AN: Beta'd chapter brought to you by LZW. Thank you for being so patient with me.
Chapter Eight: Dance Mania (Part One)
Do not pity me, Martin. I already get that a lot from myself. I chose this path, and I have long accepted it. So don't give me that JACKSHIT WITHERING STARE YOU PIEC—
Guards were hauling a very violent drunk by the ankle as he snarled violently at the dragon statue.
"C'mon now, brother! Loosen yourself for once," laughed the sultry voice.
Even through the thick soles of her bejeweled shoes, she could feel the coldness of the marble. The air surprisingly chilling from the kiss she could feel all around her. The arm that she rested her hands on that guided her down to the floor felt stiff to hold.
She looked up at the tall man by her side, then at the dreaded dance floor. Swirls of colors of students and staff in extravagant costumes spun to the dance of strings and flutes being played. A wave of paranoia swept over her as she recalled the incident. Undoubtedly, from the cold shoulders and glares they gave her, Louise was even more of a black sheep than she was before.
The unbidden sneer. The scorn. The rebuke on their lips. She was humiliated enough already.
"N-no," the word came out, and she stopped.
The brothers glanced at each other.
"I thought she was a feisty one." Sam Guevenne smirked.
"Perhaps the rumors about her are taking a toll on the steel. After all, steel leaves dents with enough pounding," Theo murmured. "Little Lady, they won't notice you."
Louise kept her face focused on the ball yet her core felt shaken from the words that came out from his mouth. His mouth.
"But not from the reason you're thinking," he added at her grim silence. "They're too caught up in their own pleasure and joy at the moment," he motioned with his chin at the crowds of dancers and gossiping students in the corner. Girls giggling in their lounging seat and boys stood and murmured to each other softly in conspiracies with lingering eyes, mischief and… something else in those narrowed orbs.
"In pleasure, your world narrows only this feeling in your chest," Theo uttered, and unbeknownst to her, she followed when he continued to step down the grand stairs. "The joy, the happiness and it's just you and what's around you."
"What use is the future and the past," his brother added with a soft laugh. "When the present before you is all that you need."
If you have everything you want at the moment, she wanted to retort.
In silent envy, she scowled at the dance before she then crinkled her nose. Yet… it bothered her more than ever to see the yearly Ball of Frigg.
You're a black sheep.
When was the last time she spoke to them eye-to-eye and laughed together just as they were doing now?
Unaware, her fingers had dug into the arm that guided her onto the floor. Breathe, she told herself when she was led closer into the moving circle of dancers. Her nerves fraying and tugged tight for some reason.
How many times had she danced with a partner? Not many. They were boys, sweet and shy, if not cheeky and up to something, but she felt only pity from them. Being Zero did hurt, but she learnt not to cling onto the sentiments of frivolous balls and celebrations where her title was more obvious than not.
She was strong.
She was strong, Louise straightened her chin, back stretched. As a hand rested on her waist while the other held her raised hand.
Theo's feet moved, and she followed smoothly at the lightness and skip.
"Are you doing this out of pity?" she directed the question in her mind, voice steeled and did not tremor as she stared at the Germanian who was smiling dreamily.
"No," he answered with his eyes focusing all around him.
"Then why?"
He spun her.
"You remind me of a child I knew." The words were barely heard past the soft taps of shoes on marble.
He leaned her down; a heavy exhale escaping from her lips when she fell and was pulled up in a swoop. She looked at him fully in their dance. Both eyes were gray but it was soon gone, quick as the smoke from a blown candle.
"You should smile more," Theo added cheerfully. "This is a wonderful event tonight, isn't it?"
Louise just gave her passive cold face. "I should smile at the fact that I could be sent home after tonight."
"Your fate hasn't been determined."
"It might as well be." Eyes down, on the black-tipped boots. "I don't know what's going to happen to you… since." She grimaced. "I summoned you, but that means nothing."
It means nothing to mother.
"You're in a pessimistic mood, Louise. What happened to all the champion business?"
A rebec sung with only plucking of another harp and its family accompanying in a steady rhythm, sweet and slow. Sweat slipped down her forehead as her feet felt sore… and strained, as if they were learning to dance. She frowned, she knew this dance since her feet easily followed his.
A frown, the flutter and flapping of the fabric of her skirts, she was twirled again by a hand like a spinning top.
The world around her a sweep of color moving in and out to the rhythm of the music.
The music… the instruments, Louise's brow deepened. They were lovely – the rebec was joined by others, bow sweeping on the tightly twined strings.
But she never heard of them before. The music, the instruments… Louise recalled the steps of the dance. It was nothing this intricate.
The instruments were new, well some of them were. She could hear familiarity, but they weren't traditional ball instruments.
The music was new.
The dance steps were new.
She knew because she never recalled any of this. Usually, she could recognize the name of the music, identify the instruments of the artisan. It was an important lesson amongst noble children. The icebreaker. Ball music was a common topic.
This dance was not traditional, the amount of instruments played were more than the traditional group for a ball. She could explain the music and the instruments, Osmond hiring foreign musicians and going all out, but she couldn't explain the steps.
Louise was no natural dancer. She had to learn the steps to know the dance. No way could she have just easily followed the unknown steps, yet she was doing just that. But her legs hurt as if reminding her of the new steps she was taking.
She opened her mouth, eyes fell to her partner who was… grinning. Smiles and grins, the laugh… the whispers and gossip.
Locked in a moving circle, why did she feel dread welling up inside her as well as this giddiness that made her head light and dizzy.
Mathilda sipped her drink grouchily, her eyes still cast in shadow despite the powdering. But she remained wary, waiting for that familiar silver glint of a blade in the corner.
That stupid Spear… Staff, whatever it was.
She curled the corner of her nose at the wine in her hand before putting the glass down. Rich sweetness and quality she could taste, Osmond seriously had outdone himself. But… so frivolous, the thief thought with a huff at the crowds of noblity. It was… unbelievable that she was once of their ranks, and the thought of what her future would have been like if not for the fated day, to say Mathilda was not fond of who she would've been is an understatement.
She detested them.
If given the chance, she would've willingly walked out of this ballroom but old Osmond had a surprise for her. She was to be granted the title of Chevalier. How overjoyed she was to gain the trust of the Tristain Royalty, she deadpanned silently.
"Miss Longueville," greeted a warm voice.
She turned and gave a weak smile.
Just keep smiling, keep smiling even if your cheeks start to hurt, she berated herself in front of the Fire Mage as he asked her something.
"Oh, yes, yes, I'm fine!" she answered despite not hearing his question fully.
"Are you sure?" Colbert asked gently. Still in his ever scholarly garb, albeit more rich from the black glossy shine of his robe and wide puffy sleeve. "'Cause I asked if it was a lovely evening."
Longueville kept smiling but her expression eventually faltered with a sigh. "Are the shadows under my eyes showing?" she asked, her voice heavy.
"No, although I worry. Have you truly recovered?" Colbert frowned, worried for his colleague.
"Just having sleepless night," Longueville confessed with a wave of her hand. "I just can't believe I escaped by the skin of my teeth, against Fouquet too." She gave a shaky laugh.
"It must have been terrifying," Colbert replied, calm with the goblet of wine in his hand entirely ignored, judging from its contents. "All by yourself too. I did not know you excelled in combat."
She kept her expression changing. It was not uncommon for triangle Earth Mages to know how to produce Golems, especially at that size Fouquet used. But then again, not all mages were triangle classed, and not all mages focused their magic in combat, and at her age, such a spell would be the last thing on a non-combatant practitioner's mind.
Its use after all is for brute force and only brute force. It was a triangle-level spell, so it wasn't a common sight on the field unlike dots and lines.
To be a triangle, and to be a combatant in one's art, it was guaranteed she would know the spell of producing such Golem. Would Colbert build the connection? No... He was unconscious, and he did not witness the fight. In all, it was just speculation in his head, her head – she added ruefully. "I sometime surprise myself. Must be the luck I had," she answered bumblishly back at the Fire Mage. "By the way, I heard the fuss about Fouquet's corpse. It disappeared. Don't you think that's a bit – "
"Strange," he cut in with a grim frown on his lips. "Yes, I think so too. No traces just… vanished into thin air."
And my reputation untarnished, she kept the soft smile on her lips from curling more, for the mystery of such vanishing act whispered doubts. Fouquet was still at large.
"Do you think he got away?" she asked leaning slightly closer to hear the words from his mouth, concern all over her face
The bald mage narrowed his eyes, though not at her but at his red wine. "I do not know. It's still being investigated," he answered then looked up, smiling cheerfully. "Regardless, your bravery deserves the title Chevalier. To you Miss Longueville." He raised his goblet.
She squirmed at such action, but politely smile, modest Miss Longueville she was. But she raised her glass and tapped it against his, "For your heroism," she heard him cheer, and brought his goblet down over those cat eyes of his then to his lips.
Cat eyes…
She blinked and shook her head at that odd fleeting of her imagination then quickly gulped the contents of her glass.
"That was kind of you Colbert, but shouldn't you have waited to toast when I've been granted the Chevalier title?" she asked and looked up from her drink, but almost wanted to sputter the wine back out, preferably through her nostrils.
Now she knew those crazy fleeting moments weren't just her imagination, or she was really drunk right now.
"I…" she stammered as Colbert was looking away, and seemed disconcerted at something when he was staring at the moving crowd of dancers. "I…" Mathilda turned beet red and quickly shifting her gaze, and would have swore like a sailor when her sight seemed to be cursed with more…
"I think…" she heard Colbert say quietly. "I should retire early," and without further ado, the Fire Mage left her side quickly.
Was it her imagination or what?! Mathilda avoided looking at anyone with a furious red flush on her face.
Why is everyone naked!
With panic, she looked down on herself and relieved to see the dress on her own body.
It was the drink. Yes, the drink. What – how… what in the world did Osmond put in the punch? She flushed, trying to avoid the image of nude adolescent and older students stamping into her mind.
Firstly, if they were really nude, when did they strip? With such extravagant costumes, it would take more than a few minutes to throw them entirely off with piles left on the floor.
The drink.
Just her mind playing tricks on her…
For some weird odd reason.
And the effects, oh yes, she could imagine Osmond pulling something like this off if it were possible. With a furious huff, she stomped through the body of students and cringed at the feeling of brushing against the skins of the naked adolescent boys.
Naked… she faltered in her steps. Brimir be damned. If everyone was naked besides her, old Osmond would be as well. And she did not want to see the image of the senile Headmaster's wrinkly ass lodged in her mind, and his…
Just the thought of it was already making her feel sick.
She was going crazy, she breathed in and out quickly. Straightening up, her eyes searched for the exit in desperation and unwillingly she pushed past the scattered group of crowds. Perhaps she should retire early like Colbert had. But the ceremony, she wanted to scream in frustration. It would be rude, beyond rude actually to leave like that. Right now, she envied her colleague's freedom to the point of seething.
Outside then… the balcony. Not as much naked ass view to onslaught her.
She immediately turned and made her way, gratefully stumbling out onto the balcony. Longueville inhaled the fresh air, and not the fumes of sweat of moving naked, exposed, nude bodies.
Blargh… she stuck her tongue out. Why was she seeing her own students naked?! Mathilda gritted her teeth together in frustration and almost wanted to scream upon realizing a man stood closely behind her.
"Something wrong?" asked the man.
"You're - " naked, standing too close to me and looking really ridiculous wearing that feathered hat when you're nude. She strangled her words in and tried to avoid looking down. "Wardes," she greeted a bit tightly, "What are you doing here?"
"I am here as part of the Princess' escorts," the Captain of Griffin Knights answered. "And it's Viscount Wardes." His eyes though clearly speak his silent thoughts.
Keep up with the appearance, would you?
"Viscount Wardes," the secretary corrected herself, not hiding the sharp bite. "The Magical Academy welcomes a noble of your tier for tonight's celebration."
"Over your bravery, if I need to remind you," he added then offered his hand.
Disgruntled but not wishing to offend, she gave him her hand. He bowed down and kissed it. "Congratulations, your defeat over Fouquet astounds even the Royal guards. The bastard thief has been known to escape justice's hand far too many times."
Mathilda just rolled her eyes, taking back her hand from his smooth grasp.
"I heard the thief has managed to somehow cast a spell over the whole academy. A spell that sent them into deep slumber," Wardes continued, voice cool. "How was it you were able to escape?"
"I skipped on dinner that night," she answered drily. "Rest assured the treasure was safe in my hands."
"That's good to know," the man smiled, a cold reptilian smile at least. Longueville smirked, unable to take his expression seriously especially while he was bare before her sight.
"Something amusing you?"
Yes, yes it does. You. She held that back then turned her gaze away. Look at her, behaving like those ridiculous frivolous young nobles in the hall. Just because a naked man was standing near her. Her face turned red, quite glad her face was looking away.
He wasn't… too bad looking. Oh, what hell was she thinking! She wanted to smack her forehead harshly at such livid thoughts.
Doesn't Wardes have a fiancé… she rifled through her mind, knowing to do her research on her investor then remembered.
Louise Francoise Le Blanc de La Valliere. The very girl who had witnessed her act of bravery.
"Why yes, you see, there has been this lovely gentleman who's been giving his attention to the youngest Valliere," Mathilda finally answered. "Might even say vying for the Valliere's hand."
She did not miss that small narrowing of his eyes, and she hid her smirk with her hand, eyes gazing up in the night sky with feigned interest.
"Might I ask who is this gentleman?" It might be the wind, but how the way he asked was a tad too icy.
"I do not know," she answered honestly. "He goes by the name Theodore Aegis. A Germanian noble, travelling scholar from what I heard. How he met, sounded more like a sweet love story. Was said to found Louise in fever, left out cold in the School's ground and rescued off her feet. I heard he even spent a night with her at the city."
"Really?" Now his voice sounded cold.
Mathilda wanted to chortle, hearing that tiny grind in his voice. It seemed her sponsor wasn't such the aloof captain.
"Perhaps you may have heard of him?" she asked slyly.
He had access to the palace and its records, he might know.
"I have not heard of him. The Germania kingdom would probably have records of him, though. But perhaps he's just one of the wandering low-ranked mages."
Damn, she bit the bottom of her lips.
"I doubt he could win the Valliere's favors by wooing the youngest. Nor do I think the youngest is foolish enough to elope," he added quietly.
The thief hummed at that, a hidden smile still twitching the corner of her lips. "What makes you say that?"
"Because she's already in love."
"Are you sure? She looks positively smitten. For a girl of high-rank with no luck on spells, I've never seen her smile like that." Mathilda smirked then frowned deeply, dear Lord, she was behaving like a gossiping old maid.
But Wardes behavior, she wanted to laugh. My… he was fun to toy with.
"Uncle," she lamented loudly with a heavy sigh trying to pull him away by the arm.
"You speak enjris, I know not this enjris!" he snapped at the man behind the counter.
She heard the man garble something in another language as he flapped his arm like those of a headless chicken. Yes, she'd seen a live headless chicken before. See, once her uncle practiced a necromantic spell… that then promptly traumatized the life out of the children of the village when an army of them appeared and danced.
"Bah!" snarled her uncle and made a cutting motion with his hand.
Heat flashed and was followed by a sharp bang, she winced, closing her eyes and waiting suspensefully for the feeling of splinters from exploded wood. Nothing touched her skin, and she looked up at that before being pulled along by her uncle, leaving a destroyed shop behind.
"That was not nice uncle," she said half-heartedly as she followed closely after him.
He said nothing as he strode on… jay-walked across a busy street, metal carriages swerved past them, making these odd noises that left ringing in her ears. One of the carriages stopped right before them and making that blaring noise.
"SHUT UP!" he yelled back before continuing his walk.
The sound of rubbery wheels, gravels and crunching, the rush of this odd stinky city, the footsteps on gray hard ground, just… the noises. Silent. Gone, she breathed out, surprised at hearing her own breath as she stared oddly when a person got out of those odd armored-like beetle metal carriage, walking up to them, yelling… yet no voice came off.
Is this what it's like being deaf? It felt like being cut off from the world.
"You're in a foul mood," she commented lightly then grimaced noticing his eyes.
One gold glaring eye of a cat's… or was it a fox's… maybe an eagle's… or maybe it was a dragon's with how it had a black slit as a pupil. His other eye though remained normal. Grey, stormy gray and not its usual smokes.
"Uncle," she pleaded at his lack of response. "Please."
He just walked on, the streams of time blurring the world around them into smoke and mist. Now, they were back to being seated on the boat. The Dragonborn just sighed at her uncle's behavior.
"Do you know the Dragonborn?" she heard her uncle ask, his figure and body shrouded by the mist.
A thick golden mist formed around her, rippling hues of rainbows with obscured reflections fading in and out at the corner of her sight. The mist swirled softly; danced teasingly… it was a wonderful sight. Mesmerizing, tantalizing.
Made her want to run and just fade into it, to disappear and dance within its lulling embrace. Just like the distorting reflection, the flickering phantoms that danced one-minute upside down before briefly fading, only to reappear and continue its dance in a downward-vertical bizarre fashion.
But it was too thick. Smothering her, almost like a wraith's hands were shoving themselves down her throat. An unpleasant sensation in a wonderful sight.
A mist? Or a dangerous fog? Silhouette figures stirred within its twirls, distorted reflections running up to her, only to be quickly replaced by obscured shapes standing in the distance, deep within the swirls of the fog. In the end, such dances faded before they could harm her or before she could clutch them.
"A little child, a baby, a kiin? What… you're asking if it's a boy or a girl?" her uncle asked to no one whatsoever in the mist. "How should I know? Dragons don't have children. They don't even have the proper parts! Little Aldy's followers are just more masculine in mind and nature than it is healthy for them," he added brightly.
"Uncle, I'm right here," she called out to him worriedly.
"The only other dragons out there are the Jills, and them ladies don't have scales… They were and will be of the feminine side of the coin. And they don't bother themselves with Nirn," he scoffed nonsensically. "Unless their Da is broken," he mourned. "Yes, daughters… wives, menders and keepers of times. Their brothers," he chided disapprovingly, "conquerors, rulers, destructive."
"Why, you ask? Well… the Dragonborn is missing. Kidnapped from the crib!" he hissed. "Stolen and fled into the shadows. And I am charged to find the dragonling."
"Uncle, I am right here!" she yelled and reached out into the mist but stumbled onto white sand.
A humming voice, a familiar tune, she spun around, grimacing when her uncle strode behind her with a child coddled in layers of cloth. He cooed at the baby in his arm as he walked idly across the sand.
"Uncle," she rushed and heard a splash, stopping to briefly glance down at the sea tides receding past her chitin boots.
She inhaled deeply, not caring where she was and immediately rushed after her elusive godfather. A jog and she reached him, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him to turn and face her.
"Uncle, you are worrying me," she scolded her senile old man.
Senility in aspect just grinned and greeted her brightly, "Dovahkiin! Look, this is you!" he cooed and held up the baby to her face.
She glanced at the child, noticing it gazing back with mirrored blue eyes, nestling in the blankets.
"Such a cute child you were! Yes, you are!" her uncle coddled.
"I…" the Dragonborn glanced at the child. "I was a baby?" she asked, confused.
"Yes, child. You were," her uncle told her gently. "A Dragonborn must be born a dragon, I thought you knew that."
"But dragons just were and – "
"Will be," he cut in in the same gentle tone. "That's why Dragonborn are different. That's why they can grasp concepts such as mortality. For Dragonborn have a beginning and end. But dragons… they are just there, being. When you kill them, they continue just being, through you."
"How come I never remembered," she murmured softly as she gazed at the child in his arm. Was it not strange to stand in front of the child that was her, to be in two places at once? The baby could be just a strange child her uncle had picked up from somewhere.
"Well… I'm afraid I don't have the answer to why your memory disappeared. Or was it wonky?" His voice was grave but his eyes were shifty. The Dragonborn narrowed her own blue ones at that suspicious behavior of his. "But then… what happened to all those dragons in High Rock and Cyrodiil? Last I remembered they were venerated in their temples… or sleeping within the grounds, protected by the populace. If not, were one with the populace."
"Do you mean like Dragonne Papre?" she asked after him. "Didn't he die?"
"He wasn't the only one that allied with the Imperial crown. And they never revealed their draconic names, though. Names are power, plus they were the high and mighty lot, as such they go by another and died defending against Dagon's second blow under such names," he replied as they walked on the sunny beach. "Many withdrew where your father's power ran strong."
"The Empire," she said softly, imagining Cyrodiil in its glory days. She recalled the tales when Battlespire was still connected. Dragoons knights once scoured the air, battlemages just as common as the Tullius' infantry, the heart of Tamriel beating from the stirring pot of many races.
"Where the Mother of Dragons once ruled, at the heart of the Ruby Throne." Gray eyes gazed into the distant horizon. "But such a golden age ran too long. Too boring!" he snarled. "Change happened."
"For the worst," she whispered.
"In a Dark Age you'll live, child," he told the baby softly. "No dragon is there to bless you or protect you."
"But you can change it," she added earnestly.
"Not I, you," he replied without glancing at her as if the baby was the one he was holding a conversation. "Your father's blood runs in you. His promise to Tamriel may not hold anymore, but it doesn't change the fact, you, child, like Alessia, can build a new pact. You have more than power over Thu'um."
"But to act on such power has a terrible price, no?" She looked at her uncle, knowing where this topic was going. "When father intervened, wasn't it the Empire that paid the price?"
"It can be seen like that, yes."
"It still does not change the fact that you have yet to write Tamriel's history. You are the next Scribe of the Elder Scroll, but you have not acted, have not decided what to do," she retorted sharply. "You, champion of Men and Divines have not chosen your decision, yet you have accused me of not acting on my nature and the purpose of my place on Nirn."
"Does the walker chose the path?" her uncle spoke jovially, looking back at her with both smoky gray eyes.
"Or the path the walker," a voice whispered suddenly behind her.
As ever the words resounded more of the fact of what she was, could be, and should be. In the world of Nirn, what should and could can easily be what was. Her uncle had always said to be careful of whose path she walked, as the path can shape the walker more than the walker would want.
She glanced at the one who voiced such words and saw in time her uncle disappearing back into the world of mist. Sighing heavily, she had yet to wonder why she clung to the idea that he treads time linearly as she went after him.
"Uncle!" she shouted after and ran.
Thankfully, he stopped and turned, pipe in his mouth with golden smoke coming out of the end. The smoke… mist swirling out from his mouth as he breathed out.
"Dragonborn, there you are!" he greeted her once she was at his side again. "I've been searching for you."
"I was… with you, just now," she uttered slowly and saw the frown on his lips.
"Head stuck in the cloud!" He only but shook his head at her reply. "Anyway, seen a baby around?" he inquired gently.
She opened her mouth but decided not to. Being with her uncle was guaranteed to be complicated. Instead, she asked, "Do you always plot against yourself?"
"Hmm?" he raised a grey eyebrow, breathing out the gold shimmering fog from his mouth. "Plotting thyself?" he chuckled. "It's a bad habit of mine," he confessed. "And your father's too, I have to add. Now that there is no Greymarch in my ribs… there are only the Princes and strawberry tortes to hold my attention. But even causing a tea party amongst them is just dull," she heard his loud grimace behind the swirl of smokes. "Never been bored that much in my life."
Wasn't the nature of the Void, Oblivion the seat of Chaos and ever-changing states? How could a Prince ever be bored with that? She couldn't imagine how one can just turn away when chaos was always there. But then again, this was the Prince of Madness. Of course, he would be bored.
Yet Nirn seemed to draw these ultimate forces like moths to flame.
When everything changes, nothing changes. Especially to the ones who have existed from the very beginning.
"You brought me here for a reason, uncle," she called out after him.
"A reason?" He looked up, briefly gazing at her as they strode to… nowhere. "Oh yes, I did. Didn't I?" he mulled aloud.
"So…" she inquired, nudging back to what supposed to be another journey of your lifetime!
"So?" he laughed softly. "You hear that?"
"Hear what?" she exhaled, growing tired of his behavior as her patience trickled away.
"Wind," he whispered and something fluttered past their boots.
She looked down, finding her chitin boots deep in the dry sand. Her pale Nord's skin tingled from the blowing dust. Soft howls and roars grew closer, the uncomfortable heat sweating her, and already she felt the grime and dust in the arid dry air. The mist around them was blown away, sand replacing them.
She felt her blonde hair ruffled by the crystal dirt and squinted her eyes in answer. What was left of the shimmering gold was stirred away into murky stifling brown.
Then she felt the slam of wind and grunted. Her body pressed against the heavy brush, feeling the cut of sand and the hum of Magicka. A spherical translucent ward sparked from her uncle's hand, shielded around them and made the wind go around. Her uncle wordlessly and from nowhere pulled a purple scarf out of the storm around.
It was a long deep purple-colored scarf… to the point of unconventional. Despite the multiple wraps around her neck, a sizable length of it still managed to run down along the ground. Serves more like a flag in the wind, she thought ruefully as her uncle then undid his own shawl. It was midnight blue and shimmered of rich embroidery of stars. The fabric easily slipped over her chitin armor and snugged neatly beneath her scarf, chained by the amulets of Divines. She unintentionally nodded when he jerked the cowl of his shawl over her head.
And now she felt like the Alik'rs with how the scarf wrapped around her head, covering most of her face with the cowl over her head.
"If you so much as strip one piece, child, I will find you, and I will ice you," he told her sternly.
Something about his expression spoke much of the weather she was about to travel in. Extreme weather, that's for sure, she thought, glancing the sandstorm outside their clearing.
"What are you doing?" she finally asked, her voice low compared to the muffled wind outside his ward.
He said nothing but lifted her bulging backpack in answer. Food, sleep roll, utensils, spare clothes, etc, and even a tent. A spherical crystal staff though dangled kinda lopsidedly against her pack. Her Dragonbane sword in its own makeshift-scabbard with Auriel's shield and bow attached to it by the many leather bands of her crafted pack.
She grabbed her pack but looked at her uncle imploringly when he helped her equip.
"You would suit better with Goldbrand," he murmured when his eyes fell on her Akavirian sword.
"Forged by the dragons, wielded by a dragon knight that promised to protect the dragons," she quoted the lore of the spoken sword. "But does it now represent Boethiah's triumph, the unlawful overthrow she'd done to Trinimac?"
"Perhaps," he murmured. "But perhaps I should remind you, in elven tale they were no dragons but only Auri-El, but he was the bird, the eagle. At least from what I remembered," he added softly. "The only name there was is the Dragon of the North was Ysmir." He chuckled in silent humor. "But wear your Dragonbane, Dragonborn… to remind the dragons it's not their time anymore, for you and you only shall wield their time with that blade of yours."
"Should I've brought better armor then?" she asked, growing worrisome at his lack of enthusiasm.
"No… you've got a long trek ahead. Heavy armor would kill you," he answered gently. "Carrying it would be more a burden."
"You're kinda disturbing me."
"Should I smile for my niece when I know I'd be sending her on a fool's errand?" he replied, voice grave and tired then he roared with laughter. His mood swings as always, inauspicious. "You might die in this one, Dragonborn! But thinking back, you didn't for the First and Firstborn so you should be fine."
She grimaced as thoughts swam and briefly consumed her before she gazed at her uncle, amused at a sudden reminder. A dragon to a butterfly, her godfather's whimsical nature alike of the latter but with ferocity of the former.
"So maybe…" her uncle continued quietly in front of her. "Just maybe," he whispered and rested his forehead against hers, touching her Aetherial crown. Its blue crystal lit his hair starry-white. In his brief clasp on her, he kissed her on the nose as he hugged.
"Maybe… you'll remind me to dream." The words hoarse in her ears then he stepped back, back into the storm.
And like a nonsensical wind, he disappeared.
"As ever, uncle, you frustrate me."
Colbert stopped and frowned, his eyes on the damp misty ground. He crouched down and brushed his hand against the cold earth. In wonder, he inspected the dirt on his hand then immediately spun around to gaze on what should be the stone cavernous roof of the Magical Academy. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of canopies of trees.
He sniffed, smelling the sweet tang. It reminded him of rainy days, when the water receded and the smell of the earth and plants were strong. On second thought, he sniffed again… was that wine?
His ears were greeted with the distant gurgling and giggles of streams with his sight, eyes absorbing the dense fogs and mists carpeting the moss and lichen ground.
"Where in the world am I?" Colbert muttered then massaged his forehead.
It must have been the drink. First seeing his students naked, next seeing this.
But it felt so real and yet surreal. This… grove. Colbert felt like he was in some fairy tale book, walking into some enchanted forest. Perhaps a pleasant dream he was having, a lucid dream, Colbert hummed at the thought. His head tilted slightly, hearing soft music where the general direction of the ballroom was.
What a strange music. Never heard the kinds of instruments played in it. Colbert wrinkled his brows together at the peculiarity.
Maybe it was a dream. Dreams can't hurt, can they? The Fire Mage thought then heard a chime, a giggle. A song was sung only to stifle when the voice sniggered. Another giggled with it.
"Excuse me," Colbert called out to those voices.
Perhaps he really was in some enchanted forest and the beings he might be dealing with are the troublesome devilish creature called the Fae. Colbert smiled softly, feeling like a young boy. There was an old saying concerning the Fae: trust not, give not, and listen not.
He wondered if it was wise to call them out. But this was a dream afterall.
"He talks, sister," a voice, feminine and alluring called. "Mayhap we should reveal ourselves."
"Lord Sanguine though forbid us so." The other was articulate, as if reciting a poem. "Doesn't want to scare the mortals."
"Lord Sanguine?" Colbert asked, then grimaced when he felt the sharp zap against the skin of his scalp.
"Utter the Prince's name carefully, for you might call his interest," whispered the voice, a hot breath flowing into his ear.
He turned quickly, but his eyes only met the glooms of the dark misty grove. A frown deepened. Prince. Perhaps he really was dreaming of an enchanted tale.
"That face of yours should be brimming with joy, not… that frown," sing-songed the voice.
"I hardly think a stranger should smile when he's at a loss," Colbert replied carefully.
"We can remedy that frown, if you want?" And she laughed, the other voice joining in a giggle.
Trust not.
"I… no, thank you," Colbert turned down the offer politely.
"I want to see Lord Sheogorath, sister. I hear he's still handsome as ever."
"But he's troublesome," complained the other voice. "Next thing you know, you'll be dancing to his tune. Look what he did to the Mazkens and Aureals under his service. Fighting. Urgh!"
"I use to serve him," another voice joined. "I dare say he can be worth it."
"Why did you leave then? He can't be better than Lord Sanguine," scoffed the lady-like voice.
"I can never be the captain he needs," whispered the voice wistfully. "From last I heard Jansa and Zudeh still holds his favors. And they are not to be tarried lightly."
"But didn't he take their wings away and forbid them to fly under the pain of eating toes?"
"Yes, but I heard he gave them back. Lady Meridia's Saints won't be the only who has wings now," gossiped the voice.
A voice laughed. "To think Lady Meridia's Aurorans were all crushed by a mortal. The same one who stalled Lord Dagon's army in the mortal's Heartland."
Colbert head swirled with all this gossip that was not making any sense to him.
"That ugly hideous abomination? I do not know why the dead gods still stand such an ugly ada," the voice continued to twitter.
"But they did, they wouldn't call such ada to walk Nirn's ground again unless they had to."
"Well get this, the Mad Prince stole their champion," the voice laughed in glee. "A shame, wouldn't it? To have such a powerful being they created be stolen away."
"Yes, but he killed Lady Meridia's husband! I can not understand how they still speak to each other."
"It doesn't matter. Those stuffy crippled gods," scoffed the voice. "Got screwed." She laughed.
"Except the Mad Prince uses their champion to break the curse the Sixteen had put on him. Y'know what it means!"
"Greymarch," all the voices moped.
"No laughs."
"No wine."
"No merriment," mourned them all.
"I don't want to run."
"Now there is Lord Jyggalag and his twin to deal with," the voice whispered, hushed and fearful.
Colbert stood there awkwardly, nevertheless he kept quiet and didn't interrupt. Curious he was, he eavesdropped and tried to pinpoint the source of the voices. They seemed to be coming somewhere up the canopies all around him. It was ridiculous to think there was something, someone hidden behind the foliage as Colbert could easily see the night sky between the leaves as well the shadows of those hidden in it.
But no shadows fell, yet the voices spoke on.
"Hush girls, Lord Sanguine would hide us in his many realms. And even against the Mad Prince's vicious phase."
"But we can't hide forever! Jyggalag always got them all."
"The Sixteen would have a plan, wouldn't they?"
"Is this the Mad Prince's revenge? To unleash Greymarch onto all of us for thousand year's cycle of destruction on his realm."
"The Mad Prince, vengeful?" the voice said in disbelief.
"And Lord Jyggalag hasn't been heard."
"It won't be long though. And stop saying the Order's name so freely!"
"Lord Sheogorath would protect us from him, wouldn't he? He was made for that purpose."
"But he's mad."
"He's always mad. We can't depend on him."
"He hates Order though. But… he could leave us in the mercy of the Prince in revenge."
"I heard from the Aureals and Mazkens the Lord Never-There grieves for his realm every time the curse swept."
The voices were quiet. "Mayhap the Mad Prince is not incapable of revenge. For his own hands to always destroy his own work, wouldn't he hate those that cast such curse on him?"
"He seemed quite happy with Lord Sanguine though," pointed out a voice. "Why do you assume Order's hatred still lingers in the now separate twin?"
"It is Lord Jyggalag who hates the Princes?"
"And Lord Sheogorath to hate the curse?"
"But the curse is him?"
"He makes my head hurts!"
"He's the Mad One. Of course, trying to make sense of him is just… maddening."
"Would you be so kind as to introduce me to your Lords?" Colbert interrupted. If this was a dream of some fairy tales, wouldn't it not be logical to meet the Lords? Curses, revenge, Lords and their subjects. But in the tales, wasn't there an unpleasant predicament? One that was bloody.
"How can the Princes bring upon a curse such as that? Don't their spheres clash? The Princes are each other opposites."
"He's the Mad Prince, and you know what's maddening? Contradiction."
"Such spheres combining powers should result an abomination. Like that ugly ada that they made. The Star-Made Knight."
"The Star-Made Knight… Mad Prince. What an awful reflection."
"What are you getting at?"
"What the mortal called Pelinal… it was made by the mortal's gods. Called upon to change. That Mad One's origins are similar. Brought upon by the Sixteen, a call for change against the Greymarch."
"You've been listening to that drunk scholar for too long, sister."
"Aedra… Daedra," sing-songed the voice mockingly. "Mortals and their terms." The lady-like voice laughed.
"You're calling Lord Sheogorath ugly!"
"No, no I'm not. Stop twisting my words," hissed the voice inhumanly. "Besides, Sanguine is more handsome."
Colbert coughed and cleared his throat.
"We've been horrible hostess, neglecting the mortal here. Lord Sanguine would be appalled by our behavior," said a motherly voice, hard to not imagine it belonging to a pretty face.
"Should we reveal ourselves though?"
"We shouldn't though," the voice chided.
"Perhaps I can follow you by the sounds," Colbert suggested.
"Something like this?" a high-pitch chime rung, sweet and melodious.
"I think that will do," the Fire Mage smiled.
Trust not.
"Can I ask how am I to be assured that you would be leading me to the Lords?" Colbert uttered his concern slowly.
"You can't for there is no one to ask but us. You can try the other mortals but they are too caught up with their passion and merriment," the voice answered.
A soft warm breeze brushed by, rustling the leaves and reminding him of the soft distant music.
"Lady Azura has come," whispered a voice.
"What?"
"She'd never come here!"
"What is she doing here?"
The voices quickly fell into twitters of another language. Colbert frowned; thrice his presence amongst them was forgotten. And he couldn't help but be amused by the nature of the voices, or the nature of his drink lightening up his mood.
A chime rung in the warm air. He turned and felt the breeze rush by.
"Follow us, mortal," murmured the invisible escort. "If you dare, that is."
With your heart gone cold you'll turn to violence
With your inhibitions going silent
You will turn and twist and pry your eyes out
Wishing that you could just go back now.
