A/N: Well, this chapter could be regarded as late, but there's a good reason for that: Strenuous coursework, coupled with pointless mock exams, left me with little time for writing. Still, now that that's cleared up, I should be able to update quicker now. Chapter 25 had 14 reviews, making it my most reviewed chapter thus far. That's good. VERY good. A massive thanks to all who reviewed, but remember it's important to keep those reviews coming. They're all appreciated.
Cola: Yes, levitation SHOULD have been in Oblivion. The cities having different cells made it impossible, of course, but there should at least have been some way to implement it. And teleportation SHOULD have stayed for certain.
Random Reader: I've never played through the Thieves' Guild quests, so I've naturally never met Fathis Aren on that quest, but I figured I might as well make something of his character, which has potential. And, yes, I was considering skipping whatever sex scenes may happen; I know that I'd make a considerable hash of them even if I did try to write them, and the lack of them is no big loss.
Anon: Well, I guessed that it would have been pretty obvious, given that she has no magical aptitude, but, yes, I AM a big fan of tie-ins.
Underpaid Critic: Hmm, well, reviews offering nothing but encouragement are still helpful. The thing is, I'm not expecting someone who's never played Oblivion to read this, so modifying it in such a way might seem a bit redundant. Still, it is a good idea.
Jack Jones: I hope this is soon enough for you: I always do tend to have problems with timing... it should hopefully be better in future, though.
Scytherian Poetry : Arg. How can I have played this game and not realise that typo? Ah, well, thanks for pointing it out. As for Gorgoth shouting, there's a number of reasons for that: Firstly, there was no-one around to witness it; secondly, his complete lack of magicka at the moment meant that anything required brute force, and, thirdly, that was Chapter 3. I've re-read it recently, and Gorgoth then is different from the Gorgoth I have now; more free with his emotions. A potential rewrite in future would solve that. Good point about the surname, but this is the Blades; small and elite, the Knight Brothers/Sisters at least are likely to have taken to using first names due to their close-knit nature. The Captains are referred to by rank and second name, so at least I got that right. As for that error... I personally don't see anything wrong with that.
One last thing: Brothers in Arms, by Arty Thrip, is a bloody good fic. It and its author are good enough to be on my favourites list, at least. And it's not getting anything like the number of reviews it deserves. If you appreciate good fanfics, check it out. And leave a review.
Right, with that long A/N out of the way, here's your chapter. Don't forget to review.
Chapter Twenty-six: Memories of Darkness
After hours on the road, riding at an easy pace, Glenroy finally ordered a halt, just before they reached the turn-off point for the Gold Road. Only half of the sun was visible over the trees to the west. To the east, glimmers of its brilliance were still shimmering across the placid waters of Lake Rumare. A handful of clouds drifted across the horizon, the wind almost imperceptible to the two travellers. The rocks and rolling dunes of the beaches looked welcoming, despite the obvious activity of mudcrabs.
"No point in turning up at Cloud Ruler Temple with dead horses," observed Glenroy as he slid off the saddle of his remount and started leading both his horses down to the edge of the beach. Selene slowly emulated him. They hadn't stayed long outside Bravil; after receiving the heartfelt thanks of the Guard, Glenroy had been eager to return to Cloud Ruler Temple.
"There's barely any wind," continued Glenroy. "And I always have liked sleeping on beaches. My father used to take me camping on the Gold Coast when I was a boy." A wistful look appeared on the Imperial's face for a moment before he banished it. "Did you ever sleep on the beach?" he asked.
Selene, wearily tying the reins of her horses around a nearby rock, shook her head. "The beach on Whiterock had little sand," she explained, slowly walking over to the water's edge. Glenroy carefully placed his helmet atop a rock and joined her. "Then again, every night I fell asleep to the sounds of the waves on the rocks," she sighed, staring out across the waters, the light on the western horizon behind them slowly dying. "It was therapeutic. It's probably why it was so attractive for those wanting to think and forget."
Glenroy grunted, not speaking for a minute, merely watching the last rays of the sun reflect off the surface of the lake, before they finally disappeared. "Well, I'm not about to sleep in my armour tonight," he announced, moving back to the large rock where he'd left his helmet and starting to remove his plate armour. "I'll be washing before rest, though. You should, too; you need it more than I do."
Selene gave him an inquisitive glance. Glenroy snorted and gestured towards her body. "I know how good that armour is, Selene, but, to be honest, I'd rather not walk around Oblivion half-naked."
Looking down at herself, the half-elf groaned as she noticed the thick dirt and grime, not to mention blood, that had accumulated over her golden-tinted skin in Oblivion. "You know, I think you're right," she muttered, starting to strip off the plate armour that covered her limbs. "Keep an eye out for mudcrabs."
Glenroy snorted, placing his pauldrons carefully down on the rock alongside his helmet and gauntlets. "Selene, you've just torn through a plane of Oblivion. I doubt a mudcrab will give you any trouble. You could just blast it out of the way." He snarled in frustration as he contorted his body in an attempt to undo a hard-to-reach strap. His body, worn and stiff from the constant fighting and riding, was growing lethargic.
Selene, due to the nature of her armour, was having no such difficulty, having laid her gauntlets and pauldrons on a similar rock, which she was sitting on, slowly removing her boots. "That wouldn't stop them if they sneaked up on me or hid in the sand," she muttered, smirking at the topic of conversation. "Then again, it does seem a bit trivial. Do you need help?"
Glenroy sighed and straightened. "Would you?" he asked, scratching his nose in embarrassment. Selene gave him a wry smile and nodded, walking over and reaching under his cuirass, following his directions to locate the offending strap. With that loosened, she proceeded to ignore his protests and remove the rest of his armour for him, leaving most of it leaning against the rock.
"You're still too tense," she told him dryly, poking him in the back. "Hopefully, some good rest will ease your muscles, but expect aches."
"I always did," retorted Glenroy, slowly pulling his sweat-stained shirt over his head. "If a soldier's muscles aren't aching after a long battle, then he hasn't done his job properly." He rolled his shoulders in a futile attempt to dispel some of the tightness. "Maybe the water will limber things up a bit."
"It might help," agreed Selene, turning back to walk over to her own rock, already fiddling with the straps on her greaves.
"Is your armour padded?" asked Glenroy abruptly. The half-elf's gold-tinted skin was cleaner where her armour had previously rested, but there were no weals or other marks to indicate the chafing of metal against bare skin.
"The plates have a thin lining of cloth, yes," replied Selene, turning back towards him. "And the chainmail..." She loosened the clips that held her light chainmail cuirass around her shoulders, and removed it, holding out for his inspection. Wrenching his eyes away from her full breasts, which appeared to be trying to escape from her bra, Glenroy refocused on the inner lining of her chainmail, which had fine stands of cloth woven into it, completely removing any contact between skin and steel.
"An impressive design," praised Glenroy, waving her away and walking down to the water's edge. A few mudcrabs scuttled away as the Imperial approached. The air was slowly cooling as the night moved over the land, swallowing the heat of the day, but Glenroy wasn't about to sleep when covered in the grime and filth of battle. He removed his trousers and loincloth and walked naked into the waters of Lake Rumare.
The freezing water forced his skin to pimple as it lapped at first his knees, then his waist, then his torso, but the Blade ignored it and plunged his head under the surface, running his hands over his face, removing layers of accumulated dirt. His helmet had protected a large part of his face, but it and the rest of his armour would need cleaning for sure back at Cloud Ruler Temple. Breaking the surface and gulping in air, Glenroy ran his hands through his hair and shivered as the chill of late autumn sliced through his fine body hair and sent cold lancing through his blood. Large parts of his lower body were slowly numbing.
Hearing a small splash to his right, he turned and frowned as he saw ripples in the water caused by... nothing. The Imperial's eyebrows rose slightly, then skyrocketed as he recognised the light-bending effects of a chameleon spell. "Selene..." he muttered, searching for the words which seemed to elude him. "You are aware that both men and women share a communal barracks at Cloud Ruler Temple, correct?"
The concealed half-elf sighed. "Yes, Glenroy, I am aware of that. I also assumed that you were aware of that fact that I am not a soldier." The ripples faded from the Imperial's vision as Selene submerged. Glenroy shook his head and walked back to the shore, starting to shiver as soon as his chest was clear of the water. His foot slid on something smooth and slippery and he fell forward, cursing, barely catching himself in time. Glaring back at what had tripped him, the Imperial's breath caught in his throat as he recognised the distinctive silver scales of a Rumare Slaughterfish. Fortunately, the creature was dead. Glenroy hauled himself back to his feet and continued back to the shore.
Smiling at the feeling of wet sand parting under his feet, Glenroy slid down against the side of a rock. He'd need Selene to emerge and start a fire soon, or the sheer cold would take it's toll, but for now he was content to lie back against the rock and watch as Masser and Secunda slowly spread their brilliant light over the lake. Patches of disturbed water marked where Selene was vigourously cleansing her body, probably using smooth stones from the bottom of the lake for the purpose.
Boots crunching on the sand caught his ears, and he was on his feet in a heartbeat, facing a Nord and an Imperial who were cursing their inability to sneak up on him. Both wore leather armour and both had naked blades in their hands, and both were obviously unwashed, uncultured bandits who probably didn't even bother with asking before resorting to violence. Upon seeing that Glenroy was naked and unarmed, the pale Imperial grinned, exposing numerous gaps in his crooked teeth, and nudged his companion, whose shaggy, dirty blonde beard covered most of his face.
"Have yer ever seen a more pathetic sight in yer life, Bjad?" he croaked, voice harsh and grating. Bjad simply ignored him companion and took a step forward. "Yer gonna regret taking a swim on our beach, boy," snarled the Imperial moving into a crouch and moving forward swiftly.
"How quaint," sighed Glenroy. "Beach bandits." The Imperial snarled and leapt at Glenroy, shortsword flashing in the moonlight. Planting his feet, the Blade met him head on, forcing his sword arm aside and slamming his forehead into the bandit's nose. Howling and staggering backwards, clutching his bloodied face, the wretch was shoved aside by his Nordic comrade, broadsword raised. Glenroy leaned backwards and swept his legs from under him. The Nord fell heavily, and had barely started to struggle to his feet when Glenroy slammed his heel into the back of the neck, sending him once again to the sands, and this time he did not rise.
Turning to face the Imperial bandit, Glenroy only had a second to observe the look of utter shock on the man's face before a fireball, thrown from behind Glenroy, vapourised his chest, throwing the various smouldering body parts in all directions. "Good shot," complimented the Blade, turning. Selene was standing, fully visible and fully naked, just a few feet behind him, right hand still outstretched, water dripping from her body.
"There are beach bandits in this country?" she asked, incredulous, eyes wide.
"More likely they were just camping off the road and noticed us." Glenroy folded his arms. "Your spell's worn off," he noted.
Selene looked down at herself and blushed furiously. Glenroy simply smirked and walked past her to his clothing. The bandits had made him forget the cold, but now it struck again with a vengeance, forcing him to clench his teeth to stop them from chattering. "If you could make a fire, I'd be grateful," he told the half-elf.
"I can do better," she muttered. Glenroy wrinkled his brow, and was about to turn when an odd, warming sensation fell over his entire body. His wet skin was dry within seconds, each individual hair on his body containing no trace of the water that had been clinging to his skin. Cold air continued to prick his skin, but Glenroy was no longer shivering. Turning, he gaped at Selene, who had just applied the same treatment to herself. "You invent quite a few useful spells when stranded on an island," she explained, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Now, please, get your clothes back on." Apparently she was still embarrassed, made evident by the fact that within seconds she had covered herself with a cloak of invisibility. Shaking his head, Glenroy grinned and walked over to his clothes. He'd sleep well tonight.
It was two hours past sunrise in Skingrad when Ilend, freshly promoted to Swordsman following the completion of last night's contract, rose from the table and stretched, limbs creaking. The remnants of the two apples he'd eaten for breakfast, along with a hunk of bread, were slowly leaking juice into the dark wood of the table, which bore numerous stains in places where Guildsmen had done the same thing in the past. Walking slowly to the window, Ilend was peering out, arms folded, at the sunlight streaming down onto the street outside when Fadus walked in and offered a cursory greeting.
"Want to hear a joke, Fadus?" asked Ilend, an impish grin creeping over his features.
"Go ahead," grunted the Imperial, taking a seat and swinging his booted feet up to rest on the mistreated table.
"What do you get when you combine an extremely drunk Bosmer, a Dunmeri necrophiliac, and a graveyard in the early hours of the morning?"
Fadus's face went blank. "No idea. What?"
Ilend started laughing and turned, putting his back to the window. "One of the funniest nights of my life so far."
Raising an eyebrow, Fadus leaned forward, putting his feet down, intrigued. "Which one did you screw?" he asked. He always did tend to get to the point quickly.
Snorting, Ilend swept his arm at the Swordsman in a dismissive gesture. "None," he growled. "I said 'funniest', not 'best'. If Aerin remembers anything about it, though, I'd recommend not letting her anywhere near All Things Alchemical. Not for a while, at least."
"What was that?" asked Aerin, staggering in, bleary-eyed and clearly under the influence of a severe hangover. Bosmer and strong, cheap whisky clearly did not mix well. How she had managed to get into her armour was beyond Ilend.
"Nothing you need to worry about," soothed Ilend, pulling back a seat and flopping down. Aerin swayed for a moment, then deposited herself in a seat across from him, next to Fadus. Her normally pale face had a grey tinge to it.
"Ya know... I ain' t feeling all that," she moaned, pressing both hands to her forehead. Ilend grunted, pursing his lips, humourous expression fading, replaced by one of mild concern. Fadus had no such inhibitions, sniggering at the Wood Elf's misfortune and grabbing a bunch of grapes from the fruit bowl. Ilend recognised it as the bunch he'd 'borrowed' from Tamika's vineyard last night, as an unofficial bonus for a job well done. Another, more pained groan from Aerin snapped his eyes back to her, and he rose swiftly.
"OK, Aerin, come with me," he sighed, taking her by the arm and gently but firmly leading her towards the back of the Guildhall, where a door opened out onto a small practise range laid out on the small patch of grass between the back of the Guildhall and the backs of the houses opposite. What little grass there was had long since been stomped flat by Parwen, who trained there without fail every day. She normally rose late, however, a fact that Ilend was now grateful for.
The Imperial breathed in deeply, the scent of the morning dew in the grass filling his nostrils as he slowly led Aerin away from the Guildhall. "Breathe deep," he told her. "It normally works."
Aerin took his advice and inhaled shakily, face turning an even more unhealthy shade of grey. Abruptly, she turned and bent double, vomiting what seemed to be every single meal she'd had since the Battle of Kvatch. Ilend smirked and put a steadying hand on her back, studying Parwen's pitted target until, after what seemed to be a long time, Aerin finally stopped heaving and groaned, scraping the back of her hand across her mouth.
"Feeling better?" asked Ilend as she straightened.
She nodded, drawing breath slowly as she unsteadily leaned on his shoulder. "I've felt worse," she muttered. Her face certainly looked less grey and drawn. "What happened last night?"
"You drank a lot of cheap whiskey," replied Ilend slowly, stroking his chin to hide his smirk. "I stuck with my beer, but you insisted on trying that stuff, even though I told you that even one shot would probably knock you flat." He chuckled fondly at the memories. "That said, you managed to hold quite a lot of it. Don't worry," he added, noticing her concerned looks, "I got you out of there before you could get up and start dancing naked on a table." He left out the fact that she had later started dancing in a graveyard, singing loud enough to wake the dead.
"Right..." Aerin shook her head and stepped away from him, swaying and wincing slightly. "Is that going ta be a problem?" she asked, waving in the general direction of the large puddle of vomit she'd deposited. Ilend noted that was in the exact place that Parwen normally stood for her medium-range shots.
"No, it'll be fine," he assured her. He had no doubt that Parwen would likely suffer an apoplectic fit upon finding her archery range stained with what Aerin had eaten for dinner yesterday, but he could deal with that. "Come on," he said, turning back towards the Guildhall. "Let's get something down you to replace what you've just chucked up. You'll probably need it."
"For what?"
"I intend to get you skilled enough with that shortsword of yours to give most common bandits problems staying alive when fighting you, and that means training," Ilend told her, wrenching the doors open and gesturing for her to go through first. "I'll see you in the basement in a few hours."
Aerin groaned. "Ilend, I have a hangover."
"You think we ever got sick days in the Guard?" snorted Ilend, giving her a half-stern, half-jesting tap on the nose with a gauntleted finger. "No, we either toughed it out, or, if it was bad enough, got the healers in. Can't neglect the defence of a city."
"I'm not a Guardsman. I'm not even a bloody soldier. I'm an archer, a hunter." Aerin shot him a sidelong glare.
Ilend sighed and took her by the shoulders, forcing her to face him. "Aerin, you fought at Kvatch. You fought the Mythic Dawn in their headquarters. You will fight Dagon and his forces once again if the Blades call on us. I don't care what you say, that makes you a soldier, and you need to be prepared."
"All right," sighed Aerin. "I'm a soldier when I need ta be. I guess more training can't hurt." She removed his hands and backed away. "But right now, a few more hours of sleep would be nice." Yawning suddenly, the Bosmer turned for the stairs. "Meet me in the basement after lunch?"
Ilend nodded. "I'll make sure no-one disturbs your sleep," he told her retreating back. She mumbled something in response and disappeared into the room that served as the barracks for the entire population of the Skingrad Fighter's Guild. It wasn't a big branch, with only Ah-Malz, Fadus, Parwen, and Fons, along with Ilend and a handful of Associates. Ilend had never bothered to count them, but there weren't more than four or five, who normally were either training in the basement, in a pub getting drunk, or, occasionally, actually out on a contract. Ah-Malz had lately been grumbling even more than usual at the lack of contracts in the peaceful city and its surroundings; apparently, the stagnation of the Skingrad branch was the reason he'd been stuck at Warder for three years, with no sign of a promotion on the horizon, despite his competence.
Walking into the lounge, Ilend noted that Fadus had not moved, and had almost finished off the grapes, dark juice dribbling between his fingers. Ilend moved over to the window and stared out at the citizens going about their business. "I haven't used her much, Fadus, so I have to ask: Is Agnete an expert? Can she forge something of good quality?"
Fadus nodded slowly, rising to his feet and sucking his fingers. "Yeah, she's damn good, if you can keep her sober," he replied. "Fairly quick, as well." He glanced at Ilend. "Why?"
Ilend grinned. "Just wondering," he said lightly.
Creaking and protesting, the massive, steel-clad gates of Cloud Ruler temple slowly swung inwards to admit the two Orcs and their horses. Gorgoth and Lurog did not waste time, hurrying up the stone steps, throwing their reins to the ostlers as they appeared. "Where's Martin?" Gorgoth asked the nearest Blade, Cyrus, who was warming his hands by a brazier. His voice was calm as normal, but his tone suggested impatience. The Redguard nodded towards the outer wall while casting an odd glance at Lurog. Gorgoth ignored it and stomped over to Martin, who was leaning on the battlements, in deep discussion with Baurus.
The heir to the throne of Tamriel turned as Gorgoth joined him, removing Volendrung from his back. "Use this," grunted the Orc, holding out the warhammer.
If Martin was taken aback by Gorgoth's abruptness, he did not show it, taking the weapon from him carefully, running his eyes over it. Apparently, the Imperial's strenuous exercise routines were paying off, as he hefted the heavy warhammer without much difficulty. Swinging it would probably be a different matter. "Who now knows the tale of how this Dwemer hammer came to embody the power of one of their most bitter foes?" he muttered, talking to himself.
Gorgoth snorted. "I do, but now is not the time," he rumbled. "Where is Gnaeus?"
"He's probably sleeping in the barracks," suggested Baurus. "He only came back a few hours ago. Apparently, clearing out old Ayleid ruins is now a favourite pastime of his." The Redguard smirked, clearly amused by the mere idea of the seventy-eight year-old Imperial hermit going dungeon-crawling.
"I require his skills," stated Gorgoth as way of explanation. "Good luck with the translation." With that, he turned on his heel and walked off quickly, Lurog falling in beside him. Martin and Baurus were left looking at his back in puzzlement.
"Can this Imperial be trusted?" asked Lurog in Orcish, attracting a few inquisitive glances from nearby Blades as they headed towards the East Barracks.
"Well, we don't exactly have many other option," retorted Gorgoth, placing a hand on the door to the barracks. He was halted in his tracks by the voice of Jauffre.
"Gorgoth, there's a message for you from Modryn Oreyn," reported the Breton, striding up and holding out a letter. Gorgoth took it and slid it under his gauntlet without looking at it. "One more thing: we need to-" Gorgoth cut him off.
"Later, Jauffre," he said, opening the door to the barracks. "Time is one of the greatest luxuries in the world, and at the moment I have too little." The Grandmaster of the Blades was left staring at the closing door to his barracks.
Gnaeus had clearly just awoken from sleep, and was tightening his sword belt around his tunic. He looked up and worked his neck as the two Orcs approached. "I haven't felt as young as this for years," he sighed, knuckling his back. "What do you want?"
"You were a scout, correct? A good one?" asked Gorgoth, folding his arms and gazing down at the Imperial with some intensity.
"Damn right, I was," barked Gnaeus, standing straighter in an attempt to gain a few inches on the warrior-shaman, who towered over him. "What of it?"
"I need you to investigate an area of the Blackwood, east of the Niben, just south of the Panther River," Gorgoth told him. Nodding to his companion, he continued: "Lurog can explain more. I'll need a detailed report on whatever armies or concentrations of people you find in the area, preferably sooner rather than later." Gorgoth turned to leave; Lurog could handle the finer details.
"Hang on a second, greenskin," snarled Gnaeus, grabbing Gorgoth's elbow and turning him around. "I don't have to go gallivanting off to a bloody swamp just on your fucking say-so!"
Gorgoth simply stared down at the Imperial. "You'll do it, or I'll strangle you with your own entrails," he said, voice cold. Gnaeus opened his mouth to argue further, but the Orc's freezing amber eyes stilled his tongue. He'd seen that look in a few eyes before; it was simple and stark in it's message: I have raped, murdered, and tortured in the past. I'll do it again, and I have no reservations about doing it to you if you give me the slightest reason to. Faced with that gaze, Gnaeus's resolve withered, and he fell silent, radiating anger. Gorgoth nodded and turned to leave.
"I'll be expecting something in return for this," Gnaeus told the warrior-shaman's retreating back.
"That will depend on how useful your report is," rumbled Gorgoth in return, going through the door to the Great Hall and slamming it behind him.
The Great Hall was sparsely populated, with most of the Blades either on duties or training. Gorgoth walked over to an unoccupied table located next to the roaring fire and cautiously eased himself down, drawing Oreyn's letter from under his gauntlet. He ripped it open, removed his gauntlets, and settled back to read the simple message, written in spiky handwriting:
Gorgoth,
You're needed. That fetcher Maglir has defaulted again. He was going to Bravil to carry out a contract for Aryarie of the Mage's Guild. Seems that his stunted brain can't even comprehend how to do that. Go to Bravil, find him, and sort this bloody mess out, and quickly.
Oreyn
Gorgoth grunted as he committed the note to memory, then crumpled it and threw it into the fire. He'd remember it; any military commander worth his position would be good at remembering commands, whether verbal or written. Rising, he ignored the groan emitted by the bench and started towards the exit, putting his gauntlets back on, but was intercepted, once again, by Jauffre.
"Gorgoth, before you leave, I need a word," said the Grandmaster, his posture indicating that he would order Gorgoth to stay if he had to. "You probably have pressing business, and you can take care of that – the next stage of translation is going slowly – but first there's something we have to clear up."
The warrior-shaman nodded. "What is it?" he asked.
"We should discuss this in private," the Breton told him, turning and motioning for Gorgoth to follow him. The Orc complied, following the leader of the Blades through his fortress until they reached his office, a small, basic room with a bare stone floor and walls. A desk was the only furniture, which was sagging under the weight of piles of paperwork. Illumination was provided by a small window set in the rear wall just above and behind where Jauffre would sit.
As Gorgoth closed the door behind him, two other Blades stepped forward into view, making the small spaced quite cramped. Both helmetless, the two Blades were easily recognised; one was Captain Renault, and the other was a short Breton, with shoulder-length dark brown hair and penetrating grey eyes that were currently fixated on Gorgoth. They were filled with hate. As Gorgoth returned the stare emotionlessly, he knew that yet another part of his past had caught up him. The last time he had seen this face, it had been considerably younger, and full of fear rather than hatred, but he'd always recognise Callia Petit.
"So, I take it you know what happened?" he asked, his gaze taking in Jauffre and Renault.
"We wanted to hear your side of the story," Renault told him, folding her arms. Jauffre slowly took a seat behind his desk. Callia stood stiff as a rod, one hand on the katana at her belt.
"What did you tell them?" Gorgoth asked Callia.
"The truth," she growled, eyes never leaving his face. "The fact that you led a group of Orcish raiders, who burnt and ravaged my village, and murdered half of us. You personally stormed into the manor house, beat my father, took me and my mother upstairs, shoved me under the bed and killed her." The words were uttered in little more than a whisper.
"Mostly true," admitted Gorgoth, rubbing his chin. "I have to say two things: Your village was not unique; me and my raiders gave the same treatment to two others as well." At that, both Jauffre and Renault winced, clearly wondering how they'd managed to let Gorgoth into the Blades. "Secondly, I did not kill your mother; at least, not intentionally. I merely raped her, put my armour back on, and left." He paused. "It is good to see that you made something of yourself, at least. My efforts were not in vain."
"Your efforts?" hissed Callia, who had turned even paler than usual. Her grip tightened on the hilt of her katana. "You dare to presume-" Gorgoth cut her off.
"You appear to have forgotten what I did for you," he rumbled. Sheer animal fury was now radiating from Callia, but Gorgoth did not react. "I very much doubt that you'd have been alive today if I hadn't saved you from my men." Holding up a hand to prevent an outburst, he went on: "It was my method of protest," he said, glancing at Jauffre and Renault. "My father was the driving force behind this ravaging of Sharoth by numerous bands of Orc raiders; the politics were complicated, needlessly so, and I was against it, but I would not disobey a direct order. I caused as much damage as possible, but I did manage to preserve at least one small part of one village." He pointed at Callia. "Deny it, if you can."
Callia snarled. "I don't see how what you did saved me," she spat.
Gorgoth was about to retort when Jauffre sighed and raised a hand. "Gorgoth, talk us through it – all of it – from your point of view," he ordered.
Folding his arms, Gorgoth nodded and straightened, facing neither Jauffre nor Renault, but fixing his stare at the wall between them. "It was Second Seed, 3E 427," he began. "I was twenty-two at the time. I remember it well. Very well."
The sun was at its zenith. Gorgoth reined in Schak and held up a clenched fist, signalling a halt. His band of thirty Orcish marauders were motley and varied, but they understood how to follow orders. They had been following a path through a small, sparse forest as the land rose and fell gently, as it did in various places in Sharoth, lying in the shadow of the Wrothgarian mountains, which were always visible to the west, some of the peaks obscured by the cloud that was prevalent that day. Behind the column, smoke rose on the distant horizon, evidence of the village that they'd attacked and burnt yesterday. Beyond that village was another, very similar, that had suffered the same treatment. Divided and defenceless, the villagers had been unable to put up any resistance.
"According to my map, the village will be in sight as we reach the crest of the next rise," rumbled Gorgoth, dismounting. His men imitated him. The warrior-shaman's finger pointed out the youngest warrior in the group, a tall Orc only a year younger than Gorgoth, who himself was younger than most of those under his command. "Burzukh, find somewhere to leave the horses." Burzukh gro-Ghash nodded and headed off to do as instructed. The remainder of the band dispersed as Gorgoth, leading Schak, walked a small distance off, to summon his Daedric comrades.
He knew that he did not necessarily need their aid – thirty battle-hardened Orcs were more than enough – but he felt he could trust them more readily; most of the Orcs in his band had been provided by his father, and Gorgoth refused to trust him an inch. At least the Daedra were loyal; he'd earned their respect over the years. His first permanent companion had been Chaxil, a Kynmarcher, who he'd first summoned five years ago, followed by Xilinkar, a Markynaz, a year later. Medraka, a Xivilai, soon followed, and Gorgoth had summoned the most powerful a mere two years ago: Kathutet, a Valkynaz.
Raising his right hand and letting the red glow of Conjuration magic coalesce in his palm, Gorgoth cast the complex spell required to pluck all four from the Planes of Oblivion and bring them to Nirn simultaneously. Four separate clouds of shimmering sparks appeared, swirling faster until they were displaced by three Dremora and one Xivilai, all of whom looked around for danger before relaxing.
"Same again today?" asked Chaxil, eagerness evident in his voice, hand periodically rising to check that his claymore was still firmly in place in its scabbard on his back.
"Same again," confirmed Gorgoth. Savage grins appeared on the faces of Chaxil and Xilinkar, whereas the more disciplined Medraka and Kathutet kept their faces smooth. "Kathutet, you're guarding my door today."
The Valkynaz grunted, but didn't complain; he'd had his way with the villagers in the last two villages while Chaxil and then Xilinkar had guarded the door to the room where Gorgoth had raped the wife of the head of the village. It was always best to be completely sure of reliable protection, and Gorgoth wasn't known for letting his guard down. He nodded in the direction of the road, and the Daedra followed him over to where his men were preparing for the raid. Their Orcish wasn't bad, and was improving, but they still had some difficulties communicating with some of Gorgoth's comrades, none of whom spoke anything more than rudimentary Cyrodiilic.
"Burul, rope," growled Gorgoth to a chainmail-clad Orc. Gorgoth was one of the few in the band who was wearing all three layers of Orcish battle plate; boiled leather worn under heavy chainmail, with thick plate armour on the outside. The named Orc took several coils of thick rope from his saddle and passed it to his leader, receiving Schak's reins in return.
"Don't see why you need that," he grunted as he tied the reins of Gorgoth's warhorse to a tree. "It's not like she'll be able to overpower you."
"That's true," agreed Gorgoth. "But word might have spread, by now, and I wouldn't be surprised if more than one Breton is sleeping with a dagger under her pillow. I like to be sure."
Never the brightest soldier, Burul scratched his head for a few seconds. "But you don't need that much," he persisted. "There's more than enough there for two Bretons."
Gorgoth snorted and brushed past him. "Never go anywhere unprepared, Burul," he told his underling. Starting to march up the gentle slope towards the crest of the final hill, he bellowed orders for his men to adopt their usual strategy. Orc scrambled from where they had left their horses and started to run to surround the village, spreading out, circling its perimeter. Gorgoth stopped just before he reached the crest, accompanied by the Daedra, and started to wait.
After ten minutes, he knew for sure that his Orcs had the village completely encircled, and started running up the hill, keeping his mace firmly thrust through his belt. He wouldn't need it. As he reached the crest, the village came into view. A collection of thatched-roof, medium-sized hovels made up most of the village, which was located in a dip in the ground, surrounded by small hills. The forest fell away before it reached the village, and beyond it was the gently rolling Sharoth plain, dotted by similar villages. Apart from the twenty or so hovels, the only building of note was the manor house around which the village was built; in this area of High Rock, even the tiny villages had them, inhabited by the head of the village and made of brick and slate rather than logs and thatch, standing tall at two storeys high.
Gorgoth wasted no time; as soon as he started down the slope, he raised a hand and sent five large fireballs arching towards the village. Three landed on hovels, ripping through the structures and setting them alight, while the other two exploded on open ground, making the earth heave as the destructive power of the warrior-shaman's magic made itself known. By the time that Gorgoth's raiders, alerted by the explosions, had started down the hill towards the village, the screams had already begun.
Even in full armour, it took Gorgoth under a minute to reach the village, where he wasted no time in adding to the destruction. Smaller, less powerful fireballs streaked from his hands, blowing apart panicking Bretons or setting thatched roofs alight. Chaxil, Xilinkar and Medraka split up, each moving off to a different part of the village, hacking down anyone in their path. Kathutet followed Gorgoth as he made progress towards the manor house, now ignoring the Bretons who sporadically crossed his path. After the initial onslaught, there was little casual slaughter as his Orcs instead simply dragged and kicked the villagers to the empty patch of ground in the middle of the village that served as a gathering area. Only those attempting to flee were killed outright.
By the time Gorgoth had reached the manor house, most of the population of the village was either dead or being brutalised in the centre of the village, with many Orcs removing their armour and grabbing the nearest woman. The few Bretons who tried to resist were killed within seconds. Gorgoth kicked open the doors of the manor house and walked in, Kathutet watching his back, longsword ready, flames flickering from every inch of the enchanted blade.
The head of the Breton village was brave, at least, if foolishly so; he was standing in the middle of the hallway, in front of the stairs leading to the second level, blocking Gorgoth's access with shortsword in hand. Short and somewhat overweight, He' d clearly never used a sword before, or even done much strenuous action, and his face was pale and drawn with fear, but he refused to move as Gorgoth slowly approached him.
"Why us, Orc?" he asked, voice tight with fear. "Why are you doing this to us?" Gorgoth was fluent in the local Breton language, but didn't answer. Instead, he lunged forward, batting the sword out of the way, and savagely punched the Breton in the stomach. As he doubled over, choking, Gorgoth kneed him in the ribs then grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed him head first into the wall.
"Where is your wife?" he growled. His only response was a groan. Snarling, Gorgoth threw him to the floor and aimed a brutal kick at his ribs, feeling one snap as the Breton flew into the opposite wall. "Where is she?" he asked again.
"I'm here." The female voice snapped Gorgoth's head towards the stairs, where a short, slim Breton was descending the stairs, eyes wide with fear, hands outstretched. "Please... please don't hurt him any more," she stammered, swallowing hard. Gorgoth's gaze went past her and settled on the young teenage girl who was half-hiding behind her mother. She couldn't have been much older than sixteen. Turning to Kathutet, who had sheathed his sword, Gorgoth jerked his head towards the stairs, and together they moved towards them.
"Into your bedroom," ordered Gorgoth, pointing at the mother. "Both of you." They slowly complied, their steps heavy with dread, walking back up the stairs and into a large bedroom, furnished with a thick carpet and numerous wardrobes. The door was made of sturdy wood, but had no lock. As Gorgoth roughly pushed the Bretons inside, he shared a look with Kathutet, who nodded. Gorgoth entered the bedroom and closed the door behind him. The Valkynaz took up position with his back to the door, hand on his sword hilt, eyes searching the corridor.
Waving the two Bretons aside, Gorgoth roughly checked the double bed for concealed daggers. Finding none, he walked over to the teenager and dragged her to the foot of the bed. Instantly, her mother stepped forward, fear gripping her face. "Please, take me instead," she begged Gorgoth, wringing her hands. The teenage Breton could only whimper in fear.
Gorgoth eyed the mother stonily as he started tightly binding her daughter's hands behind her back with the rope he'd brought with him. "She will be spared," he snarled. "I will not rape her this time, but I will not leave one of you free to stab me."
"Then... she doesn't have to see this," pleaded the Breton.
The warrior-shaman snorted again and forced the child face down onto the carpet, grabbing her ankles and tying them together. "When my men reach this house – which they will soon – they will have learnt that you have a daughter, and they will tear this place apart searching for her." He finished with the terrified girl's ankles and pulled them up, starting to secure them to her wrists with a length of rope. "I don't know about you, but I don't think being gang-raped by some brutal Orcs is the best thing for a child." Rolling her onto her side, Gorgoth forced more rope into her mouth, tying it behind her head to hold her tongue in place. "Where better to hide her than under the bed where I'm taking you as my prize? Kathutet is even keeping guard outside." Standing, Gorgoth put his foot on the child's head and slid her under the bed.
"Why..." The mother had to pause to swallow. "Why would you do that?"
"I'm a soldier; I follow orders, even if I don't agree with them." Gorgoth walked over and roughly grabbed her, taking yet more rope and starting to bind her wrists. "Me preserving your daughter is the one method of defiance I have. And defiance is sometimes the only weapon I have." Shaking his head at the confusion on her face, he pushed her onto the bed and started to remove his armour.
Kathutet, in conversation with Chaxil and Xilinkar, had picked up some information about this unique form of guard duty. Chaxil had reported that the screaming started as Gorgoth started to remove his armour, while Xilinkar had claimed that it only started after he heard the Breton's dress being ripped from her shoulders. In this case, however, Kathutet didn't hear any screaming until at least a few minutes after the sound of ripping cloth.
His attention was soon drawn by a group of four Orcs stomping up the stairs towards him. The Valkynaz planted his feet firmly and casually loosened his sword in its scabbard. None of them would challenge him, as he had Gorgoth's authority backing him up, but it was always best to present a dangerous face. Two started searching the various rooms, turning them upside down, while the other two approached Kathutet.
"Apparently, that pile of shit downstairs has a daughter," one claimed, beady eyes flickering, never staying still. "I know Gorgoth claims his wife, but do you know where the daughter is?" It took a second for Kathutet to fully interpret his words; he spoke many mortal languages, but Orcish was a new one to him.
"It is not my business to know that," replied Kathutet. "All I know is that you're not going in there." He jerked his thumb towards the door behind him. A particularly deep grunt followed by a piercing shriek underlined his words.
"But she might be in there," persisted the Orc.
Kathutet snorted. "I highly doubt that Gorgoth would take more than one. And I also doubt that your leader will be pleased to barge in while he's claiming his spoils of war." He took a step forward. "And you'd have to go through me." The Dremora was confident; out of the entire group, only Gorgoth could call himself his equal in combat with any conviction, though his young companion Burzukh appeared to be shaping up to be quite a fighter.
The pair of Orcs took the hint, running off to join their comrades in ransacking the house. The Valkynaz relaxed and stepped back, his back almost touching the door.
After about five minutes, during which the house was mostly ripped apart and smoke from the burning village was visible through the windows, the door opened and Gorgoth walked out, fully armoured, helmet hanging from a hook on his sword belt. Kathutet, closing the door behind him, gave the naked, moaning, bloodstained Breton only a quick glance. Gorgoth had hidden her daughter well; she was nowhere in sight. Presumably, she was paralysed with fear.
"We're done here," announced Gorgoth, leading the way down the stairs and out of the door. His face was emotionless as usual. Just another day in his life.
"So," finished Gorgoth, eyeing the simmering Callia, who had gone even paler, "Do you deny that I saved your life? Because I'm sure your violation by several large Orcs would have been the end of you." Renault wore a look of slight horror and surprise, her lips slightly parted, while Jauffre's face was unreadable, the Grandmaster obviously deep in thought.
Callia glared at Gorgoth, who merely waited patiently, arms folded. "No," she admitted, the words dragged out of her. "I guess I do owe you my life, but that does not mean you are anything more than a monster." She spat, her saliva staining the otherwise dry stone floor of Jauffre's office.
Gorgoth snorted. "That is your viewpoint," he said dismissively. Turning to Jauffre, he unfolded his arms and rested his fists on the Breton's desk, leaning forwards. "When Sharoth was annexed by Orsinium a month later, King Gortwog put our laws in place and backdated them for three months," he told the Breton. "What I did was legal."
"Legal?" snarled Callia, her voice furious, she stepped forward, starting to draw her katana, but was held back by Renault's warning glance and a hand on her shoulder. "You killed my mother, killed half our village, burnt it down, and expect to get away with it?"
"And what would you do, deprive Cyrodiil of the 'Hero of Kvatch' in a time of crisis?" growled Gorgoth, putting emphasis on the title that the population had attached to his name.
"We don't need you-"
"On the contrary, Callia," sighed Jauffre, finally deciding to get involved. "We do need him. I doubt the gods could have provided us with a more able agent." He waved down Callia's protests and stood. "Gorgoth, it is fortunate for you that I judge a man on who his is at the present, not on what he has done in the past. You were forced to carry out those raids, were you not?"
"Yes, I was," confirmed Gorgoth. "But, if I had to do it again, I would, if the reason was good enough." He leaned further forward on Jauffre's desk, eyes level with the Breton's. "If anything is worth fighting for, then I do not care how many I torture or murder as long as I see it done," he rumbled. Renault winced. Straightening, Gorgoth folded his arms. "You are my commander, for the moment, Jauffre. I will accept any decision you make."
Jauffre paused, sitting back down, closing his eyes and slowly running a hand over his face, looking every one of his eighty-one years, and more. "So far, since joining the Blades, you have done nothing to make me question the trust I've put in you," he said slowly, his voice tight with anger. "For now... for now, I will take no action. I sincerely hope that it is not the wrong decision. I hope I can continue to trust you."
Gorgoth grunted. "I swore an oath," he muttered, anger stirring deep within him.
Callia, looking from Gorgoth to Jauffre, pounded her fist into her palm. "Grandmaster, you can't-"
"I can and I will, Knight Sister. Dismissed."
Looking utterly outraged, the small Breton repeatedly opened and closed her mouth, struggling for words, until Renault tapped her sharply on the shoulder. Straightening, Callia gave a grudging salute and stomped out, slamming the door behind her.
"You really are your father's son," snarled Renault, glaring at Gorgoth with anger evident in her pale features.
The Orc's head whipped around and he gave the Breton a freezing glare. "I am not my father," he snarled emphatically. He turned back to Jauffre. "Are we done here?" he asked.
Sighing, the Grandmaster stood. His face as drawn, and his voice cold. "Gorgoth, what you have done may have been legal-" he grated the word through clenched teeth "- but I cannot possibly condone your continuing presence in the Blades after this crisis is over. Martin will be consulted over this at great length." The Breton leaned in closer, meeting Gorgoth's gaze, his eyes ablaze with rage. "If this were peacetime, Orc, I'd string you from the battlements and let the crows choke on your eyes." He straightened. "Get out of this fortress. I will send word when the next stage of translation is complete."
Gorgoth nodded, saluted, and turned sharply on his heel, swinging the door shut behind him.
Captain and Grandmaster stared at the closed door for a few minutes. Renault eventually broke the silence. "He really is an enigma," she muttered, rubbing her forehead.
Gorgoth made his way through the fortress, returning the greetings of various Blades, heading towards the East Barracks. He swung open the door to find, predictably, that Lurog and Gnaeus were glaring at each other.
"I'm fine with scouting, Gorgoth, but not if you lump me with this... this..." Gnaeus trailed off into incomprehensible splutters. Lurog merely glanced at Gorgoth and raised an eyebrow, as if to say: is he always like this?
"It is simple; Lurog has information that you do not, and it would be too complex to tell you, so he goes with you," Gorgoth told him, walking over and staring down at the Imperial. "Besides, if you get caught, no doubt you'd want a capable warrior at your back. Lurog is one of the best I know."
Gnaeus threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine," he spat. "I just hope this bloody half-wit knows how to move quietly." He turned before either of them could respond and marched out of the barracks, slinging saddlebags over his shoulder.
"Stay calm, Lurog, I'd prefer that his report is delivered through unbroken teeth," instructed Gorgoth.
"It looks like I'll have to draw on those lessons on discipline you gave me," groaned Lurog, his voice wry. "You need not worry. It's important. I'll make sure he gets back to you safely. With the information." The Orc knuckled his forehead and departed, following Gnaeus out of the barracks. Gorgoth leaned back against the stone wall of the barracks and sighed, allowing himself a rare moment of relaxation. The length of the shadows visible through the doorway indicated that it was getting late, and he hadn't eaten for hours. His stomach rumbled menacingly to remind him, and, in reaction, his scar sent a twinge of pain through his stomach. The Orc grunted and went off to find the canteen. He'd sleep in the barracks tonight, and depart for the Imperial City in the morning. He had important business to attend to.
The sun was slowly sinking behind the Jeralls to the west as Selene and Glenroy finally reached the foot of Cloud Ruler Temple and dismounted. As the gates screeched open, they took the reins of their horses and wearily started to lead them up the steps. Selene's spell had buried their fatigue deep within them, but it had not eradicated it, and a day's hard riding after rising at dawn was not conductive to rest. Both were looking forward to their beds, particularly as they had both effectively taken up residence in the Royal Wing in rooms designed for nobles. Glenroy claimed that he couldn't sleep far from Martin's door, and Selene claimed that it was inconvenient for her to keep walking to Martin's chambers from the East Barracks every morning.
Steffan was the first to greet them, striding down the steps and bellowing for men to fetch the horses. He grinned widely and clapped a hand on both their shoulders. "It's closed, I take it?" he asked.
"Emphatically," reported Glenroy. "For now, at least, Bravil is safe."
"Good on you," smiled Steffan, gripping Glenroy's shoulder firmly while moving his other hand up to ruffle Selene's hair. She snorted with laughter and ducked out from under his grasp as two Blades materialised to take the four horses. "Knew we could always count on you. Martin's in his quarters."
"I thought he would be," muttered Selene. "Hasn't he ever left them? He spends too much time with that bloody book." Not waiting for an answer, she sped up and walked quickly off in the direction of the Royal Wing. Glenroy and Steffan exchanged glances.
"You know, I think-" started Glenroy.
"I think so too," responded Steffan, a wry grin spreading over his face. "Good job today, Knight Brother. Carry on." He saluted and walked off. Glenroy returned the salute and followed Selene, albeit at a slower pace, towards the Royal Wing. On the way, he was congratulated by the handful of Blades still dotting the courtyard. It wasn't every day a Blade got to grips with the enemy in such a fashion.
More than a handful clearly wanted a blow-by-blow tale of his and Selene's exploits, but he was able to fend them off fairly easily. They were all soldiers; they knew what exhaustion was like, and respected his desire for a rest. They'd get the story tomorrow, probably when he was cleaning his armour. For now, all he desired was the large, soft bed that he and Baurus taken for their own temporarily. The Imperial knew that Jauffre didn't approve, and was surprised that the Grandmaster hadn't ordered him out yet. Maybe Martin had something to do with it. Glenroy wasn't intending to make the move permanent; it was simply a matter of convenience when protecting Martin.
He had removed his helmet and hung it from a hook on his sword belt by the time he reached the corridor leading the Martin's quarters, which was predictably being guarded by Baurus. Upon seeing his comrade, the Redguard's face broke into a grin and he hurried towards him to grasp his shoulder. "Good on you, Glenroy," he congratulated. "That makes it the first Oblivion Gate closed directly by the Blades. Can't let Gorgoth get that many up on us, eh?" He laughed.
Glenroy returned his grin as they slowly started back towards the slightly ajar door to Martin's quarters. "It was bloody hard work," he informed his fellow Knight Brother. "Without Selene, I'd have had no chance. She's worth three of us at least, for definite."
"Do the battlemages always have to hog all the glory?" Baurus shook his head and snorted. "No, no, she deserves it. If closing one is an achievement, closing two is an incredible feat. Unless you're the Hero of Kvatch, then it's just another article in the job description." Barking a laugh, the Redguard motioned towards the door. "Pelagius was filling in for your shifts while you were gone. I think Martin wanted to see you when you got back."
Glenroy nodded and gave two sharp raps on the door. Martin's voice instantly summoned him and he pushed it open. The heir to the throne was leaning back in his chair, the Mysterium Xarxes pushed away from him, wearing the same tattered robe as usual. Selene was pacing around behind him, haranguing him on how he shouldn't have spent so much time on translation. Judging by Martin's calm smile, he was managing to ignore it. He rose immediately and offered Glenroy his hand, pumping the Imperial's fist up and down vigourously. "I knew I could count on you," he congratulated, cutting Selene off in mid-word.
"Only my duty, Sire," responded Glenroy, straightening and standing rigidly at attention.
Martin laughed. "At ease, man, at ease," he told him, waving for him to relax. "You've gone into Oblivion to save an entire city. That's beyond the call of duty."
"I was ordered to save Bravil by closing an Oblivion Gate, so I, with help, saved Bravil by closing an Oblivion Gate,"reported Glenroy, relaxing his spine slightly and clasping his hands together behind his back. "That is the duty of a Blade. I live to serve you." He put an emphasis on 'you'; Martin was the Emperor.
Martin chuckled and turned to Selene. "It seems that the Blades are commendable for even more attributes than I thought possible," he remarked. She smiled, not turning from her study of Volendrung. "Well, you must be tired after all that strenuous duty," said Martin, turning back to Glenroy. "You're dismissed, Glenroy. When I next see him, I'll inform Jauffre of your dedication to the duty. For now, get some rest." He sighed. "We'll probably all need it in the coming days. You too, Selene. You look half-dead on your feet."
Selene sighed and turned to walk past Martin to the door, waving a finger at him as she passed. "Remember, don't work too hard," she admonished, her message somewhat diluted by her wide smile. "I'll be back to help with translation tomorrow." She left the room. Glenroy executed a perfect half-bow, half-salute and turned smartly on his heel, walking out and closing the door behind him. He nodded to Baurus and, feeling his fatigue keenly, headed for the door to his bedroom.
Selene had paused with her hand on the door to her own borrowed quarters, which were across the corridor and one down from where he and Baurus had set up camp. "Glenroy?" she asked, her voice sounding somewhat unsteady.
Glenroy turned from his door. "Yes?"
"This is only ever going to get harder, isn't it?"
Sighing, Glenroy pushed himself away from his door and walked over to her. She was right; the hordes of Oblivion were not mindless. They would learn from whatever defeats that were inflicted upon them. "Yes," he confirmed. "It will. But we are strong. Two of us closed that gate; even if the Daedra grow stronger, we have the ability, for now, to hold them back.."
She sighed and looked up at him, green eyes concerned. Clearly, she still wasn't fully convinced. "Selene, we have Gorgoth on our side. He can wipe out an Oblivion gate while eating lunch. We've got him, we've got the entire Blades, we've got you... Selene, we can't lose."
"I wish I shared your confidence," she muttered, blinking several times. "I guess you're right, though; if we get this translation done, Gorgoth can do what needs doing and everything can go back to normal."
Glenroy took a step back and nodded, wondering what 'normal' would be for her. "Believe it, and it will happen," he told her. He snapped to attention and gave an inch-perfect salute, before turning to enter his own quarters.
Her voice stopped him. "Why always so formal, Glenroy?" she asked. He turned and noted her smirk. "I'm not Martin, and I'm not a Blade."
"I've been in the Blades for twelve years," explained Glenroy "Maybe it's ingrained." His face twitched as a smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. "Either way, I respect you like a Blade."
"I feel honoured," remarked Selene. "But, for now, I'm just who I am." She yawned widely. "We'd better do as Martin said and get some rest. Good night." She reached up and hugged him. Glenroy returned the hug, despite knowing that his grime-streaked armour would leave dirt on her bare back.
"Good night, Selene," he repeated as he pulled back.. "I might have just been doing my duty, but Bravil probably wouldn't be standing without you. Sleep well." With that, he retreated back into his chambers.
There was no doubt that it hadn't been made to host soldiers; the bed was unmade, and the bootprints of both he and Baurus marred the fine carpets. He unbuckled his armour and dropped it carefully onto the floor, making sure it was close to hand if needed, but in this well-protected part of the Temple, he'd have ample time to prepare himself if intruders were spotted. Opening the window slightly to let a cool breeze waft into the room, Glenroy removed his filthy clothing – he had some more stored under the bed for convenience – and dropped into the soft mattress of the expansive double bed. Jauffre might argue that luxury softened a man, but, at that moment, Glenroy really couldn't care less.
A/N: That's your lot for now. Remember to review this, and remember to read and review Brothers in Arms, because you will not regret it.