Author's notes: Oblivion and all its characters, places, events, etcetera are property of Bethesda Softworks. Special thanks to my beta, Pheonicia, who cleans up my grammar errors and typos.
--A--
Chapter Fifty
--A--
Sitting on the iron steps up to the Sigillum Sanguis' upper levels might have made me look both cocksure and lazy, to the average individual. I simply feel it's a much better plan to let Burd's men, and the Blades, do the Dremora-bashing themselves, once I was sure the fight was fairly balanced. Rather than letting me go on a rampage - which is what I really feel want to do right now.
Like a wild creature wounds an animal, and then brings it to her young, so they may learn to hunt, and learn the taste of fresh meat without fear of that meat escaping.
And the Dremora were too busy with the near-dozen other humans to worry about me on the stairs, though, I began to feel a sort of pity for them. They're doomed, yet they fight on as if they could do something about their lot. Of course, unlike mean and mer, they will return from the waters of Oblivion, sooner or later. But still – they're soldiers.
I clipped this through at the bud before it crossed the line from rueful admiration of a worthy foe's determination into something that might cause me more unease. I know I can't turn into a Dremora…but I don't want to leave myself open to thinking like one. Just in case.
"You know," Caro landed, lumbering over to me, twisting her sword-arm about as if to relax stiffened muscles, "you could have helped."
As I smiled at her, I saw the familiar flicker of unease as I got to my feet. "Why? You were doing just fine on your own. And I've sent my fair share of these lads back to the waters. Besides," I added, looking at the other member of the Watch – for they were not as accepting of their environment as the Blades, with the possible exception of Captain Burd, who was old enough, grey enough and tough enough to ignore the nastiness and keep him mind on business.
Captain Burd came lumbering over, his face alight form the fight and from victory.
"Well? What do you think?" I asked, weaving to the Sigillum.
"Not a place I'd go on holiday," Burd responded rather jovially.
I know what he reminds me of – Einar. Not in any physical way, for Burd is no more than in his mid-forties, but in the attitude. My father once told a brother about making war – how the old men who are unafraid of death should be near the younger men, who have more to live for. Einar doesn't – so I've heard – fear death. But coming home was like coming back to life.
Then he turned to the forge in peacetime, and never looked back, save to give council.
"The Sigillum Sanguis always looks the same, no matter what Tower is stormed," I announced, as though lecturing. Waving the others to follow me, I led them up to the pinnacle of the tower's levels, where the sigil stone burned brightly. "We don't know the exact rules for people involved in closing a Gate, but we know there is some kind of distance limitation for those who should return to Nirn."
Like the members of the Kvatch city watch. The memory did not produce as much pain and self recrimination for not bringing them out alive as it had done previously, and yet the memory was not truly dead. Merely a twinge of deep thought to surface, then submerge once again, a small reminder only of lives lost in a war no one realized had burst upon us.
Or rather, the war with side effects and tendrils stretching out so as to find purchase beyond our sight.
My temper sparked and flared as I walked up to the sigil stone, eying it with a growing feeling of malevolence. What wouldn't I give to strike hard at Mehrunes Dagon? To drop-kick his plans and show him why you don't put Tamriel's people under threat of conquest. "And so, the accepted practice is to keep hold on your partner, so as not to leave anyone behind. As I've said, Dremora think flesh of the mortal realms quite the delicacy. So form up and we'll be out of this hole."
Caro's hand, balled in a fist, gently tapped my shoulder, the equivalent of a reassuring squeeze, which I wouldn't feel through my chainmail. I nodded once, to show her I recognized the gesture. Within moments everyone had affirmed they were ready to return. "Well, take it." I addressed Burd.
"You sure?" he asked.
"I've got several already. I don't need any more." In fact, I don't even know what I'm to do with them, now I've got them. I can feel magicka in them, but it's Daedric magicka – not the sort of stuff most mages can utilize. I suppose there's an innate affinity to certain sorts of uses, I simply haven't the time or the mood to find out what those may be.
Probably, Sigil stones would imbibe great power into a weapon…but I don't want Frostreaver tainted by such a thing. It's bad enough Oblivion rubs off on me, which accounts for my present gloom and seething bubble of anger.
Burd reached out and hesitantly took the stone, marveling how it did not burn him.
I closed my eyes as everything began to swirl and wind began to toss about the room, the cries of the others adding to the meaningless noise.
--A--
For the first time, I returned to Nirn and kept my feet. This time, instead of getting thrown on my back, I felt as though I'd simply taken a step down off a stair, though my companions were in varying states of disarray and sprawling on the turf, though Burd was the closest to standing, having fallen to one knee.
The air pressed cold against me, making me sweat as I realized why I hadn't felt so uncomfortable in Oblivion – my body temperature had risen. I wonder, if I continue this way, if I shall steam when I wind up overheated in a chilly environment.
"Up you get," I announced blandly, grabbing Caro by the arm and hauling her to her feet.
"Wow…you never said that it was like that," Caro muttered, looking skyward, as one who's just fallen a great distance and can't quite believe it.
"It thought you'd be more concerned with things inside the Gate…not coming out of it." I shrugged.
One of the guards laughed. "You walk away you win, right?" he asked, grinning, though the shadows of the Deadlands' harsh environs still hung over his face.
"Precisely. Now, remember – you'll feel a little cranky. I advise you strongly to try and cap it - cold water helps. Peppermint and bayberry scents help. Give it a few hours and you'll be starving – Captain, you may want to put your gate crew up for extra rations," I detailed.
Jauffre already knows all this.
The Blades and I walked back to Bruma with the City Watch, then turned out feet towards Cloud Ruler Temple. No one talked much, not even Caro, as we all felt both surly and tired – though I perhaps less so. I simply felt grumpy, and wanted nothing more than a cold bath to leech away the feel of Oblivion's fires burning in my very skin. If someone were to check, I'm sure I'd feel fevered to the touch – my eyeballs burn behind my lids, if that's any indication.
"You're strutting." Caro grunted from my elbow.
Looking over at her, I arched my eyebrows. "I suppose I am." I announced. Honestly, I hadn't noticed it before.
Caro smirked, a faintly red gleam in her eyes. "How's it feel, being the biggest bully in the place?"
"I'm not. Neither bully, nor the biggest." I retorted, unstung. Checking myself, wow. I am swaggering, like the cat who ate the songbird, and is under suspicion but not under the weight of proof. Smug. Smirking I shrugged. "So what do you think?"
Caro grimaced. "I think I need a bath."
I nodded. We all do, and not just to wash the dirt, muck and grime off. However, I have an odd presentiment that life is about to throw me another basketful of trouble to deal with. I hope they hold off until morning.
--A--
I still hadn't lost my self-confident swagger, nor had the side effects of Oblivion worn off fully by the time we reached Cloud Ruler Temple again after a long, silent march. Martin and Jauffre were entering the courtyard as I brought up the rear of the herd of Blades before me, eyes peeled for any sign of the trouble I expected to come my way.
Blinking away the bright lights hazing the edge of my vision when I looked at Martin, I waved. That's got to be something to do with his Dragonblood – it's the only thing that makes sense. You know I could take him out right now and no one would be able to…
Damn Oblivion Gates. I don't want to kill him…not for the first time something in the back of my brain snickered suggestively, and elbowed the forepart of thought. I stifled that too, but still, when I realized Martin's attention was on me, even as he made perfunctory remarks to the rest of the crew (most of whom grunted and nodded back to him, rather than risk showing any hostility), my heart gave a little flip-flop and wobble.
I could justify this by virtue of the fact I'm his go-to girl for anything dangerous needing doing…but it's not a pleasant justification, when hopes are so much nicer.
"You look tired," was Martin's greeting. I noticed he took particular care not to stand too close, but not to look like he was avoiding me. It's sweet he thinks about not causing me any discomfort, because he certainly isn't out of arm's reach.
"A little – but it's either a nap, or something constructive to do." I stretched until the full length of my spine crackled and popped, then did the same for my neck and knuckles. "Mmm. 'Scuse me." I muttered, remembering belatedly that some people find the popping sounds of someone else's spine absolutely disgusting.
Jauffre is one of them, and he grimaced now with distaste at the chorus erupting from my bones.
"I take it this was an easy mission?" came Martin's indulgent inquiry.
You know, I'm pretty sure he knows or suspects I'm feeling pretty smug-confident. Hell, it probably shows. I grinned for him. "Yeah, weight of numbers takes a lot of the danger out of it. They'll be fine in their own little teams, I'm sure. Caro gave them hell – I don't think the Dremora will ever want to see her again." I added with a chuckle. They probably think she's my sister or something – she hits pretty hard when she wants to. And she doesn't like Dremora. Or maybe they were just convenient targets for her Oblivion-bolstered anger and aggression. One would think we were all hellcats and raging bulls or something.
"We need to have a meeting," Jauffre announced, pulling Martin and I to business, when it became apparent we were both content to stick with small talk. I think the fact I'm back and not in a towering temper, or trying to hide the fact that I'm upset is refreshing for Martin. I should try and come back smug more often…
But business is business, and it comes first, so with a sigh I nodded. "Okay. Can this wait until I've had a bath?" Well, I expected trouble, and I said I wanted something constructive to do. Looks like I'm learning to read subtleties better than I ever thought I could.
"I..." Jauffre began.
"Certainly," Martin cut him off. For a moment I thought I caught a sparkle in his eyes, but it was gone when I blinked. "Take your time."
Nodding my thanks – are you having Sanguinite thoughts about me? – I felt my skin heat up a little further, though fortunately I don't think the change is noticeable in my present condition.
Martin's voice drifted after me as I followed the path of the others towards the baths. "Look at her – she's still shrugging off the Gate. She won't be able to concentrate on the matters at hand."
"Are you certain?" Jauffre asked. "She looked quite composed."
Smirking I nodded – I'm not that good an actress, am I? I didn't hear Martin's answer, though I'd have liked to. Looking back over my shoulder I found Martin watching my progress. Even at this distance, I could make out the wink he gave me, to which I smirked before winking back, and continuing on my way.
You know, I intended to take a very cold bath originally. Now I want to take a very cold soak and see if I can't get the side effects to lessen enough for me to focus on what I need to do, rather than what I want to do.
Bloody rampages for no reason other than 'I can' are not on the agenda. Trying to play Sanguinite games are out too, even if I still have some trouble visualizing Martin as one. I can't tell if this line of thought is just doubt, a pervading isolation I didn't realize I was dealing with, or just something being in Oblivion brought forward to make my life in the usual plane troublesome.
Aside from which, Martin's right – right now I feel extremely single-minded. Bring out the enemies or let me pull myself back together.
Still, that glimmer I saw for that fleeting second didn't look exactly innocent to me. And even the barest possibility he sees me as more than a warrior with a sword is encouraging. Even if I know nothing should come of it – because sooner or later his new reality will set in.
But this is now, and right now anything that lightens my mood, however whimsical, is a welcome thought.
For a moment the memory of a dream made the skin on one shoulder prickle at the phantom-memory of warm breath against it.
Damn these Gates – they foul up my head and mire my thoughts. I'm going to put that on Mehrunes Dagon's bill – and it's a bill in intend to collect upon. And so, thinking of all sorts of terrible, unlikely, improbably and possibly impossible things I'd like to do in the direction of beating the Daedra to a blood pulp. It's nice to have someone to blame and to heap abuse upon, even if I might be a little more shrewd in my words should I ever meet him face to face.
Forget that – Frostreaver, as my new silent partner, can speak loudly enough for both of us…
…that doesn't even make sense.
--A--
I wasn't the only woman in the bathhouse, but fortunately all the others were also on the Gate Crew, so we didn't feel the need to chatter, and I didn't need to feel isolated, left out, or uncomfortable in talks. We wanted t be left alone to shrug off any remaining effects of the Gate.
I drew my bath, using a weak-level ice spell to chill the water. Lucky mages - they can just melt and heat a bath in seconds.
Leaning against the sturdy washtub, I caught my reflection in the water's surface, then turned abruptly, still wearing my chemise and trousers, to examine myself properly in the mirrors hung along part of the same wall in which the door stood. I wasn't the only one. Erina gave herself a dark look and grimaced, turning in her heel and walking over to one of the other tubs.
Up until now, I haven't really taken the time to see the effect Oblivion's had on me. I know about the red eyes, and the sort of 'otherness', but hadn't actually seen it. My face is still a little red and patchy, like I've overheated, and the eyes…they don't glow, but they're noticeably, vibrantly red. Dunmer eyes, almost, which looks quite terrible with my hair. I've also lost some of the roundness of face, the cheekbones standing out more sharply the jaw looking a little more angular. It's like current events are whittling me down to something tougher than my favorite fruit jerky.
Damn – I could go for some of that just now. Or something with chocolate in it. Or on it. Or with it, like a sauce – I'm not picky. That wimpy part of me – the part that just want to do her job and be good at it – suggested half-heartedly I simply go to Elsweyr and harvest the beans myself.
But that would be stupid. I don't know the first thing about candy-making. And I could never justify that kind of holiday right now. It's irresponsible.
Hesitantly I touched my reflection, then poked my face, as if somehow the mirror was playing tricks on me. It isn't, but when I smirked at my own foolishness…the smile proved to be my own. The quiet in the brightly-lit room is good for thinking – usually you only get that sort of quiet thought-provoking sense if you're lucky enough to have the bath to yourself for a bit.
Fetching a fresh bar of soap, I broke open the parchment wrapping, letting the smell of bayberry snake its way into my nostrils, taking deep breaths of the scent. It's such a clean smell. It's a safe smell.
And one which conjures up memories. Despite the fact bayberry is the standard scent of soap around here – possibly because it smells clean – it's a smell I associate first and foremost with Martin. The memory dredged up this time was of a priest comforting a crying girl.
Unwilling to let myself get distracted any further, I undressed quickly and threw myself into the bath. I shivered, for a moment, struggling to breathe as the cold slammed against me, buffeting mind and body and leeching away warmth. Yes, I'm fond of him – very fond of him, and his company. I know he's fond of me – though perhaps not the way I'd like him to be. I somehow doubt he's so shallow, but I know better than to ignore the possibility. Or maybe it's brother-induced paranoia.
Still, I'm pretty sure this isn't just a crush, or infatuation – not on my end, anyway. Namely because he's seen the same side of me people close to me see – not a side I generally show to strangers, or people I don't trust beyond the usual limits. And it's not that I think about him all the time…but when I do, it makes me happy.
Well, cold water's good for that too.
--A--
