once was. She's been able to LIVE for the past two centuries, unlike him - and she must have moved on long ago despite what she's been keeping.
So... Don't act like her lover anymore. Simple.
Perhaps fresh air could clear his mind. Ah, but was still so good to see her again! So good to have something from his past life reappear. And damn the Dawnguard, just for now, he wanted to relish in it for awhile. And the Brotherhood. Oh yes, the Brotherhood... At last, there was someone who just might share with him the answers he needed!
As Shealyne made her way up the steps, she briefly looked back-for she could practically feel someone in her personal space bubble. Oh, Sithis, talk about a lack of pesonal space-or at least to her liking. The woman figured if she just suddenly stopped, Mathieu might just very well bump into her.
This was confusing to Shealyne as she moved up the last step and walked out into the chill tundra night. Shealyne knew she shouldn't jump to conclusions-or rash impulses and act as if Mathieu was her lover once again-for she was sure he moved on, though she did not know how long he was alive. That, and it would be rude. But the brief moment that he was following her so closely seemed to hold a shadow of their former intimacy.
Shealyne guessed old habits died hard for him, too. Oh, but it was nice to be near him again! And hear his voice! She would need to learn what he has been doing. It would be fun, no?
The outdoors felt very much welcome. When the two stepped out, it was land stretching for miles out of their sight beyond the fence of the farmstead, cool breeze rolling over the hills. Mathieu's long hair whipped in his face at the frequent gusts of wind. Damn. Maybe he should've tied it back this time. He never bothered to care for it anymore, it seemed.
"Do you have anything, immediate, to tend to? I'm sure we'll have much time to speak what we want to."
Shealyne rubbed her eye, yawning a bit. Ugh. Damn, "Yes. My hygiene needs immediate tending to. Is there a place we can meet?"
"Just somewhere a few paces away from the White River, maybe? I presume that's where you're heading."
"The White River is the one flowing along Whiterun?" Shealyne questioned. Well, that was a dumb question. She was pretty sure it was the only river near Whiterun. But then again, it ran three ways. Kind of. She didn't bother to learn the names of these places, unless it was a capital.
Mathieu smiled at her, somewhat amused. "Yes, that's the one. I will wait not too far from you."
The woman nodded, smiling slightly, "Very well. I shan't be long." With that, the Breton made her way in the direction of the river. At least, the river she assumed was the correct one. It was a damn big river.
Then a thought occured to her. Awe! How sweet! He was going to wait nearby! Mortals and their emotional softness! Not that Shealyne was a brick wall of iron feelings. Though she had been called a brick wall with tits before. That was new. Huh...she wondered what that meant?
Mathieu let Shealyne stray from his sight before he too started towards the river, stopping by the road that ran with the rivers length sitting down near a large, sharp rock. He unrolled a map from his satchel. Where to go? He'd have to halt Dawnguard business for awhile if Shealyne planned to stay for a few days, so a trip to the Rift felt a bit pointless. There was investigating some Nordic Ruins near here or Falkreath. Or... He could pay a visit to the Reach. It's been a few weeks since he sent Eola off on her way.
Shealyne normally would have taken her time to bathe, though this time, she did not. While she was swift, she was firm with her cleaning, washing away the blood and grime. She was excited! It was a strange feeling. But she knew that they would most likely part ways. She was sure Mathieu was a busy man. He was always ambitious.
The woman was so lost in thought that she failed to notice a shrouded stalker, bow poised to launch an arrow. Shealyne became aware, however, when she heard the bow string snap. It was a shame she could not react faster than an arrow, for in a shocked hitch of breath, the projectile found itself in her stomach.
If the shooter was aiming to kill her-or had the knowledge of her vampirism-was unknown. While normally a fatal wound to mortals, it was not so for she. Yet that did not mean that it hurt any less, or that she could physically shrug the wound off.
Rather, the inertia from the arrow caused her to stumble backwards, and slip into the water.
There was an abrupt splash among the low sound of the rippling water. Mathieu snapped his head toward the river then - he bolted up from his spot and rushed to the river back. It was not far. And soon he spotted Shealyne, fallen in the water, arrow lodged in her stomach. The sight prompted anger. Much, swift anger; it caused him to turn on his heel, catching a blur of movement in the direction Shealyne was shot and out of the corner of his eye. On impulse he chased after it.
Uh-oh. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Upon realizing the prowler was being chased, they promptly turned on their heels and ran. They didn't expect to be chased! This was bullshit!
Shealyne, on the other hand, managed to keep herself on the rocky river side, laying upon her back, blood trickling from her wound that stained the river red. Ow. It hurt. Shakenly-for she was still in shock-the woman reached for the shaft of the arrow. Ow! Touching it seemed to make it worse! Though the Breton figured that was in her head. She knew what needed to be done. It was just a matter of will powering through it.
A tear involuntarily ran down her face-though it was impossible to see with her face being wet. Gripping the shaft firmly, the Sauveterre held her breath, and in one swift movement, ripped the metal and wood from her stomach.
It hurt more gong out that going in. A bit like pregnancy-which crossed her mind-of all things. She would have cried out, had the pain not stolen the breath from her lungs.
Good. Good. It was out. The woman's body went lax as she threw the offending arrow away. Now she just had to tend to the wound...
Mathieu was able to catch up on the prowler in what seemed to be their startlement, and as they fled the breton's long legs carried him nearer and nearer. He reached out, lurched forward on the figure, even if just a small overestimate sent him hurtling to the ground and the one he pursued, free.
The bowmen released a high pitched, girlish scream as they ended up tripping over the uneaven terrain and face planting in their haste to get away. Which was quite a feat, since the prowler was male.
Mathieu crashed into the prowlers backside just as the figure tripped. Momentarily stunned from the action. Then he crawled on top of the other man, and roughly spun him over on his back. This caused the prowler's hood to fall. "Speak, snake!" Mathieu snarled. Try as he may to counter, Mathieu had the mans limbs pinned down.
The man flailed-or tried to-and squirmed. He spat upon the Breton's face, "Why do you waver in your kill, hunter?" The man asked, tone harsh despite his obvious fear.
"Imagine-Isran finding out-what will you do, then?" The man then smiled slightly, "I am only helping you do your job."
Mathieu faltered. He looked at the fellow hunter with disbelief - dammit, Isran had told him this job was for him alone! Did he not have confidence in him yet? His mind was fixed on binding and interrogating a Dark Sibling, foremost.
After a moment, he sneered. Mathieu lowered himself so that his lips pressed the hunter's ear and replied in a hushed tone, "Let Isran find out - let him know that I will not kill the vampire yet, because I am USING her. I suspect that, from what I've found, that she is far older and holds far more information than we first realized. She does not know I hunt her, and she has even taken to trusting me. I plan to use this to our advantage, fellow hunter."
The man snorted slightly, "Very well...and what do you hope to gain?" Well, at least he was safe from getting killed. Hmmm. Wait. Ops. Guess he shouldn't have put poison on that arrow. Oh, well. The man would probably find out whenever he went back to the filthy leech.
"Locations. Connections. Anything that may give us insight to where more of the beasts reside. It may take time, but I will try to coax this information out one way, or another. And if that is for naught? She is dead. And nothing will be lost besides a little time."
"Fine, fine...can you let me go? You're creeping me out." The man whined, wanting to be let go.
Mathieu got off of the man. "Go. Quickly. And tell Isran he need not worry of insubordination from me." The breton then turned back where he came, wanting to return to Shealyne quickly. He did not know if she was still lying there or if she tried to mend her wounds herself.
The man quickly got up and skulked off, not wanting to almost be killed again. Or at least chased.
Shealyne would be laying in the same spot she pulled the arrow at. Though she certainly didn't look good. Her body was spasming and seizing, muscles locking and unlocking. She seemed to be more like a bloated tick popping, since blood was rupturing from her mouth and nose. Her eye was hemoraging as well, the visual organ having rolled to the back of her head. It was a bit difficult to tell if blood was seeping from her ears as well, but there was certainly quite the bit of blood.
Her hands clenched and unclenched, limbs spasming in sporatic movements, as if one were having a seizure.
"-Fuck!"
It seemed barely a second before Mathieu was at Shealyne's side. This must be poison. That bastard must have poisoned his shot. And, seeing the woman in this horrid state, he started to wish he had beat that man. Just a little. He fished through his satchel. Keys, provisions, his new diary... With trembling fingers he finally dug out a few small vials. He'd written certain symbols to them to denote their purposes; a poison, tonic for diseases, two for healing. He swore he had one to quell poison, though?
He'd have to make do. Mathieu opened the healing vial, grasped the back of Shealyne's head, tilted it, and attempted to pour the liquid into her mouth. He cursed himself for his peculiar lack of magicka. It would ease this situation far more effectively.
While her choking and gagging made it difficult to administer the potion-much less keep it down-the contents that did make it aleviated the the symptoms. Her body slowly began to cease its spasming and relax, until she simply went still and quiet, head lolling off to the side, eye closing.
Her comatose state was short lived, for her eye fluttered open, blood turning the rim of her eye red. Actually, her eye was bloodshot. Shealyne simply stared at Mathieu, too tired to do anything else. She wasn't sure what happened, but her whole body felt like it was on fire. She went to say something, but only bubbled out blood and a soft groan. Her hand then reached up, shaking and jerky, towards Mathieu. While it was unsure if she was actually reaching for him, since it could have simply been her lack of coordination in her recovery.
Mathieu didn't think the potion would entirely rid the spasms, more so just lessen it, but he was thankful when her body went still. Though, she looked bad. As her hand reached for him he took it in his. Carefully draped her arm around his neck as he held her closer. Not too close. Mathieu wiped the blood from her mouth, beginning to check her over and procure some materials that may help heal the arrow wound in her stomach.
"Don't speak. Rest." He demanded.
Shealyne wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but she was quite glad Mathieu took her hand. It made the situation less scary, since she wasn't sure what happened to herself. Her arm that was draped around his neck hung abit limply, though her fingers curled upon him, as if to gain support.
Despite the suggestion, the Breton did not want to sleep. But fighting sleep in her current state was nigh impossible, she herself drifting off to sleep, only to wake herself several times.
"S...sorry..." Shealyne whispered softly. And that was all that she managed to say before she ended up falling into a deep sleep, her grip becoming lax upon him.
Mathieu sighed softly. With Shealyne asleep the man rested her back on the ground and went to careful work. He checked to see if more blood pooled from her mouth, making sure she wouldn't possibly choke on it. After applying a bit of his disease tonic to the arrow wound as best as he could, he slowly rolled linen wrap around her stomach. It may not have completely helped. He was sure there was still poison in her system - the health potion would only settle some of its effects.
Once that was done, Mathieu retrieved her belongings near the bank. He didn't bother trying to dress her. Instead he covered Shealyne in her robes to act like a makeshift blanket as he picked her up... Now where? Mathieu noted some cramped spot right at the river's edge, where land and rock and inclined outward to make a natural cover. So he went there. He sat down, Shealyne still cradled in his arms, and watched the water rush and nip at his boots. Just another sleepless night.
Shealyne would remain in a deep torpor until morning. The woman roused herself from her slumber, red iris greeting the new day behind newly opened lids. The woman groaned slightly, confused at where she was. At least she felt a lot better compared to last night. Wait...was she being held? She felt like an infant wrapped in her robes!
"Awake at last?" Mathieu greeted her passively. One of his arms was wrapped around Shealyne's back, supporting her slightly, while his other was rooting through his satchel he had laid next beside him on the ground. "I do hope you, slept, well."
"Sssorry." The woman murmured. She imagined her poor Brother killed his arm supporting her dead weight. A bit literally. Ugh. She was starving.
"I hhhope you slept. Your arm mmmust be tired." Huh? Was...was she slurring? She wasn't hung over, was she? Fuck. She hoped it went away, or was just her imagination.
The Breton moved to sit up right to give Mathieu's arm a break. Ow. She shouldn't have done that. It hurt her stomach. But she could power through it. She didn't want Mathieu supporting her constantly. She wasn't weak. Just partially danger prone, apparently. Or at least around Mathieu, which irritated her. Hmmph.
Mathieu furrowed a brow. That slurring was certainly the poison taking effect. With his misplacement of his spare poison cure, they'd have to go to Whiterun and to the alchemist's. Or the temple healers, depending on the concentration of poison.
"It's... Nothing, Shealyne." He said.
In his bag there was few food for them to eat. A loaf of stale bread and a rather large wrapped package of salted meat, mainly... And it was best to leave the meat be, anyway... Wait, did she know? Had he confessed that one time - no, he couldn't remember, so he assumed he hadn't. He handed the bread to Shealyne along with a waterskin. "It'd be best to eat first... It's not much, but I was planning to stop by Whiterun, today..."
The woman frowned slightly. She figured the male was lying about it being nothing. Still, the woman pushed the offered bread and waterskin away, "Nnnno. Keep it. For yourselfff. I lllive on blood and...and alcohol. I vommmit up anny normal food."
It was a shame. She bought a sweetroll once because it just looked and smelled so good. But when she ate it, she instantly vomited. It was a tragedy.
"I just...need...then...I will be better..." The Breton muttered, attempting to get up, or at least get to her satchel. It was more like a toddler bumbling through their first steps, though managed to open her satchel, and upon fumbling through it, and pulling out two blood phials. Popping the cork off one, she proceeded to feed, her other hand searching a bit blindly for her clothes, eventually finding them.
Mathieu looked on at Shealyne worriedly, but eventually decided to have his fill of bread and water before putting them back. "You were attacked last night, shot by an arrow... Perhaps you remember that." He explained, "I was going to come aid you sooner but, I found the culprit and gave chase... He's dead now." The breton frowned. "You're poisoned, Shealyne. When I returned you were having, spasms, and there was... There was quite a bit of blood. I tended to you the best I could but I could not fully rid the poison. That's why we're going to Whiterun. We need a tonic for it, or even a healer."
The woman would have responded, but her lips were currently pressed to her blood phial. With a soft 'pop', Shealyne slipped her lips off of the glass rim, "Nno. I am fine. Will be fine."
"I cccan go into town. Get you things. Provisssions, yes? You can rest, then, no?" The Breton questioned, shifting to face away from Mathieu as she removed her robes, pooling them around her hips. Her naked back was to him as she put on her shirt.
"Tsk - I doubt that. You're slurring." Mathieu stared on at Shealyne for quite some time... But he shook his head. "But if you so wish to do that for me, I won't decline."
"Furf!" The woman exclaimed in response, her shirt now safely on. She focused on positioning her robes into a mound to block the man's view of her butt as she worked on getting on her pants. For some reason she felt embarrassed to be naked around him. The first time, not so much, because she was in too much shock to find out Mathieu was, well, alive. And with the arrow she did not know up from down. So...she did not entirely count that. Still...she did not know why. She just was. But she doubted he was interested.
"Of coursh. If I still know yyou, it ish that you can neglect yourshelf. And I do not want that. For you to neglect yourshelf. Then I cannot spend time with you. Real time. Real talking." Shealyne frowned slightly as she got her pants on. They have just been in good situations to talk ever since they met again.
"... I suppose you're right. It's been most, inopportune to spend quality time, hm?"
Mathieu stood up, though he stumbled first as his numb arm buckled beneath him. His nerves must've fallen asleep. At least there was no ache - yet. He gathered his things and stepped out of this little alcove. "Whenever you're ready, then."
"I am. Ready, thhat is." The Breton spoke, putting her items in the satchel and grabbing her robe before stuffing it in her bag. Hmmmm. On second thought...maybe she should wear her robes? Her shirt did a piss poor job at hiding the curvature of her breasts-much less the natural jiggily motion as she walked or actually ran. Never mind the tenderness of her nipples when she got cold.
Eh. She kind of cared. But then she didn't. She was too old to wear a bra-or, rather-was too old to care properly. If men looked, that was their own problem. She couldn't control her breasts.
...wait. Was that what a man meant when he called her a brick wall with tits?
The Sauveterre snapped herself out of her trivial thoughts, and simply followed Mathieu out of the little alcove. Her robes could remain stuffed away. She figured they could unnerve people if worn.
Whiterun wasn't a far walk from where they were. Merely past the Honningbrew Meadery, and another, more thriving farmstead from the one they had been to, and they'd be taking a right up the path to the grand wooden gates, into the city. Mathieu was silent with Shealyne the way there - mostly because he wasn't sure if the poison was putting her in the most right state of mind for talking.
Shealyne remained silent as well. Mainly because she figured Mathieu simply did not want to talk. She did, however, speak to ask a question, "Hhhow is your armm?"
"Fine, now. It was numb when I first moved it again."
"Hmmm. Mmasshaging it could help. It helps eases the nerves. And shtuff." The Sauveterre spoke. She was currently fighting a yawn. And thus exposing her fangs.
...Well, now that he actually paid it any mind Mathieu did feel the pain creeping up his arm, causing him to flinch - yet he simply shrugged it off. "Yes, of course. I'll tend to it when we're done." Hm. He must have seemed quite irritable with Shealyne right now. Maybe he does need some sleep...
As they walked through the streets to the market district, some of the locals passing the two said quick greetings, though they seemed to favor Mathieu by saying "friend," or even mumbling something like "thanks, again..." A few children started to tail the man, tugged on his robe, asked him things excitedly, but Mathieu shooed them off with a dismissive wave. Because of this, he asked Shealyne, "Do you come here often?"
Shealyne grunted slightly, falling silent. Damn, and people called her a bitch. She figured Mathieu was already annoyed with her. Either that, or it was the lack of sleep. Mortals needed their sleep, after all. Shealyne went through more events in one night than most people experienced in a day's time of events, and she wasn't griping and sulking about sounding like she was a fat cow with a sweetroll stuffed in its mouth. Oh, well.
Shealyne did find it odd-and even slightly vexing-that these random children were poking and prodding near her. Even if their target was her companion. Hmmmm. Mathieu must have been here quite a while to form a rapport with these children. If those children did the same to her, she would probably slap their heads into the next hold. Uggghh. The horror of children...she could barely stand her own. Even now, as adults. Adults that still acted like children.
Her thoughts, however, were broken as she heard Mathieu speak, "Oh, no. I travvvel a losh. I probably will go to Shyrodiil, soon. Very soon. I ashume you do? Come here a lot? The cccchildren like you."
"Why, yes... It seems I've made quite the name for myself here... Especially here. Word spreads quick. Had come here more often, you may have heard about me sooner. Even the children know what I've done." Mathieu said. He flashed his companion a smile, possibly to ease the tension between them, then resumed to the marketplace.
... Cyrodiil, though. He still held a desire to go back to that province, see how things have changed. With these recent wars the Empire was in things doubtlessly have. Mainly, though, it was because of the Brotherhood. He once kept tabs and notes of some, if not most, of the locations of the sanctuaries there through months of patient tracking and waiting. He wondered if it was worth it. To see if they still thrived.
"Hmmph. I abhor Skyrim." The woman grunted slightly. She did not bother to return the smile. Partly because she did not feel like smiling, and partly to not expose her fangs.
"And what ish it thhhat you have done?" The Sauveterre questioned. Her Brother probably accomplished more than her in the time he came back than in the two hundred years she dilly dallied around.
"It wasn't welcoming to me, either. At first. But I came here, did a few favors for the citizens, the Jarl's court, even... And then I had slain a dragon. Before it could ravage this city." Mathieu explained. He hadn't bore further details on those events to her. And he didn't want to yet. It was still truth that he had delivered the finishing blow to that dragon, whether or not he had absorbed its soul and unlocked powers of the blood he never knew he had.
"I just do not like it. I have a home in Cyrodiil. Or hhad. Trolls destroyed it. Alas, I amm not a carpenter, and had no coin. I could not stay." The Sauveterre replied. Hey! Her speech was getting better! Yay!
"Though I have fffaught several dragons before. They are giant push ovvvers. I faught...onnne near Dragon's Bridge...one sommewhere else with Nol...and...oh, the three that attacked Riften. The one near Dragon's Bridge, I killed. I was with my daughter in law. She was a coward. She summoned a Daedra and ran away. And the othher, I let Nol kill. And I only actually faught one out of three dragons. A bunch of other people were fighting the two that were innn the city. I was fighting outside the city. My daughter in law killed that one." Shealyne nodded, as if to confirm.
Though the last one was scary. Shealyne was too busy trying to keep Aiden alive and not chocking to death on his own blood. Thank Sithis Ruccia grew a pair of tits. It only took the novice mage seeing her husband dying to do that...
"But, thhey are not so hard. At least when you have magic. Fighting them is a lot harder wiiith a blade, unless you can get on their back and stab out their eyes. Or sllash their tendons." But both of that was dangerous. Still, riding a dragon like an angry stallion was fun.
Mathieu scoffed. Of course, make his actions seem like child's play compared to her. He wasn't sure if what she spoke was before or after his encounter; from their reaction the Whiterun guard acted as if dragons didn't exist before now. Though, he believed he had heard of a few dragon slayings not done by his own hand. The time of those attacks, though, were not discerned. Mathieu was curious of this Nol figure she spoke of. But that wasn't the matter here. The breton snapped his head at Shealyne,
"I didn't have magic on my side then. Only a simple bow and sword and shield. And perhaps it wasn't the slaying itself that made this city favor me, but the fact that I had consumed that dragon's very soul before men's eyes and dissipated that beast into a mere skeleton! A feat only the Nordic legend of the Dragonborn can achieve!"
And he only realized his mistake after the fact. Shit. He just snapped at Shealyne, for nothing more than a small quip she made?
Shealyne didn't respond, at least right away. Rather, she frowned, "I apologize." She didn't mean to upset or offend him. She was just trying to talk. But instead she said something wrong on accident and he got mad. She thought talking to Mathieu would be nice, but all she did was get snapped at. It was probably her fault, anyway. Her social graces were not up to par, given to her living alone in Cyrodiil for so long. She still wasn't good at the jokes everyone seemed to tell. And forget flirting. She probably wouldn't notice it even if a dragon landed on her little shack of a home.
Though...what was that of a Dragonborn? Was Mathieu a Septim? A long, long, long lost Septim? They were Dragonborn. So it made sense to her. She wasn't sure what he was babbling about dragons and flesh, but that was okay. Whatever he was getting at, it was okay with her.
Mathieu backed away. As quickly as his expression changed from tired to irate, it had softened, and he said nothing for a long while. By the Nine why did he do that? Why? She had merely said she had killed dragons before, killed them quite easily in fact. Was it really the sense of wounded pride?... How petty. He had acted like some child getting beaten in a game he thought he couldn't lose at... And still, he felt rage. His hands were nearly shaking with anger... Bah. Tiredness didn't help his pointless temper, either.
Mathieu sighed. His eyes downcast. "Don't. I, apologize. It was... Unreasonable of me. You said nothing, it was just that I - hfff... I'm going to the alchemists'. I'll be dwelling near there. But go wherever you wish." With that, he went off into the crowded market square, disappearing into Arcadia's Cauldron.
"It is ffine, Mathieu." Shealyne spoke, though she did not know if the man heard her or not as he walked off. Hmmph. His temper did not change. But that was okay. That was what made Mathieu, well, Mathieu. And the Sauveterre was fine with that. She just hoped their conversations stopped being so antagonistic. Or at least not fun.
The woman had no intention of wandering anywhere, and simply decided to wait outside of the alchemist's shop for her Brother. The only place she would have had interest going was the pretty dead tree, but then that man would ruin her self contemplation by screaming his lungs out about Talos. That, and she smelled wolves nearby. Whiterun was not entirely safe.
Mathieu took longer than normal at the alchemist's shop. He already bought the potions he needed - two or three poison tonics included, one of which he'd give to Shealyne immediately - and now he was waiting. Pretending to browse, but really just clearing his mind. He had downed a strong fatigue potion when he bought it. Luckily, it made him feel less tired, and thus, tetchy. The breton truly didn't want to act like this further with Shealyne in their time together; finally he had someone who knew him from his past life, whom he could talk to freely and not keep his inner troubles from. Even Eola wasn't aware that he died once.
Once he was finally relaxed, Mathieu exited the shop.
Shealyne was outside, dwelling upon her thoughts. Though occassionally she looked to the sky, searching for that damned watchman. The raven wouldn't be hard to spot-with its mini set of Daedric armor upon it. Shealyne never knew birds could wear armor before. At least, not normal corvids. This raven was not normal. She was worried. Whenever that bird was near, she thought it meant the Listener was never far away. Or, at least, the odd bird was her eyes and ears.
It made her tense, and nervous, whenever she saw that bird. Runa hurt one of her brothers by lacing a weapon with skooma-and it was quite clear she had intended to hurt Aiden in order to hurt their mother. Shealyne didn't want Runa hurting Aiden even further, or Connor, for that matter. Shealyne didn't understand. Was she that bad of a mother that her own daughter would attempt to harm her own brothers in spite of Shealyne, herself?
Shealyne didn't know. She hoped not. But she knew she would have to check on Aiden, soon. She doubted Connor could fully handle a raging skooma addict. And who knows the damage her son would cause to the Restoration Chapter, cursing, screaming, breaking things and...and...just...not being her son.
And her poor mages. They can't even practice of help people because she stashed her addict son in the same building. Sithis only knew what they thought of her.
But all this only pointed to something she dreaded. Killing Runa. Killing her own daughter. Their daughter. She didn't want to. But...it needed to be done, to protect her boys. But then there was Mathieu...
She had a lot to tell him. A lot. And she was sure he would hate her and want nothing to do with her once she was done talking. She could tell him about her twins, and her husband, but, Runa? Runa being a Listener?
No. No. Shealyne thought that would be too much. Too much. Maybe she could tell him they did, indeed, have a daughter, but leave it at that. That would make things easier.
But it was nice, having Mathieu by her side, despite it not being perfect. She forgot all the things that were bad going on when he was with her. He certainly was a good distraction.
The Sauveterre, however, was so lost within her inner thoughts that she failed to realize her Brother exited the alchemy shop.
"Hello, Shealyne." Mathieu spoke after a minute waiting for her notice. "Were you, waiting for me? You didn't have to do that." He adopted a more pleasant tone now, but he wondered what kept her so lost in thought.
Upon hearing her companion, the woman blinked, red iris snapping to Mathieu, as if just seeing him, "Oh, yyes. I had no desire to traverse."
Mathieu nodded. He pulled out a thin red phial from his bag and handed it to her. "I want you to drink this. It is for the poison. Can't be sure how much of it, is still in you."
Oh. Opps. Shealyne forgot to say hello. That was rude of her. Oh, well.
The woman grunted softly, taking the phial as she worked on popping off the cork, "Yyou and your ppoison..." The Breton murmured, though drank the contents of the phial.
"From my knowledge, you haven't been drinking heavily since this morn. You haven't been drinking at all. So why else would your speech be so slow?" Mathieu smirked.
"Define, 'drinking', Dearest Brother." The red head spoke, and proceeded to lightly poke the man's chest with a feminine finger, "But enough of me. What can I do for you, Mr. I-Can-Go-Days-Without-Sleeping Bellamont?" The Sauveterre's tone was an odd mix between a purr and a jesting tone.
Ech. Mathieu inwardly cringed at the title. Brother... They may have called each other siblings when they still, by all rights, were Dark Siblings, maybe even after their treachery, but now it sounded wrong, suddenly... But he didn't let it get in the way. Not this time.
"I mean alcohol, of course." Bellamont's smirked widened, "But oh, I know what you could do for me..."
Well shit. That sounded suggestive. Definitely suggestive. Damn it - Mathieu passed Shealyne and gestured toward one of the food stands - "If you want to get some food for my supplies? I'm low."
"Furf! You and I can share bottles, perhaps. Alcohol, of course." Shealyne spoke, eye focusing on the food stands, "Of course. What do you need?"
The potential sexual suggestion flew right over Shealyne's head.
"Anything that will, fit, really. Bread. Cheese. Meat. It doesn't much matter."
Shealyne nodded, "As you wish. I shall be back." The woman spoke, walking off to the food carts. Though she briefly glanced at the jewelry carts. Oh. Shiny!
Mathieu lingered by the alchemy shop as he watched Shealyne get him the provisions. Ah, did he miss this. He mulled over what she said earlier, about the dragons, and specifically the people she noted. This Nol character, for one. But there was one more, a... Daughter-in-law? Wait. Shealyne has a child? Why did it just dawn on him?... Well, likely because he was more overcome with his temper at that time.
The Sauveterre did not take long, and came back with two of everything. Ah! She was acting like a mother making sure her kid got enough food! Oh, well. She had a satchel, too, "There. Now you will not be low for a while."
"Oh!" Exclaimed Mathieu. He didn't expect this much food. Still, he took it gratefully and stuffed as much as he could in his bag. Shealyne would just have to carry the rest. Ha! When he was done with this he leaned against one of the wooden pillars of the building. "I was, thinking about what you said earlier," He said, "And how you spoke of a daughter-in-law. So... You have a child now?"
Shealyne stuffed the food in her satchel. At least nothing would crush it in there. Mathieu's comment caught her off guard a bit, for she was confused. Then it dawned on her. Oh! She mentioned her slut of a daughter in law!
The woman nodded, "Yes. Three."
...Fuck!
Mathieu tilted his head. "Ah." He smiled. "Well, then... I'm, glad. If it isn't, personal, then, may I ask who fathered them?"
He didn't know if he should be jealous of the man who was able to take her after him... Start a FAMILY with her... And he certainly felt the sting, however dull. Perhaps it was too sudden to really take in. Or that he wasn't surprised at all...
Wait... How in Oblivion can vampires even bear children?... Huh.
...oh, dear. Now Shealyne was at a crossroads. It would be cruel not to tell him.
She should tell him. It was right. But not here, in public.
Fuck her like a duck. She didn't want him to know this soon...
"May we go somewhere private?" The woman questioned, tone soft as her already thin lips pressed together into a thin line.
"...Alright."
Mathieu led Shealyne behind the merchant houses, to a near desolate backstreet. There was one or two smaller houses along this road, as well as the backside of what he knew was a vacant home called Breezehome, but nobody really passed through here unless it was the homeowners returning to the houses near nightfall. The two went near the back of Breezehome.
"...Shealyne, if you don't wish to tell me, I have no qualms about it. If it's too personal to share... If you just, want to keep the father's name a secret from me, for whatever reason. It's probably too soon to ask you anyway."
The woman frowned, though exhaled slightly, "No. It does not matter. I would have told you anyway. Just...not so soon."
"When I was a lowly murderer for the Dark Brotherhood, I was infatuated with the prospect of living a normal life. Away from murder. Away from the illness that was vampirism. I idolized and romanticized that way of life. I fell in love with a simple man, Guilbert Jemane. As much as I loved him, and how much I knew I was being a terrible Dark Sister and endangering not only the Dark Brotherhood-but him-I could not stop seeing him. It hurt too much. So...I tried to balance the fantasy life I had created around him, and the life as a member of the Brotherhood. A double life, I guess some would say." The woman paused slightly, as if in thought.
"That fantasy ended when my twin sons were born. Lucien had me make a choice: cut ties with my newborn sons and husband and remain with the Dark Brotherhood, or, have my family-and possibly myself-slain. I had no choice. Ever since then, I swore I would do anything to be with my family again, and free from the jagged chains of the Dark Brotherhood." Shealyne paused to clear her throat.
"And then, I met you. I never expected to get so close to you-both in friendship and romance. But I understood your plight. I understood what you wanted, because it was very similar to what I wanted, too. But I knew I could use you, and manipulate you, so that I could be free at last. You were obsolete. But, at the same time, you were not. I tried so hard to convince myself I never loved you. I did. I came up with every excuse, no matter how trivial. And I was ashamed, because no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I could never love you-just love my husband-I knew it was not true." Shealyne frowned, voice wavering and lower lip trembling.
"I did. And I was ashamed I loved you. Because it ruined my fantasy. And I am sorry. I am so sorry, Mathieu. I treated you like filth whether you knew it or not, and I risked everything for a man that only gave me his hate instead of his love!"
By now, the Breton was crying. It wasn't fair. And she was an idealistic fool, "I am sorry. I have done you wrong. I was never thinking about you-I was thinking about my husband and sons. I was so blinded by the desire for a normal life that I could not see you. I...I do not blame you if your opinion has changed of me. It is okay if you do not like me. It is okay if you do not want to give me your time anymore. I...I am sorry for not loving you when I should have. I am sorry you died. I am sorry I did not marry you. I am sorry you never got to see your daughter..."
The last sentence was soft. Though Shealyne was busy wiping her eye of tears, she backed away from Mathieu on shaken legs. Her unsteadiness-and her grief-caused her to stumble and lean upon the siding of a house, her breath of one in distress and shoulders heaving.
It wasn't fair. She wasn't fair to him. Mathieu didn't deserve the treatment she gave him-even if it was a long time ago. To him, it was probably like yesterday. Maybe. She wouldn't blame him if he wanted nothing to do with her. But the thing that hurt the most was that he was never able to see Runa grow.
Anger, heartbreak, betrayal, sorrow... A great tangle of emotions seemed to knot his stomach, tie his tongue, strangle the very air out of his lungs. Many impulses screamed at him to move, but he was fixed to the spot. Just like when they met again - but this time it was stronger. He wasn't sure how to feel with her now. One thought was to tear away, fleeing the scene with Shealyne left weeping; another thought was of a more violent reaction, reminding himself of Maria's end... But he did not touch her, run from her. He pressed his back to the house. Lowered himself to the ground, head in his hands.
When he gained the gall the only thing he spoke was "My... My, daughter..." He repeated it a few times. Under his breath, barely audible. "... My... Our daughter. Our CHILD." His voice cracked, then, followed by a soft sob.
Shealyne knew this was a bad idea. Look at how upset he was! But the woman strumbled upon shaken and uneven legs towards the man. Upon getting close enough, Shealyne tightly wrapped her arms around him in a hug-or tried to in her distressed state. Her weight ended up leaning more on Mathieu because of her legs.
She wasn't sure what to do to comfort him, other than hug him. She tried to rub her hand upon him to sooth, and she tried to kiss his hair-his brow-his cheek-anything save for his lips to try and bring him comfort. Though at that state, it may as well have seemed like an insult.
Shealyne's own body was heaving and sputtering from crying, and try as she might to form words and try to comfort him, she couldn't. Rather, a tiny, weak, and barely audible response came from the Breton, "...S-s-she...she m-m-m-mmmmissed you...she n...nev-never knew you...but she mmissed you..."
And Shealyne felt that was her fault.
Mathieu mindlessly pulled Shealyne closer and locked her in an embrace of his own. Despite it all, he still found solace in holding her; just the reassurance of having another person with him... He remembered Mother. How he used to hug her whenever he felt bad, spending what seemed like hours wrapped in her arms, falling asleep sometimes to the soothing sound of her voice...
But he didn't have her comfort with him. Mother was mad at him, he assumed. Despondent.
Shealyne, while being comforted by the man returning her hug, did not faulter the tightness of her own embrace. She pressed herself further against Mathieu, and while her crying had calmed, her body still shook and hitched in breath in grief. While the actions irritated her arrow wound, that pain seemed almost dulled compared to the emotional one. Her heart hurt. Odd, considering it didn't beat.
The man couldn't have possibly imagined it like this, his reunion with Shealyne. They'd already been in... Less favorable situations already; yet after that he just figured they could talk, confide, even hopefully rekindle their relationship with time. It hadn't been a day. Half a day, even. And he was mad now. Ohhh, he certainly was mad at her. She betrayed him! Betrayed his trust, his love, USING his own plans to get back to her SECRET lover!
Eventually he calmed - or at least he feigned it well. Mathieu propped his chin on Shealyne's head, staring out at the street blankly, waiting for her to quiet and stop shaking. She was still a piece of him. His past. Now he knew she was the mother of his child, and that thought seemed to make it better.
Shealyne eventually quieted, and calmed. Only an occassional sniff coming from her as she buried her head deeper into the man's form. She wished it went so different than this. It would have been easier to never tell him, but it wouldn't have been fair. Not at all. She could have lied. She could have. But he didn't deserve a lie. No, she had to try and be good, be right, do the right thing.
But in doing the right thing, the Sauveterre was sure she had ruined their chances of becoming what they once were-perhaps even more. Sorry just wasn't enough. Her hopes had now become her dreams.
Mathieu didn't glance at Shealyne. "...What is, her name?" He said. His tone was unreadable, but the question was innocent enough. "What did you name our, my, daughter?"
He wanted to know more. How his newfound was, what she was doing now. Though he assumed her already dead, as he didn't quite grasp the concept of how a human-vampire halfbreed would possibly develop.
And now Shealyne felt dread, and whole new sense of fear. If she mentioned Runa was alive, he would be hopeful. And then instantly crushed that his child was the Listener. Why were her life choices so morally heart wrenching with no easy answer? Everytime she thought she was doing right, the consequences seemed to say otherwise.
"...Runa. Her name is Runa. I am sorry if you do not like it." The Sauveterre murmured softly after a pause. She once heard the name Runa meant secret. Or lovely secret. Or little secret. Something like that. Shealyne wasn't sure if that was true, but she figured the meaning of the name-fake or no-fit. So, Runa it was.
"Runa..." It was as if he tested the word on his tongue. "That's a... Nice name."
"I hope that is genuine. I am not good with names." Shealyne spoke, "She...she was a lot like you. The good part of you. The nice part."
"Really? Hm. Define those, qualities." In a way, her answer could assure Mathieu that she did really care enough to have known him, however small that may be. Though at times he felt he himself could not be recognized any differently from that wretched, impulsive part of him - the Dark Brotherhood's grasp on him.
Shealyne's lips briefly pressed together into a thin line as she thought of where to start, "Well...she was...very patient. Very...open minded. Accepting. But she was easily hurt, and sensitive. Gentle. Artistic. You...you can be all of those things, too. When you are not too angry. You accepted me despite what I did, and despite what I am, when my husband did not."
The woman paused to think, smiling sullenly, "You are a good man, Mathieu. Deep down. Even a good man can sometimes do bad things. You have a good heart, despite everything. You just are hurt. Wounded."
But of course it didn't excuse some of his actions. Still, she didn't see him as a bad-bad man. But he wasn't good-good, either. He was just somewhere in between.
He didn't know if he could fully believe Shealyne at this point but accepted her words anyway. "And you truly think that? You cared enough, loved enough, "saw" enough of me to glean that?" Mathieu pulled away from her enough to look the vampire in the eye.
Shealyne frowned, "Yes. I know you are mad. You should be. But I saw you being both good and bad. And sometimes the bad scared me. Because I did not know if you would hurt me, or get man enough to. But then I saw why you could be both good, and bad. You wanted to be good, and do good, but you had to let a part of yourself be bad to do it. Like me, a bit. But then I saw why you did those things. And you were hurt, like me, a bit. You wanted a good life, but it was ruined and blinded by rage. I wanted a fantasy life I could never have."
The woman's frown deepened, "I tricked myself into believing I could have that life. You tricked yourself into believing that anger and rage was the only thing you you could do. That you could not go back to a normal life, a good life. But you could have, Mathieu...you could have. If you just let the hate go...you could have been happier."
Bah, what was she saying? What was she getting at? She was trying to make a point, but ended up blubbering away instead. Though she didn't blame him for simply not believing her. It was a painful gut punch, one that she felt with her husband's rejection. Then she was left wondering if he ever loved her at all-or worse, regretted their children because she was bad.
"What exactly do you imply?!"
In one swift motion Mathieu had forced Shealyne down on the ground, pinning her under his weight; there was derangement in his eyes as they bore straight into her. "That my efforts were pointless?! That the path I follow could have turned so easily?! That I'd be content with letting my mother be slaughtered before me with no hope of justice for her?! If so, then what am I now besides a fool trying to live his old lies?! Destined not to ever live in content and peace..." Then he frowned. His brows knitted together, he sighed, collapsed onto Shealyne, hid his face in the crook of her neck.
"... I, do wish you'd have told me sooner. About this, life, you wanted to live. Your family. What you'd do to achieve it... You're right. At night I'd constantly think of a simple life, imagine myself as one of the mundane citizens in this very city. But with the Brotherhood... Those thoughts were tarnished. Whether it's that they still hunt me, or that, I've known only their ways for the longest time..."
He inclined his head and looked at Shealyne. "I suppose we're more similar than we realized. We acted out for our own family. All we wished for is a true family... But their false family prevents that."
To say Shealyne was scared when she was pinned by Mathieu was an understatement. She was terrified, both at his sudden rage and the madness in his eyes.
But as soon as the storm arrived, it ended, and she calmed upon the man simply collapsed upon her. She frowned as her arms slowly wrapped around him in hug-since she could not truly move well due to his greater weight, "I was scared. Scared of what you would think. Scared of you getting mad."
"It is hard. Trying to be normal. I cannot do it. They may accept, but they cannot understand. Sometimes I feel like that is all I am: a murderer." The woman exhaled. She was tired.
Mathieu imagined him and Shealyne back then. "I... Yes, I probably would. Back then, and how close we-I, felt..." And he would've felt the cut deeper, had time and distance not dulled the blade. "It does not matter now, I suppose... Ah, but it is still good to have somebody who understands. Somebody you don't have to act with, as I have had to these past few months." The breton shifted. Now his face was an inch apart from Shealyne's. "I'm certain you know how much it pains, to pass through years so seamlessly and have everything changed. Nothing familiar. None to talk to about the past you once lived in."
Oh, dear. His face was so very close to hers. Was he doing that on purpose? Shealyne's eye stared into his own, before briefly drifting to his lips. Her own slightly parted, as if to speak, though she ended up gliding her tongue over her lips, as if in a sudden nervousness, as they briefly glistened due to the coated saliva.
And then she felt an odd tingling upon her lips, as if a desire to caress her own against his. Well, it was a sudden desire, and she knew that well. Damn her girlish behavior! She needed to resist and be a mature adult! If vampirism did not prevent her from blushing, her face would be flushed a reddish hue. Ugh! Two hundred years old and acting like a foolish girl!
The Breton made her lips form into a soft smile, a fang poking out and jutting into her bottom lip. It was an attempt to try and quell the tingling. It did. Kind of. If only because her lower lip began to gently trickle blood, "I...have to remind myself that you and I now are not exactly the same as we were in the past. It is hard. Not thinking of you as a lover."
"But I know how it feels. The world changes, but you remain the same, untouched by time. An enigma of an era long passed forced into a foriegn one. A new one. And no one remembers. It is sad." Shealyne exhaled, though resumed to smile, "Though it is okay, yes? You do not have to be lonely anymore, if you still desire my companionship."
"At least you have had the living world to keep you distracted. In... In the, Void... There's nothing. Nothing but, your memories."
Mathieu could feel Shealyne's warm breath on his lips, causing some temptation to stir within him. He leaned in, just slightly, and parted his lips - but jerked away quickly. Then Mathieu pulled himself up off of Shealyne. Even after what's been spoken, he still couldn't break from simple, lustful desires? How nettling. It was funny, though; at least they had gotten to conversing. When he stood the man offered a hand to help Shealyne pull herself up.
"I'd... Still... Like your company, yes..."
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