A/N: Because replaying Oblivion is better than studying for my exams. Fic might or might not be disturbing. Rating might or might not change.

THE FABRIC OF THE WORLD

Prologue

The fabric of the world isn't always smooth.

Tangled is, for example, the thread of a homeless child cowering in an alley behind some nobleman's house. The little boy curls on the pavement, trying to protect at least some of his vital organs. He regrets swiping this sweetroll... but he didn't eat anything for a while and it looked so beckoning, there on the tray in a bakery. As an afterthought, he also regrets breaking the front window. Throwing a flowerpot at the baker's wife, too. And don't forget about shouting obscene words at the city guard who had caught him.

The thread of the city guard - mind you, neither a corrupt nor a violent one; just burdened with work and underpaid - who is kicking the damned brat in the stomach, yes, it's also all knotted. Back then, when the man signed up for the militia, he could've pictured himself in five years' time as the citizens' hero, renowned and worshiped. The reality has stripped him from both delusions and grandeur - and now this fucking kid dares to call him "a shit-eating bastard of a half-witted scamp and a blighted cliff racer".

Sometimes the threads just have to tangle.

The kid pried one eye open, searching for the sweetroll. It was lying a few feet away, caked in mud, stomped flat and looking like a blown up chance for a proper meal. The sweetroll died a heroic death in the brawl, yet he didn't quite want to end up like it.

It was a right time to give up and save - at least - life, he concluded.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." the soldier's boot caught him in the teeth; he spat out blood. The man's face was contorted in frustration; it fueled his every blow, each one harder than the previous.

Even if the child died, he probably would've kicked the corpse further, dragged back from the mutilated remains only by his fellow guards. Or Emperor Uriel Septim himself.

The boy heard something in his head crack. Maybe he'll meet his parents in the otherworld. At last. Beaten to death for stealing a sweetroll, a beautiful end indeed, accompanied by cracks, grunts and whimpers, and a high-pitched shriek:

"In the name of Count Indarys, stop at once, evildoer!"

The blows suddenly ceased; the orphan treated it as the permission to lift his head and sneak a peek at the unexpected savior. It wasn't a Castle guard or any of those pompous aristocrats. And, unless he has shrunk a few times during the last week, it wasn't the Count either.

A Dunmer child, dressed in a rather eccentric attire, was looking at the guard, pouting. He was standing with hands on his hips, one hand wrapped around a handle of a wooden sword.

"Release the innocent citizen at once or I shall bring you to justice." he commanded.

"This citizen is not innocent, my lord. He is accused of theft, assault and..."

"Are you listening to me?" yelled the young Dunmer "I said: release the citizen or I'll tell my father! Do it now or face the consequences," after a moment's thought he added "you scum."

The other kid snorted and then yelped; the guard stepped on his fingers.

"Stop it!" the Dunmer pointed his wooden sword at the man "The Count will know all about this, I assure you. I'll personally tell him that you tried to beat a defenseless child to death! You'll end in the most foul and rotten cell in the castle dungeons with mold and rats and dung!"

"And syphilitic cellmates" added the "defenseless child" smugly. The man scowled, but didn't try to hurt him further.

"Excuse me, lord Farwil, but..."

"No excuses, you vile murderer! If you won't obey my orders, I'll tell father and he will call all the guards to the castle and I'll point at you in presence of everyone!"

The "innocent citizen" blinked. The Dunmer kid wasn't completely stupid. The guard, on the other hand, looked horrified.

"... fine." he growled.

"That's all? Are you sure you don't have anything more to add?" Farwil looked at him expectantly. The man cleared his throat.

"I humbly request your apology for my most condemnable behavior, my lord. I hope I haven't overstepped my boundaries."

"Apology accepted, guard. You are dismissed."

The guard turned around; he glared at the sweetroll thief and left the alley.

"Thank you, I suppose." Farwil frowned; the kid quickly added "My lord."

The Dunmer moved to crouch beside him "I sincerely apologize on behalf of whole Cheydinhal administration. Are you alright, milady?"

"More or le... milady?"

"Well, every noble knight should save women from distress and treat them with utmost respect, whether they are of noble or common origin. The legends say so." Farwil looked very proud of himself "And I, Farwil Indarys, am going to be a knight when I grow up, milady. Who knows, maybe you'll become my sweetheart?"

"That's unlikely, I'm afraid."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not a lady. A sir, perhaps. But definitely not a lady." Farwil looked at him with a blank expression "Wrong parts, you know."

The Dunmer pondered it for the moment: "I think knights can also save their heroic sidekicks" he said slowly "Are you alright then, sir?"

"I'll live, thanks... ow, damn." Farwil poked him in the forehead.

"I don't think so. But fear not, most noble sir, for I shall escort you home. Where do you live?"

"Here and there. Mostly on the island, under the bridge. Near the city walls, sometimes."

The Dunmer looked skeptical. "And your parents let you? Aren't they worried?"

"They've gone very far from the worries of this world." The kid heard that phrase from one of the Chapel priests and finally had a chance to use it. Farwil was probably familiar with it too, because his eyes went wide as soon as he heard it.

"Oh, I'm sorry, so sorry, I didn't know..."

"Don't worry, it's not like I've ever known them anyway. My lord."

Farwil was visibly shocked; he slowly reached out and clasped one hand around the other boy's wrist.

"Do you have a name?"

The kid tried to shrug "Bremman Senyan, at your service. Or so I was told."

"Then, Bremman Senyan, know that you no longer have to cower in fear for your survival." Farwil stood up, still holding Bremman's arm and stretching it painfully "For I, Farwil Indarys of House Hlaalu, the heir to County Cheydinhal, have decreed that, starting from this day, you shall live under the roof of my home."