A/N: This'll be the last update I do before I go on holiday so there will be another delay. By the way, if anyone's interested, I've done a load of demotivational posters on Oblivion (you know, the ones with the black background and a picture with a funny caption) and posted them on my DeviantArt account. The link's on my profile if anyone's interested in having a look.
Nice haul of reviews too. Keep 'em coming! They keep this story going.
maskedpainter: If you love clues, you're going to like this chapter and LOVE Chapter 12. I plan to reveal even more there.
Lily Ariel Black: I was wondering whether Phintias was the best viewpoint to do it from. I thought about Gwinas himself and even Ocato (it made sense in my mind) but I settled with Phintias and it worked out.
Zaleone: A long review never hurt anyone. Keep 'em coming! I was worrying that I was going a bit too fast but I can see it's okay.
Iyrsilea: (Nice name) Thanks very much!
BloodAndDiamonds: Thanks. And, you do a great story too. I can see some similarities between Lauraine and Lenore but you do it in a completely different way, which is good.
Miss Lieress: I was just wondering where you'd got to! Baurus does seem to be pretty popular, doesn't he?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Broken Daggers
Chapter 11: The Wayward Knight
Farwil sat restlessly on the rock, trying not to breathe in through his nose. The smell of blood and decay was everywhere, seemingly to come out the earth itself. The lava behind him made him sweat in his battered steel armour. He wouldn't have been in the least bit surprised if it started melting off his body. The only sound was the rumble of thunder in the everlasting thunderstorm above and the shuffling feet of dremora somewhere in the distance.
Though he would never show it, he was dreading the time when the gate to the bridge behind him opened. There were no doubt dozens upon dozens of the beasts behind it and how many did he have? Just two, including himself. Jhared, who had been jeered at and called a coward for not accompanying them, had been right after all. This had been a total shambles and they didn't dare turn back. The daedra were probably regrouping and he couldn't face the world after failing his mission.
Bremman was still panting between uttering healing spells on himself. He had used up nearly all his magicka to heal Farwil and was having trouble with himself. Bremman had stuck with Farwil all the while, defending him at great cost to himself. Even he, who was a trained Fighter's Guild member, buckled under the hoards. Though the air shimmered with the heat, he felt suddenly cold with fear.
What he really wanted here now was Lenore. She felt no fear and was better than both of them put together. Her low voice never faltered and never failed to calm him. Even without inch-thick armour, she could crush the strongest enemy they came across. He had seen her at it when she suggested venturing into caves and ruins to test new moves. New moves he developed, not her. He had thought he was getting stronger but, now he was in the middle of Oblivion, he realised he couldn't be more wrong.
He hadn't seen her since that late-night meeting two weeks ago and had not heard from her since. He wondered if she knew anything about the Oblivion gates opening up everywhere. She would probably want to help close them, he was sure of that. The hordes of Oblivion held no fear over her. She, the most fearless person Farwil knew, would surely charge head on the daedra. He was soon amusing himself with images of her charging into the gate, cutting down everything in her path with ease -
Suddenly, a grinding noise made him leap to his feet. Bremman too whirled around, raising his sword with a trembling, bleeding arm. The door in the hillside was slowly creeping open, making Farwil's heart race with fear. He drew his sword, the metal jittering against the scabbard but he tried desperately to compose himself. He called to mind the advice Lenore had given him, It's alright to be a little scared but do not succumb to full panic. Do not be too calm either. The right balance of both can lead to success.
However, reining in his fear was easier said than done. He didn't have her gift of showing no emotion and it was hard to achieve no matter how hard he tried. All the while, the door pushed itself steadily open. A humanoid figure emerged and Farwil, assuming it was a dremora, charged. Clasping his sword in both hands for greater momentum, he swung it at the intruder...and it met with a familiar elven claymore,
"Is this your way of saying hello, Sir Knight?"
"Lenore!" He could have hugged her, he was so glad to see her. Just the very person they needed appearing just at the right time. He recognised her at once by the swords but her clothes were so different. She was in full armour, elven like on that night they had last met, but a Kvatch cuirass was upon her body now. The hood was blood-red, which he knew he had seen before but could not put his finger on it.
She followed him to where they had been sitting a few moments before. Bremman was putting away his mace, looking relieved to see it wasn't a daedra. Once there, she leaned against the cliff and surveyed the both of them. This time, Farwil could see her doing it. For the hood was a little further back from her face than her usual one and he could see her eyes clearly for the first time. The last time he had, they had been shadowed by the mask she wore at the ball. Now, he could see them completely unshadowed.
They were bright ruby, the standard colour of a Dunmer. The eyelids were naturally shadowed, though, making them stand out even more. And, was it the light or was one a little bloodshot? They still held their penetrating power, though, and Farwil was sweating again, "I was told by a guard that you went in with seven but you two are the only survivors. Correct?"
"Yes." Farwil felt a bit uneasy, though he injected some gusto into his voice to try and motivate himself, "I set out with the rest of the Knights to dispatch this blemish on the face of our fine world. When we arrived, we were overwhelmed. I myself was able to kill two score of them, but they just kept coming. Only Bremman and I remain alive. With you here now, we can take the Sigil Stone from that citadel and complete our quest for the good of Cheydinhal! Huzzah!"
"What did I say about the 'huzzah's?" It was clear she wasn't convinced by his false energy. Not that he had expected her to be,
"Oh...yes...sorry..."
The familiar soulless smile graced her face, not extending to her eyes, "I assume that attempting to persuade you to leave this place will come to nothing?"
"Of course!" Inside, he was saying otherwise but, with her here now, he was sure everything would be alright, "A Knight of the Thorn never returns home until his mission is done. It's our way."
"I thought so." She reached back and drew her other sword. Farwil had only seen her use both her swords twice and it always astonished her how she could hold each of them up so easily. It was only then that he noticed her arms. The straining chainmail on her cuirass showed how thick and hard-muscled they were. He was amazed that he had not noticed before; he'd never expect that she had those arms. Then again, she had always been covering them with robe-sleeves so he supposed it wasn't a surprise, "Well then, that gate won't close itself. Onward and upward, come along."
"H-Hold on a minute!" Bremman spluttered, "Do you seriously plan to just charge in there without any planning?"
Lenore turned her gaze on him, making him falter under her gaze. Then, her face changed. Her mouth stretched into a wide smile and a manic gleam appeared in her eye, "As a matter of fact, yes, I do. It worked last time." She spread out her arms and lowered herself slightly, pointing the swords right at the dark doors before them. Her position looked like a sprinter waiting for the flare to start the race.
Just as she did, there was a mechanic grinding noise and the enormous black doors before them began to open. Farwil reached for his sword but Lenore turned her manic grin on him, "Don't worry, Farwil. I can handle this." And she sprang forward. Farwil's blood ran cold as he saw at least thirty dremora and even more daedra advancing their way. He cried out to stop her but too late. She met them head on...and Farwil's mouth fell open.
She never needed to strike twice. The claymores always found their mark and the daedra were dropping like dead flies all along the bridge. Her swords were just blurs as she whirled and danced along the bridge. That was the only way to describe it: dancing. Dremora and daedra fell before it and she was at the door of the gigantic black tower in a trice. It had all happened so quickly that Bremman and Farwil just stood for a moment, amazed,
"Well, come on, then!" She called, her voice now more alive than ever, "Let's not wait for the bloodgrass to grow!"
"Was-did she just-?" Bremman could barely piece together what he wanted to say. Not even the Fighter's Guild Champions were capable of doing that, Farwil guessed. They went forward in a shocked sort of haze, tripping over split bodies as they went. The manic fire was still in her eyes and her claymores were stained with blood, "You-you like doing this, don't you?" Bremman found his voice at last,
"Oh, yes."
With that, she shoved open the heavy door and stepped into the dark room beyond. A column of fire met their eyes at once, right in the centre of the room, extending well past their field of vision. The rest of the room was blackness, the fire column spreading surprisingly little light. Lenore scanned the room quickly and beckoned them forward.
They strode quickly and as quietly as they could. They had just reached the door when -
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
`Doors banged open on all sides and at least a hundred of the beasts swarmed in. Farwil shouted a curse and threw himself into the fighting. He felled one dremora and then another, all the while staring around for Lenore and Bremman. His heart grew cold when he realised that could not see them for the mass of daedra. The moment's distraction cost him dear. His sword became locked with a helmeted dremora and he was slowly being forced to the ground, buckling under the dremora's strength,
"Burst, bloodsack." A snarling, gutteral voice came from within the helmet as Farwil was forced to his knees. Then, all of a sudden, the dremora fell to the side, dead. What astonished Farwil further was the sight of an elven claymore sticking out of its neck. Looking around, he briefly saw Lenore before she was swamped by more of them, her hand outstretched like she had just thrown something.
It took him a few seconds to realise what had just happened. She had thrown away her dominant weapon to save him. Panic seized him. She wouldn't be able to fight as well without them and the pour of daedra seemed endless. He tried to reach for the claymore but a daedroth appeared out of nowhere. He managed to gouge at his eye but it knocked him sideways, gouging deep holes in his armour. Pain rushed through him, blurring his vision and making him feel faint. Stars winked before his eyes as his head hit the hard wall, No! A voice in his head cried, Can't give up now...need to find...Lenore...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Farwil!
Farwil!"
His
head was swimming. A faint cooling sensation tickled his chest, like
someone running water over the sore parts, "Ugh..." was all
he could manage out. He was vaguely aware of a throbbing at the back
of his head and he instinctively moved a hand up to feel the damage,
"Farwil! Are you okay?"
"Brem...man...issat you...?" His vision was sharpening now. The pale face of Bremman finally emerged in the gloom before him. As his head and eyes cleared, he realised that he was sitting up against the wall of the chamber. The fire column loomed up behind Bremman, casting him half in shadow. As he sat up a bit straighter, he noticed something else shadowed against the fire. At first, he thought it was a cross. Then, he realised it was a sword standing upright in the floor. No, from out of a dead daedroth. A dead daedroth with a gouged eye, "Lenore!" He gasped, shooting up at once and receiving a sharp pang to the head as punishment.
He could still stand though and he could see that it was indeed her other claymore. The ebony one. A little way off stood the elven one. Both stuck from their targets in the mass of daedra bodies. He had once been told that, in long-won battles, soldiers' swords were the tombstones, struck into the ground on the place where they had fallen. Indeed, that was what it looked like. As he thought this, his insides turned to ice, "Where is she?" He asked, staring at the swords. No answer. The silence lengthened but Farwil's patience did not. Drawing his sword, he pointed it at Bremman, "WHERE IS SHE?"
Bremman's uneasy expression was all he needed. As well as the glance into a doorway cut roughly into the wall. He hurried to it, glaring around desperately in the gloom. He seemed to be in a small antichamber running around the fire column room, where the dremora must have been waiting to ambush them. Something splashed at his feet. Looking down, he saw with a lurch of his stomach that he had stepped into a pool of fresh blood. A light appeared and Bremman was at his elbow, holding a broken piece of wood that held a flame at the top. Its light cast about the place and onto a limp figure. It was only when all movement stopped did he hear her panting.
Lenore was slumped in an upright position against the wall. Her hood was still intact. The only thing that was still intact. The rest of her armour was gouged, torn and cracked. That was nothing compared to her body, though. There was not an inch of her that was not covered in blood. Deep gashes sliced through her and the only part of her that was moving was her heaving chest,
"She threw away both her claymores to save you." Bremman was now checking her pulse, "Ah, still alive. Then, she fought with her dagger and her bare hands. I've never seen anything like it. She fought those things like she was possessed. I saw her break a dremora's neck with her bare hands just before they retreated. Then, just as they went off, she went here and asked if you were okay."
"She...she asked about me...?" Farwil snapped out his horrified stupor at these words. Bremman was now uttering more healing spells, trying to coax the terrible wounds to close,
"Yeah. She told me to make sure you were alright first and to just leave her until you were. I didn't want to but she insisted."
Farwil had no power to speak. He watched Bremman work on her for a while and then, unable to look at her terrible state, whisked round, muttering, "Going to keep watch." Once out of sight, he backed against the wall and slid down it, his head in his hands. Suddenly, he felt ten times more frightened of being here. Of course, it had been stupid to come here. What did he know about fighting off hordes of daedra? What a fool he'd been! If only he had listened to his father, if only he had listened to the guard...if only he'd listened to her.
Lenore had fallen to protect him, something he ought to have done for her. It was his fault. That had fixed in his mind; her injured state was all his fault. If only he had been a bit stronger, a bit more careful, she wouldn't have been hurt and she wouldn't be on the brink of death right now. She had paid for his mistake and, without her...
Panic was fully gripping him now. Bremman had said that they had retreated only. What if they knew Lenore was injured and were just waiting to ambush them again? He glanced around the place through his fingers for any signs of movement, though he could not have fought them, being so frozen in fear. He wanted to go back into the antichamber and hide but he had no power to move.
His heart pounded in his chest, his insides felt cold and the blow to his head acted up again. The pain in his skull increased until he felt that someone had cleaved his head open. He felt very sick and he wanted nothing more than to be back home. How long had he lingered in this place? How long had it been since he had seen the beautiful County Cheydinhal?
He barely felt himself rise to his feet. Everything seemed far away and dim. His legs felt like lead and yet he willed them to shuffle forward. He could not move beyond a stumbling walk under the weight of the pain and his despair. Never had he felt so small and pathetic as he did then. Even his legs gave up after a while and he slumped against something thin and upright.
Panting, he pushed down the bile in his throat and closed his eyes to try and stop the world spinning. At last, the pain lessened and he could open his eyes. Clutching his head, he looked up at the support. Her elven claymore, standing out of that dremora's neck. Despite being so frightning before, he now drew comfort from the sight. This sword was hers and never broke no matter what was thrown at it.
It was strange. He had never thought much of elven stuff, calling it 'flashy and flimsy'. This sword was nothing of the sort. It was deadly, swift and true. Now that he'd pulled himself together, Farwil could stand up again without wobbling. He could almost hear her voice saying, "That's it. Stand up. It's alright to be frightened but don't let it overcome you."
Thinking that she would not want her swords to stay embedded in daedra flesh, he yanked out the sword. It was light in his hands and, as he held it in both hands, he felt a surge of new courage. Of course, she was going to be alright. He was just being silly. She'd probably been through a lot worse than this. He almost laughed at his own moment of weakness and he was sincerely glad no one had seen him.
He propped the sword against the wall close to the doorway and picked up the ebony one. This one was another story. It was a lot heavier, so heavy that he could barely lift it. He just had to drag it across the floor, making her respect her strength all the more. It was still very sharp for, as he looked down, he saw it gouging a thin path in the floor as it was dragged along. He propped it next to the elven one.
Now that he could get a closer look, he noticed something. Letters carved on the hilts of each sword. Due to the half-light, he had to trace them with his finger to find their meaning. On the elven one was the word Lucien and the ebony one had Vicente. He had never heard those names before but they both sounded Breton. Or Imperial. He searched his mind for any mention of those two names Lenore had made in any conversation but nothing came. In fact, he realised that he had never asked her about these swords or why she was so desperate to wield two.
It was such a big gap in his knowledge of her that was glaring him in the face. Then again, she probably wouldn't tell him if she asked him. He touched the hilt of the elven claymore again and, in doing so, felt something. The top of the hilt was seperated ever so slightly from the pole. On closer inspection, he found it to be on a screw. He had heard of Ayleids using the hilts of their swords as secret hiding places for top secret messages but never thought that elven things could still be used like this.
Curiousity overtook him and he unscrewed the top eagerly. Poking two fingers in, he found something. He managed to dislodge it and bring it out. A scroll of parchment done up with dark satin ribbon came out. Just as he was about to open it, he heard movement from within. Acting purely on instinct, he stuffed the scroll in his armour and hastily screwed on the sword top.
He took his hands off the sword just in time. Lenore appeared in the doorway with Bremman close at her elbow. Her armour was still ripped and bloodsoaked but she could stand strong before him as though nothing had happened, "Lenore!" He gasped, the desire to hug her coming upon him again, "You're alright!" At once, everything was alright. The daedra were nothing and Lenore lived.
She gave him a brief nod, the ends of her mouth twitching up in her usual soulless smile. Seeing her weapons, she picked them up at once, "Come." She gestured towards the door, "The sooner that gate is closed, the better."
This time, Farwil kept close to the back and attacked straggling scamps and clannfears. Lenore dealt with the larger and numourous opponants with ease as she always did. Farwil felt that they would make it for sure with her leading them. When they reached the top of the tower, where a red dome cast a blood-red light upon them, they stopped for a little rest. Lenore stayed close to the place they had come out of in case of daedra following them and Bremman nudged Farwil's elbow,
"I'm amazed she's keeping on like this." He said, in a low whisper, "Her wounds aren't fully healed."
"Aren't they?" Farwil glanced around, puzzled. She looked perfectly fine to him and that blood had to be just stains from her close call,
"No. She came to just as I was half-done and insisted we move on. She can't go on like this for much longer and I'll bet those wounds have reopened by now. It's incredible that she's not showing any pain. She must be in agony."
It was perhaps lucky that they were nearly there. Now that he looked, he noticed her slow down a little as she battered a gang of daedroth. He dealt the killing blow on the last one for her just to try and help but she did not acknowledge it, "Are you - are you feeling okay, Lenore?" He asked, after they had ascended to a large red platform where something dark spun at the top of the fire column. A single nod in reply, "It's just..." He itched the back of his neck, feeling the lump where he had struck his head, "...Bremman said you were still hurt and..."
"I'll be fine. Do not concern yourself with me." She reassured him. With that, she unflinchingly stuck her hand in the flames and pulled out the black Sigil stone. A whirl of confusion ensued. The whole place shook, chains from the ceiling came loose and a blinding white light filled the room.
Then, a hissing noise filled his ears, as well as strange little pressure on his arms that he had thrown up to protect his eyes. Seperating them, he saw a plane of grass and the dark shape of the Cheydinhal walls before him. He felt like his was inflating with delight and relief. He was home. The gate was gone. The nightmare was over,
"We made it..." He breathed,
"Yeah." Bremman nodded, "Just about."
Lenore stood before them, the Sigil Stone in her hand, panting. Farwil hurried to her side, "Do you need some help. The castle healer..."
"No, my sister will-" She cut off, as though remembering something, "Actually, I think I'll take you up on that offer."
"Why?" A little panic entered into him again, "Are your wounds worse?"
"No. My sister'll go berserk if she sees me like this." She turned to him with an awkward little grin on her face, "And I'd rather have another go at the daedra than put up with her having a go at me."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ulene and her helpers dealt with Bremman and Farwil pretty quickly and discharged them before turning their attention to Lenore. Farwil wanted to stay outside and wait for her but was thwarted by his father, hot and breathless, having just heard the news that Farwil was safe, "Oh, thank the Nine! Thank the Nine!" He cried, throwing his arms around him and holding him so close that Farwil felt like he was in danger of being strangled,
"Father, I'm okay." He insisted, "Get off."
But Andel Indarys was almost delirious with happiness and would listen to none of his son's protests. He commanded him and Bremman to come into his quarters to give a complete account of what had happened. Farwil was sincerely glad Bremman had stayed with him to share the burden of giving the whole tale to his father. He was also glad when there was a knock on the door when Farwil had just finished telling him about the last horde of daedroth and Ulene appeared,
"Is Lenore alright?" He asked, at once, standing up,
"Yes, yes, she's fine." Ulene nodded, smiling brightly, "A rather close shave but she's fine. Your friend is a very good healer, Lord Farwil."
Bremman flushed a little at the compliment and the Count rose, "Come. Show us to her. I want to be able to reward her properly for her efforts."
So, the four of them set off for the library, where Ulene had left her. On the way, she told the Count things about her that made Farwil's ears prick up, "...let her borrow one of my dresses since her armour desperately needs mending. While I was healing her, I found out that she wears a wig under that hood all the time. Though I can't see why. Her hair's such a pretty colour. A pity that her body isn't so pretty. She has the most horrible scars."
"Tell on." The Count listened intently, as serious as though hearing about his own child having horrible scars,
"I've counted about seven all over her. All very old. About twenty years old, I'd say. The worst is one on her stomach. I don't think it healed properly, it looked terrible. Like someone had shoved a mace right into her stomach. And, that one on her shoulder! It was like she was stabbed right through! The one I really hate is one right across her face. I think it might have done damage to her eye. And she wouldn't let me do anything about them. She said she wanted to keep them. Said they 'had become a part of her'. She even hid the one on her face with concealer instead of healing it."
They reached the library at last and Farwil immediately picked out a Dunmer woman sitting at a table, reading a thick, leather-bound book. Whatever Farwil had expected her appearance to be, it wasn't this. Her hair was not the long straight black that he supposed had been the wig Ulene mentioned. Instead, it was a bright orange, exactly the same colour as the tiger lily in the vase on the table where she sat. It hung loosely on her shoulders, making the red of her dress look rather dull and dingy.
The scar Ulene had mentioned was there, starting halfway down her forehead and ending on her cheek at a place level with her nose. That explained why one eye looked bloodshot. Her dress had puffed sleeves in an attempt to hide the muscle but was rather tight around the waist. When she stood, he saw that the arms really did not fit on her body. She had the rather stretched look of an overgrown child, emphasised by her shadowed eyes. Her body was thin and frail-looking; that robe she always wore must have swamped her.
Ulene held Lenore at arm's length, as though judging a newly painted portrait, "You're far too thin, dear. You need feeding up."
"I think I can help with that." The Count chipped in, "I plan to have a magnificent banquet to celebrate the closing of that accursed gate tonight and you will be invited, of course."
"In fact," Ulene straightened up a little to give herself more authority, "it's not just an invite. It's healer's orders."
"I thank you." It was Lenore's voice that came from the dark mouth, alright. Low and polite, "I hope I am not intruding too much upon your hospitality, Count Indarys."
"Not at all! Not at all!" The Count waved a hand, genially, "It is an honour and a pleasure to have the Hero of Kvatch in my home. Might I also add that I cannot think of anyone more suited to the job of closing these gates than you."
Farwil was at first confused by the title but then he remembered the rumours of the Hero of Kvatch. Wearing a Kvatch cuirass, a red hood and wielding two claymores. He really should have known it was her when he heard of the two claymores,
"Now then," His father straightened up importantly, "if you would please you to come with me, I can reward you properly for saving my son."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: Now, I'm off to Greece! And I'm expecting loads of reviews by the time I get back!
