Precisely why every book on the massive shelf needed to be taken off, dusted, and alphabetized eluded the Dunmer, but she got the distinct feeling Adrienne didn't truly have a reason for making her do it. Something about the way the middle-aged woman gave her that smirking glare or seemed to gaze down her nose at her, regardless of whether or not she was looking, gave Vaera the striking feeling that Adrienne didn't like her much, for whatever reason. For nearly two hours, Vaera performed the meaningless, seemingly arbitrary task of re-alphabetizing the books in categories according to the school of magic they pertained to.
Vaera attempted to ignore her, choosing instead to focus on how absolutely disgusting she felt. A thin layer of dust had settled in her hair as well as on her face and neck, irritating the skin. Her eyes burned from attempting to wipe dust off of her eyelids, and her nose and mouth seemed constantly annoyed by stray particles, making her cough and sneeze. She blew an annoying strand of hair out of her face, once then again with no success, and finally tucked the strand in with the rest of her hair, which got rather mussed in the couple hours Adrain was away. Her clothes were covered in haze of grimy gray powder. She smelled like the inside of an old book.
"Once you're done there," Adrienne called from the other side of the loft, "I've got a couple small shelves in the basement I wanted to look through. I hope you don't mind the wet, it's been rather dank down there since it flooded a few months ago."
Vaera's lip curled in a rather unladylike sneer, as some rather unladylike things hissed out between her teeth. She felt that maybe, just maybe, she'd have the strength to grab hold of the bookcase and pull it down on top of the hag. Better yet, maybe she could catch her while she wasn't looking and knock her out with a well placed broom stick, then escape before any other mages or the guards took notice. Before she could follow through with any plan of violent action, however, Adrian stepped through the door. She'd never been so relieved to see him.
"Seems you've been having a grand time," Adrian remarked as he ascended the loft. Vaera brushed the front of her shirt, sending plumes of dust toward Adrian, who waved them away.
"Your den mother's been torturing me...with books," the mer growled, her face wound as tight as a drum. "I want to get out of here, Adrian. Right now."
The Breton nodded and placed his hands softly on her shoulders. "Sure," he answered quietly, unable to help chuckling a little, but somehow it wasn't a jovial noise. The laughter sounded strained. "Yeah, you look like you could use a drink. How about you go get cleaned up and we'll go somewhere? I'll even pay your tab." He seemed to be rushing her, as if something were about to happen and he didn't want to be around for it.
The mer blinked, shrugging a bit under his touch. "You're being awfully generous. Are you feeling well?"
"I'm sympathetic," he answered, playing her off. "I know how Adrienne can be. Besides, we need to talk, so go clean up. The sooner you do, the sooner we can leave.
Vaera asked no more questions and hurried off to find a basin, while Adrian informed his former mentor he'd be stealing her assistant for the rest of the evening. Adrienne playfully gave him leave, but as Vaera exited behind him, her face now wiped clean, she could feel the older woman's icy stare on the back of her neck.
The Two Sisters Lodge buzzed with life. Fat, balding men singing songs over their mugs of ale, young, rich men and women toasting over their glasses of wine, and in the loft, above the bustle of the lower floor sat Adrian and Vaera, whispering over an empty table, both far too wary to drink after the news Adrian brought.
"Why would someone hire a professional to kill you?" the mer wondered, furrowing her brows as she mulled it over. "You're not even in a position of power. Not yet, at least."
"I wish to the gods I knew, but your guess is as good as mine." He tapped his fingers softly on the table, looking down at the marred surface of the wood. He shivered as he thought of what the poison had done to Sinderion's table, and what it might have done to him. "I can only hope it was some sort of mistake. Maybe the Khajiit had the wrong person, but I can't imagine a so-called professional assassin making a mistake such as that." The Breton began to wring his hands on the table. Vaera watched for a moment, then stretched a slender arm out to quiet them.
"Relax." She placed her small hand over his own and looked him in the eyes. "No one's going to hurt you. Nothing is going to happen, so stop worrying. Who in their right mind would try to kill you in a place with so many witnesses?"
Adrian shrugged, then nodded, supposing Vaera might be right.
"So, since there's no reason to be afraid, how about a few drinks, hmm?" The mer's eyes twinkled with mischief, in a way Adrian loathed and adored at the same time. Tonight would cost him dearly.
He knew it to be rude, but he couldn't help but stare. Ralis could be passive about many things, a long career in the arena having given him plenty of experience dealing with odd, even insane characters, but something about the Bosmer sitting there, muttering to herself in such strained, brittle tones simply drew his eye. There she sat, wringing her hands for so long they'd turned an irritated pink, eyes darting around the room while she spoke to herself about subjects Ralis couldn't follow, though not for a lack of trying. She seemed to be switching from imaginary creatures she'd seen in the garden to the lack of birds in the city to Sheogorath knew what else.
The Dunmer forced himself to pry his eyes away from the demented mer and concentrate on his beer. He sipped the head off of the nut brown liquid and found himself thinking of Tarafel. She'd been quick to get to bed, asserting she wasn't interested in what their employers would have to say about a job someone else botched. She'd told him she would find an inn and get to sleep early, as she'd be headed to Bravil in the morning, likely before the sun came up.
She'd told him he could head off on his own and find another job if he so desired, but Ralis tended to muck things up on his own. Assassinations required patience, and Ralis tended to lose that particular quality rather quickly, turning what should have been a subtle, quiet kill into a mess of blood and screaming, fleeing women. More importantly, Tarafel knew the game. Who to talk to, when to talk, where to talk, and where to look when you needed money. She did the talking, he did the chopping, they both got paid, all was right with the world. He would wait, but he hoped her journey would be a short one. The Imperial City offered pleasures in all shapes, sizes, and races, but 'stabbing' women could only entertain him for so long. Then he'd have to sate another form of lust, the kind a man like him could only satisfy with steel and blood. Presently, he only hoped the associates he was supposed to speak with would show soon. He took another sip from his beer and looked idly around the room at the sleepy folk who ambled about in front of the bar.
"What a bunch of sheep," Ralis grumbled, watching the patrons graze about, their eyes sunken and bloodshot. Old men sat around him at tables, quietly passing stories about this and that, while a few young arena hopefuls sat at the bar, talking and laughing quite loudly. The whole place smelled mildly of sweat and cheap alcohol. Not that Ralis minded such things, but after day after day of walking, the only place he wanted to be was in a bed, preferably with a lady. In his present, disheveled state, that wouldn't be likely.
Minutes went by, and finally a pair of women walked in, an Imperial with dark hair tied in a bun and an Argonian with ruddy red scales. Ralis had seen these two once before, but Tarafel had done the talking that time. They recognized him and sat down at his table, rejecting the bartender's offer for drinks.
"Where is the Bosmer?" the Argonian looked around as if expecting to see her.
"Tarafel had important affairs to deal with elsewhere, so I'll be making the deals for now," Ralis replied, folding his large, dirty hands on the table. "I assume you know by now the Khajiit failed and Lenoit is still alive. You could have put us to much better use than mopping up," the Dunmer stated, lifting his eyebrows in an expression of smug dissatisfaction.
"We wanted as little outside interference as possible," the Imperial responded, "The fewer parties who know about this, the better."
"Either way, it doesn't matter. Our sources tell us Lenoit is still on the Gold Road, and we doubt he suspects anything is amiss," the Argonian picked up. She drew a scroll from beneath her gray robes and slid it over the table to Ralis. "Regardless, we're leaving him be for now to concentrate on...other objectives."
Ralis opened the scroll wordlessly and read. "How much?" he queried, looking up for a moment.
"Four hundred per head," the human answered, "But you must follow the directions to a tee, or you get nothing. If you do it right, it will pay over a thousand septims."
Ralis thought for a moment. Tarafel was bound to be gone for at least a few days. He could probably do this job in a day or so, and she'd never be the wiser. Besides, she'd given him permission to take another job, so what was the harm? He chuckled to himself, quite amused by how conveniently the gods had arranged everything.
"Consider it done."
Adrian's living area seemed to glow, immaculately clean. The two must have barely missed bumping into Hilde and the rest of the housekeepers, which made the Breton quite glad, as he'd been embarrassed to remember exactly how dingy his house had become. During the years after his parents' death, he'd not exactly been enthusiastic about changing the house around. Every time he'd put any effort into cleaning he became discouraged and gave up, memories consistently flowing through his mind as he attempted to tidy up.
The size of the house alone impressed Vaera. It was the second biggest in Skingrad, exceeded only by Rosethorn Hall. She walked around, marveling at the dark red wood of the furniture, the clean granite of the fireplace, and the collection of paintings along the walls. The mer's cheeks were a bit flushed. She'd gone easy on Adrian's pocket book, but still imbibed enough to get her nice and sociable. She'd taken to teasing him in her inebriation, and Adrian pretended to hate it when he actually adored it. Every day he became more enthralled with the Dunmer, and he found himself thinking of her more and more often. He wondered if she'd noticed the way he looked at her when she wasn't looking. But then, what would she want with him? She was beautiful, vivacious, outgoing. Meanwhile, he'd spent the last few years practically barricaded in his home, afraid to have anything resembling a social life. Nine forbid he actually face up to his problems like a man and try to press forward. Hiding was so much easier. Even when he had regularly gone out, the only women who ever spoke to him wanted to be close to his brother, Antony, and nothing more.
Vaera reached behind her head to slowly draw the tie out of her hair. She tossed the ebony locks as they fell about her neck, causing them to splash about her cheeks and eyes. Adrian felt his heart stop as he saw that beautiful mess of black hair, ruby red eyes glowing beneath it like hot embers.
"So, where do I sleep?" The mer inquired,running her fingers through her hair, clearing it away from her face.
Plenty of room in my bed. The Breton had to bite back his temptation to let those words fly out, and instead told her she could have the guest room down the hall. She thanked him, warned him not to stay up past his bedtime, and took her leave with a smirk and the briefest hint of a wink. Adrian nearly melted.
As the mer departed, he sighed and turned toward the fireplace. With a brief, silent incantation, he lit the blackened logs, then moved toward the cellar. He opened the door to the dark stairwell, flashing up a light spell as he descended the stairs. The cellar was somewhat cold and dank, a chill ran up Adrian's spine as he took a bottle of mead from the rack. He hadn't been able to stomach the idea of drinking at the inn, but now that he was home, where he knew his alcohol hadn't been tampered with, he couldn't think of anything he'd rather do than drink, if only to relax.
He brought the bottle back up the stairs and sat at the table with it. He lifted it briefly to the orange light of the fireplace, half expecting to see sediment floating in the liquid, but there was nothing. Nothing except golden mead. Adrian uncorked the bottle and put it to his lips, filling his mouth with swallows of the cool, sweet alcohol. He drank in silence, slowly, eyes becoming heavy as the past few days began to catch up with him. Before he knew it, the bottle was empty. The Breton stared into its open mouth, mind wandering. Everything seemed to be happening so fast. He'd gone from being a reclusive scholar, to being thrown into the lead of an incredible endeavor. He didn't know where to begin on rebuilding Kvatch, and if he had his way, he'd hand the project over to someone else. He knew Serrian wouldn't change his mind, the stubborn old goat.
Then, of course, there was Vaera. The very last thing he needed, and the only thing he truly wanted. He'd stumbled into her life, and she'd immediately complicated his. If Serrian hadn't sent him on this ridiculous pilgrimage, he'd never have met her and could have gone on by himself. But, he had and she did, and he was so glad.
The Breton stood up, leaving the bottle on the table.
One more before I sleep. He started toward the cellar door.
"If you're going to get another one of those," a soft voice came from behind him, "Maybe you could bring one for me."
Adrian turned to see Vaera, hair freshly brushed and pulled back behind her ears, a coy smile gracing her mouth, and dressed in his clothes no less. She'd put on a linen shirt Adrian hadn't worn since he was a teenager. It was a little small, even for someone with such a slender frame. She'd put on a pair of cotton breeches, which she'd cinched tightly around her waist.
"What are you doing up?" Adrian leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at her.
"I'm not really tired yet," she shrugged. "Are you going to get the drinks or not?"
The Breton moved down the stairs, stumbling once, and returned with two bottles. He set his on the table and handed the other to Vaera. She uncorked it and took a drink.
"What are you doing up?" she asked, standing to his side as he sat back down.
"Can't relax," he responded, not feeling up to the task of making excuses. "I can't stop thinking. Everything that's happened lately," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Nevermind, it's not important. It's nothing you need to worry about."
Adrian jumped slightly, his shoulders tensing as he felt her hand rest on the nape of his neck. He turned his eyes toward her, trying not to let her see the flush in his cheeks.
"Adrian," she began, sounding slightly apprehensive, "I know we haven't known each other long, but you don't have to be afraid to talk to me."
"I'm not afraid," he replied, relaxing under her touch. "I feel you shouldn't be worried about me. You have your own life to lead, you don't need to be weighed down with my problems as well."
The Dunmer rolled her eyes, then gave his arm a tug. "Come on, let's go sit wher it's warm," she insisted. Reluctantly, the Breton rose up and followed her. Vaera sat on a cushioned chair while Adrian settled onto the hardwood bench, both basking in the glow of the fire.
"Are you still worried about the poison you brought to Sinderion?" She understood his worry. It seemed unlikely anyone would go to such great length to kill him. He didn't seem the type to have such bitter enemies.
"I'm worried about a lot of things." His voice held an air of resigned annoyance. "They're my worries, though. They're not yours."
Vaera rolled her eyes, sighing softly through her nose. She spied a book on a nearby shelf, thin and with no title on the binding. "What's this?"
"What's what?" Adrian looked up in time to see the mer beginning to flip through one of the journal's he'd used when he was younger.
"Did you write this?" she laughed, rising up to walk away as the Breton rose.
"Give me that!" he demanded, moving closer as she tried to flee while reading.
The mer snapped her fingers and vanished, hidden by an invisibility spell, a soft giggle marking her disappearance.
"This isn't funny, Vaera," he growled, looking around the room for any sign of her.
"Oh, now this is good," she chuckled, appearing on the other side of the room, "I really like these poems you wrote about Tamika. 'So very sweet, like the reddest wine,'" the mer quoted, backing against the wall as Adrian closed in. She clutched the book to her chest, then held it out so he could grab it. He snatched it up, jaw clenched, and set it back on the shelf. "I take it you won't let me take that into my room?" she teased, following behind him as he walked away, "I sleep so much better after a good read."
The Breton grumbled and took another long drink from his bottle.
"Well, fine, if I can't read that, give me something I can read."
Much to her surprise, Adrian set his bottle down and walked over to the bookshelf. He pulled a book out of the row, causing the rest of the books to lean. "Here," he snapped, handing her the book.
Vaera took the book from him and looked at the cover. "One Hundred Midnights," she read, then looked at Adrian.
"It's a book my mother used to like. She read it more times than I can remember, so I assume it's good." He flopped back onto the bench and looked up at her expectantly. "Why don't you take it back to your room?"
Vaera set the book down in his lap and sat down. "Better yet, why don't you read it to me?" she lifted her eyebrows, smiling at him.
"What, you can't read by yourself?" he sighed, leaning his head back.
"It's been years since I've been read to," she stated matter-of-factly, "I'd like to hear a story, is all."
Adrian sighed, then shook his head. Vaera simply looked back at him, relaxing in the cushioned chair adjacent to his.
"Fine," the Breton grumbled at last, and picked up the book. He began to read, unenthusiastically at first, but with some motivation from Vaera, he began to read with more feeling. Every so often he'd look over at Vaera, making sure she was still paying attention. She'd simply smile, waving him on. He read on, flowery prose flowing from his mouth. He enjoyed it more than he cared to admit.
For several minutes he read, not bothering to look up at Vaera. When he finally did, her head had drifted to the side. She slept soundly, chest rising high and falling slowly with deep, easy breaths. Adrian set the book down, rising to take a blanket from next to the hearth. He shook it out softly, then gently covered the Dunmer. He looked down at her for a moment, observing her countenance, the soft flutter of her closed eyes, the way she parted her lips then closed them, as if speaking to someone. She was dreaming, perhaps continuing the story in her sleep.
Maybe, the Breton mused, maybe she's dreaming of me.
"Yeah," he grumbled, disapproving his own imaginings, "And maybe I'll be the next emporer."
He turned toward the stairs, shuffling up to his room. Despite the hour, and all the day's happenings, it took him too long to get to sleep.