CHAPTER 12: of wanderers and dwellers
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted" - Matthew 5:4
Crash! The impact made Sophie briefly lose her balance and allow a couple of steps backward. She sighed in frustration while trying to regain her grip on the wood stick that served as a practice weapon.
"Focus," said Martin who was holding his stick, "your opponent will almost always try to distract you to force an opening. Let that happen and you are a goner."
She nodded and reviewed her instance in her mind. Right foot forward; toe facing her assailant. Left foot behind and perpendicular. Knees slightly bent. Left hand loosely in front of her chest protecting it. Right hand holding her improvised weapon, which was tilted upward to face Martin's right shoulder.
Their eyes locked, trying to read one another. Martin advanced, aiming a thrusting attack to her right side. She saw it coming this time and parried by circling her weapon under his and pushing it away from her body.
Soon he tried again, this time with an inside attack. She managed to dodge however by quickly retracting a step.
"Good," he complimented while returning to a defensive position.
The duo exchanged a few more blows until a high-pitched whistle informed them that their tea was ready. They proceeded to enjoy their breakfast of bread and apples at the side of the road.
"You are doing well for a beginner," commented Martin, "if you practice these moves every day, they will soon feel like second nature."
Sophie nodded again while taking a mouthful of bread.
"Where did you learn how to fight?" she asked curiously once her mouth was free of food.
"From many different places, really," he answered in between bites of an apple, "you may have already figured that out but I am originally from Skyrim."
"The possibility crossed my mind, yes."
"I was raised in an orphanage until I was around 10. Not the brightest of places, if I may say so myself."
"I am sorry, I did not mean to pry."
"It is all right. It does not bother me that much," assured Martin, "anyway, as soon as I was able, I joined a khajiit caravan that was heading to the westernmost holds."
"You joined a caravan, just like that?"
"It was not as if anything was holding me back, and those merchants usually only care if you can work and be useful," he explained nonchalantly, "This sort of thing is more common than you would expect."
"All right, go on."
"Well, I learned the basics of combat from the caravan chief and picked up a couple of extra moves from the others," he stopped a moment to accept a cup of green tea from Sophie, "I stayed with them until we reached Whiterun. Have you heard of it?"
"It is Skyrim's most central Hold," Sophie recollected from her geography lessons, "all major trade routes pass through its capital and it also houses a variety of farms that feed the whole province."
"That sums it up," he acknowledged, "the City of Whiterun is also the home of the Companions. They are… actually, it is hard to explain what they are. They are a group of warriors that live and work together under a certain code of rules."
"Like the fighter's guild?"
"Not exactly. They feel a bit more personal and chaotic. More like a family than an organization. The Companions are the type of group you go to if you are trying to find your place in the world… or if you are looking for a fresh start," he wetted his throat with a gulp of tea, "they do not judge you by who you are or from where you come from. They barely ask you any questions to tell you the truth. If you are honest and willing to live with honor, they will take you in."
"I got the idea."
"It seemed like a good opportunity and I took it. I stayed with them for quite some time and learned everything I could from hand-to-hand to armed combat," he smiled at the memories, "how to shoot with a bow and arrow; how to camouflage in any type of terrain. They even allowed me to go on missions on my own after a while."
"Why did you leave?" Sophie asked before she could stop herself.
"It will probably sound kind of selfish, but, after a while, I just wanted… more."
"More?" she sounded confused.
"Yeah, you see. Many companions come from other holds, other provinces even. And they will tell you all about their homelands at a full cup of mead," he made a motion with his cup for effect, "the wilderness of Valenwood, the wastelands of Morrowind, the deserts of Hammerfell… I wanted to see them too."
Sophie revised once again what she knew about all of these places from her books back home. Their descriptions, however, sounded kind of dull in comparison to the way the nord, or half-nord as she suspected, mentioned them. He made it seem like those were exciting places, full of new horizons to explore and filled with adventures to be lived.
"That does not sound selfish at all," she replied.
"Thank you, Red," he politely accepted, "what about you? Where are you from?"
She sighed while trying to think of a good enough answer that did not give too much away.
"I am from a small county not very far from here," she started, "the place is quite 'rural' and there is no big city like Whiterun," she took a gulp of her tea to give her time to think, "but there is a lot of native forests for you to explore if you are brave enough," she sent him a daring gaze which was met with a knowing smirk, "it is green and moisty most of the year but during spring it simply blooms. It is like walking through a living painting," she made a motion with her hands as if appreciating a real work of art, "flowers of all colors and perfumes come alive and shine under the sun. And all kind of wild animals walk and run through the forest like rabbits and deer," she moved her eyes to Lullaby who was eating her breakfast on the ground, "some will even let you pet them."
The last statement was followed by a wink directed at the wolf who answered with a happy bark.
"That sounds really nice, Red," the blond said while chuckling.
"But the best part is the people," she continued excitedly, "they are the nicest and friendliest people one could hope to meet in Cyrodiil. During the New Life Festival, for example, everybody gets together around a bonfire to share drinks and food. And there is also a lot of local music and dancing," Lullaby let out a couple of excited barks over the mention of music, "Yes, it is great, especially the strawberry pies! My parents take me to watch the festivities every year… they are… they…"
Sophie found herself fighting to control stubborn tears that insisted on coming out. She tried to conjure happy memories in her head but it only seemed to make it worse. The redhead continued her battle until an unexpected and rather worn-out handkerchief was offered in her direction. She looked back at the blond with confusion in her eyes.
"Take this piece of advice from someone who has had to deal with hardships multiple times in life. There is nothing wrong or shameful about crying when you need to."
She accepted the piece of tissue as she was taken by uncontrollable sobs. The tears soon drenched the small cloth and the girl proceeded to use the blonde's shoulder instead. There is no telling how long they stayed like that. It may have been 10 minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Two perfect strangers and a wolf at the side of a busy road. A girl with no name pouring her heart out to a boy with no home. Any passerby would name the scene as odd or exotic. At that time, however, it was all they needed.
Far away from that road and in a much more imposing setting, another woman, also of imperial lineage and noble birth, mourned over her own misfortunes. In contrast with young Sophie, however, she was already in her early fifties, dressed entirely in black, and cried by herself over an ornated coffin.
The marbled hall of the White-Gold Tower where she stood echoed her sobs, amplified them and made them sound even more lonely. She had been there for quite a while when a manservant entered to announce that the High Chancellor wished to see her. She gave the order to let him inside and felt his presence more than saw him approaching as she continued to focus her attention on the box that confined her now deceased Geldall.
"He was a good man," she said to the newcomer without turning around to face him, "he was firm but just. Practiced everything he believed in but never imposed his own views on others. He would have been…" a series of sobs stopped her from finishing momentarily, "a great emperor."
"I know," said the elf in an uncharacteristic tender voice, "but, unfortunately, tradition demands me to take Your Ladyship away from her grief to review the protocol for tomorrow," he moved his gaze through the series of coffins displaying the Septim emblem with a contemplative expression. Probably asking himself how he allowed this to happen.
"I understand," Lady Adrana answered after composing herself.
She raised from her spot by Geldall and turned to face the altmer with the most neutral face she could muster. He bowed to her before continuing.
"Also, there are issues regarding the succession that we must discuss."
"Can this not wait until after the ceremony?" she asked frustrated.
"I am afraid not," the elf sighed, "tragic events like this often reveal hidden enemies that would usually disguise as friends."
"And the jackals in sheep's clothing have already begun to howl, I take it," she sounded disgusted.
"And sooner than I expected, I fear," he eyed her with the penetrating gaze he was so well-known for, "it pains me to have to do it, Your Ladyship, but I must ask. Is Your Ladyship ready and willing to fight for the position that is rightfully yours?"
Lady Adrana closed her eyes and took a deep breath before answering in a firm and unwavering voice.
"When I married Geldall, I vowed to become an empress that he and all of Tamriel could be proud of. And I have every intention of keeping that promise."
High Chancellor Ocato nodded and motioned her to the exit.
"Master Jauffre has just arrived. He is waiting for us to further discuss the matter," he began as they both walked to the door, "I can assure Your Ladyship that the votes from Summerset and Morrowind will all be in our favor. Cyrodiil and the other provinces, however, will most certainly split."
"Which provinces does Your Lordship believe we should focus on?"
"That all depends on our main strategy. If Your Ladyship decides to tighten her relations with High Rock, that would mean…"
The pair proceeded to their lavish breakfast while discussing the many intricacies of Tamriel's politics.
Away from the splendid and imposing halls of the White-Gold Tower, the citizens of the little settlement of Weye were also starting their morning with a much more mundane routine. Nerussa was serving breakfast at the Wawhayet Inn while the remaining villagers were gathering around the many fishing spots provided by Lake Rumare.
Mr. Merowald was sitting on a small wood platform overlooking the lake and wondering when, or whether if, the fish would start biting. He sighed and looked up at the clouds, bored. 'That one looks like a bunny', he thought, 'and that one is just like a goblin.' His musings, however, were unexpectedly interrupted by an uncharacteristic ruckus caused by said lake's wildlife.
Fishes, eels, mud crabs… Rumare was suddenly bursting with movement which, unfortunately, was directed on getting away from Merowald was and not towards him. He looked at the fleeing creatures, perplexed until he noticed the falling object in the skies.
The tiny meteor was rushing through the clouds, disturbing their shapes, and leaving a smoky trail behind it. As it approached, the fisherman could hear an ever louder whooshing noise and, just like the fishes before him, ran for his life.
The imperial barely heard the deafening 'boom' that indicated the meteor had landed before he was pushed many feet forward by a windblast. The land shook with the impact while the houses that comprised the little village trembled with the wind. A big wave formed at the lake's margin which passed through the Imperial City's bridge and knocked off the soldiers guarding it.
Merowald, the fisherman, waited a few minutes on the ground before carefully rising back to his feet. He, alongside the other citizens of Weye, adventures from the Inn, and a couple of soldiers, slowly approached the deep crater that had just been created. They waited at its edge until enough of the smoke had cleared out to see what had disturbed their peaceful morning.
The old man gave a step back when, at the center of the crater, something started to stir. The black and white object soon raised to its small and delicate feet and brushed off the dust from its garments. The people around started chatting curiously and some even rubbed their eyes to make sure they were seeing correctly.
No matter how many times they tried to clean their vision, however, the image stayed put. A dark elf woman stood at the center of the crater. She had smooth dark skin and the most vibrant red eyes old Merowald had ever seen. Her long white hair was styled in a low braid that flowed down her back. Her white vest was similar to a long-sleeved kimono, with a purple ribbon at her middle and little butterflies of the same color as decoration. Her fists were covered by a couple of hand wraps that bared the Septim's crest. The final touch to her look was a bronze necklace holding a fist-shaped pendant. Someone up close could read the inscription "ut de manu gentle".
After recovering from her fall, the dunmer jumped at what should be an impossible high and landed again, this time very graciously, in front of the old fisherman. The woman bowed to the old man and asked in a sweet voice.
"Excuse me, good sir. I am trying to reach the Imperial City. Could you tell me in which direction it is?"
The wide-eyed and jaw-dropped man just raised an arm and pointed to the giant tower at the center of the lake. Too dumbfounded to produce actual words.
The dark elf smiled brightly upon seeing the capital city, just now getting a better sense of her surroundings after the harsh landing.
"Finally! Thank you very much. May the Nine shower you with blessings," she said happily.
She performed another elegant reverence before shooting for the city like an arrow, leaving a crowd of confused bystanders behind.
Merowald stared at the place where the small dark elf had been standing for quite a few minutes. The voice of one of the traveling adventures recalled him to the present.
"What is this?" asked the man who had gone down the crater and was holding a piece of parchment in his hands.
"I do not know," said a soldier who joined him, "looks like a magical scroll of some kind."
A spellcaster also went down to take a look at the mysterious parchment under the curious gaze of the crowd. After analyzing it he proclaimed to the expectant public.
"It is just a bunch of rubbish. Something about Ikarian Flight. Nothing to see here."
Many "ah's" were heard among the crowd that quickly dispersed and went back to their daily lives. Old Merowald gave the crater one last look before going back to his favorite fishing spot while murmuring "I guess it is just another day in Weye."