A/N: Once again, the accursed writer's block, with the additional curse of lack of inspiration and plain bone idleness has delayed this next installment. I'll try whipping myself next time. Anyhow, many thanks to those of you who reviewed, including:
Commentaholic: Gorgoth is skilled in Restoration, yes, but some enchantments are far deadlier than others... more on that in this chapter.
Underpaid Critic: Yes, Gorgoth is extremely powerful, but don't for a second think that this task is going to be made easy for him; he will definitely bleed in the process of saving Tamriel (and he won't do it alone, either). Also ,there's plenty of people in Cyrodiil who are just as powerful, if not more so, than Gorgoth; Agronak gro-Malog, Mannimarco, and Mankar Camoran to name but a few, though I'm not saying that Gorgoth will necessarily fight them all.
Steiner: congratulations on catching up. And thanks for the bumper crop of reviews.
To those of you who haven't reviewed, yet are reading this, then REVIEW. I don't care what you think of your own reviewing skills, but if you point out a flaw in my writing, or even just offer encouragement, it can only help me. So review. Enough rambling for now...
Chapter Thirteen: Sanctuary
The flagstones of the Orange road sparkled wetly under the noonday sun, which was peeking out from behind a billowing grey mass of cloud. After a day of rain, the black storm clouds had passed, leaving the scent of wet grass hanging in the air. Muddy puddles collected in cracks and holes in the stones that paved the highway. Occasionally, drops of water fell from the leaves of the trees overhanging the road, sending ripples through otherwise still puddles. The only thing out of place on this particular stretch of road was the body of the Khajiiti highwayman.
He lay on his back, his glazed yellow eyes looking up through the canopy of trees at the sun. The boiled leather covering most of his body was wet with yesterday's rain, and his fur was slick with the same rain, yet to dry out under the sun. His iron broadsword lay a metre from his outstretched hand, under the shadow of a tree. The Khajiit's other hand was thrown up above his head, as though to stop something. The arrow stuck up straight out of his chest, the cuirass dark with blood in a small circle around the fatal wound. A few thin trickles of blood were dripping from the corpse, splashing into a small puddle, mingling with the water, creating tiny swirls of pink that clouded the reflective surface.
Aerin knelt and pulled her arrow out of the feline corpse. "I think he might have bitten off more than he could chew," she laughed, replacing her arrow in the quiver on her back and remounting Firebrand.
"It was a good shot," commented Ilend. "I think he was at least hundred metres away when he saw us. You didn't even give him time to run." The Imperial's horse skirted around the corpse, probably repulsed by the stench of death.
"Remain watchful," rumbled Gorgoth, his own yellow eyes canning the tree line. "He may not have been alone."
"We should get back up to speed," reminded Jauffre, who was leading the way on his own diminutive bay. Gorgoth, who had a keen eye for horses, could tell that the horse was better than it looked. "Cloud Ruler Temple is still a day's hard ride away, and I wouldn't want to keep Martin this vulnerable for long." The Breton sighed and shook his head. "This is how the princes were assassinated, riding on the roads of Cyrodiil that were supposedly safe," he muttered.
"Enough with your regretfulness, Jauffre," reproached Gorgoth, trotting up to ride beside the Breton. "Regretting anything wastes time and encourages pessimism. Focus on the task at hand." With a hard look to reinforce his words, Gorgoth spurred his stallion up to a gallop, the rest of the group falling in behind him.
As they moved further north, the vegetation and trees got sparser and visibly tougher. The air grew colder, and the terrain grew more rugged, with ridges and hills dotting the landscape. Glimpsed views to the south whenever a hill wasn't blocking the way grew ever more spectacular; on occasions, they could even glimpse Lake Rumare, sparkling in the sun, with the Imperial City sitting in the middle of it, White Gold Tower rising up like a pillar reaching for the heavens.
The skies cleared as they made their way north to Bruma, the clouds dispersing and the blinding sun shining down at them out of a clear blue sky, reflecting off the snowy peaks of the Jerall Mountains to the north. They joined the Silver Road, which got more narrow and winding as their altitude increased. Aerin, being a Bosmer and therefore the one least used to cold climates, was the first to start shivering, despite her thick wool travelling cloak. On the other hand, Gorgoth, despite his plate armour conducting cold very well, remained unruffled, partly due to his conditioning and partly due to the fact that the Wrothgarian Mountains were regarded as one of the coldest regions of Tamriel.
By the time Bruma came into sight, the breath of horse, man, and mer was visible as mists rising from their chilled faces. Frozen sweat was starting to collect on the horse's flanks, evidence of the punishing pace set by Jauffre. The Breton was the first to rein in to regard the city that lay before them. Bruma's walls were clearly Cyrodiilic by design, but the town within them showed heavy Nordic influences on the architecture. The sturdy wooden buildings would not look out of place in Skyrim, and it appeared that the only buildings free of some form of Nordic influence were the chapel and the castle.
Jauffre didn't stop to stable the horses, but instead rode right through the open city gates at a trot. The guards watched them warily, but eventually decided that the party of armed men and mer didn't pose a threat, and relaxed the grip on their halberds, returning to the usual cold monotony of gate guard duty. Jauffre led the way through the wide streets of Bruma, past guildhalls, shops, and large, low houses, before eventually reaching Bruma's north gate, located near the castle. The guards here watched them less warily than their comrades on the south gate; this time, the armed party was leaving Bruma, not entering.
The sun was still hovering some way above the mountains to the east as they made their way up the road to Cloud Ruler Temple, which was still hidden from view by rock formations. The steep, winding nature of the road meant that progress was slowed to little more than walking pace.
"Where's all the snow?" asked Aerin, still shivering even under her thick cloak. "I thought snow lay here all year."
Gorgoth snorted, sending visible plumes of his breath into the atmosphere. "You must be confusing this place with the Jeralls or the Wrothgarians," he told her. "This isn't Skyrim. Bruma only gets deep, thick snow from the late autumn to spring."
"Well, it feels cold enough for snow," muttered Aerin, attempting to compact herself in a feeble attempt for more warmth. "It's times like this that I miss Valenwood..."
Ilend smirked at the Bosmer's discomfort. He'd been to Bruma several times in the past, and was grateful for his own thick cloak that was now covering his chainmail. It managed to keep most of the cold out, though there was a cold draught billowing up from the ground. "I'm guessing you've never been this far north, Aerin?" he asked, moving his tired, cold horse to ride next to Firebrand, who seemed to be in equally low spirits.
"What do you think, guardsman?" came the sharp reply. "If I'd known it was this bloody cold, I'd have brought fourteen layers of furs or something... or borrowed Gorgoth's spare clothes."
Ilend, still quietly laughing at the thought of Aerin wearing Gorgoth's massive animal-skin garments, removed his own cloak, reached over, and wrapped it around Aerin. The chilling wind hit him like a hammer to the face, and he almost immediately started shivering, but the thought of the fire up in Cloud Ruler Temple and Aerin's shocked, grateful smile was enough to keep him going. "If you serve in the Kvatch Guard under Savlian Matius for six years, it's impossible not to get some sense of chivalry," he explained, clutching his reins tighter in an effort to stop his hands shaking with the cold. The internal leather padding of the chainmail gauntlets wasn't good for insulation.
"Much appreciated, Ilend," murmured Aerin, drawing his cloak tighter around her small frame. "Remind me never to visit Skyrim or Orsinium in the winter; I think I'd freeze ta death." She grimaced. "And that's not exactly on my list of things to do."
"Actually, it's better if you come here in winter," remarked Jauffre. "Cloud Ruler Temple looks even more remarkable when covered in snow."
Gorgoth raised an eyebrow slightly. "I've seen examples of Akaviri architecture in books, but this will be the first time I've laid eyes on it in person." The Orc's horse whickered at the cold he was experiencing. Gorgoth leaned forward, stroked his mane, and whispered something in his ear that seemed to placate the stallion. "In Orsinium, the horses are bred for hardiness and stamina," he grunted. "I'm not sure where this horse hails from, but he's not suited to the climate."
"Looks like a bulkier version of the Cheydinhal black to me," observed Martin. The priest had spoken little on the journey; no doubt he was thinking over the sudden new course his life had taken. Out of the five, he seemed to be the one least affected by the cold, apart from Gorgoth; apparently, he was warming himself using magical methods, as his tattered robes did not look particularly insulating.
"I'm calling him Vorguz," replied Gorgoth, patting the mentioned horse's neck. "In the Orcish language, that means fortune; it was to our benefit that we found a horse quick and sturdy enough to carry me and my armour."
"Yes, and I suppose it's also good fortune that we've got here so quickly," announced Jauffre as they passed a rocky outcropping. "Prepare to lay your eyes on Cloud Ruler Temple, ancient home of the Blades, for the first time."
Cloud Ruler Temple slowly emerged as their line of sight increased. Situated on the top of a steep hill, the road they were on was the only method of access, unless someone could somehow scale the almost sheer slopes of the hill, and then climb the completely sheer side of the structure. The Temple stood proud against the white backdrop of the snow-capped Jerall Mountains. The Akaviri hadn't been seen in Cyrodiil for centuries, but this fortress was clearly one of their most lasting legacies. Two massive towers flanked a huge iron gate, and the tall, thick walls of the fortress encircled the entire structure, following the curve of the top of the hill. Not much of the inner fortress was visible from below, but the pointed, tiled roofs of the barracks were just visible. The exquisite, but purposeful beauty of Cloud Ruler Temple was something that many stonemasons could only dream of.
"Good construction," grunted Gorgoth, nodding appreciatively as his observant yellow eyes swept over the fortress. "An army looking to storm that would need quality and numbers on their side, and would still lose many men." The Orc rubbed his chin. "The Akaviri can build good strongholds, I'll give them that."
"I can think of no safer place in Cyrodiil," claimed Jauffre, leading the way up to the massive gates. "It has stood strong against many troubles. I only hope that it will be enough." He sighed. "The attack on Kvatch was a method of warfare that I haven't seen before. The best defence we have now is speed and secrecy."
"Well, it looks warm, at least," commented Aerin, riding up close behind Jauffre, eager to get to the promised warmth inside the fortress. To her frustration, Jauffre slowly dismounted, motioning for the others to do the same. They had obviously already been spotted, possibly even before they had laid eyes on the fortress, so when Jauffre led them up to the gates, the groans of gears and levers reached their ears as the colossal-iron-clad gates slowly swung open.
The steep slope once again obscured their vision of the heart of the Temple; all they could see was a long set of stairs stretching up into the depths of the fortress, flanked by sheer stone walls. The gates seemed to be operated from somewhere inside the fortress, as there was only one Blade in sight, a fully armoured Redguard, stepping forward, saluting Jauffre, fist to chest.
"Hail, Grandmaster," he greeted, his voice clear and smooth, with a hint of a Hammerfellian accent evident. "It warms my heart to see you alive and well." The Redguard's sharp blue eyes moved past the Breton, taking in every member of the company, assessing and weighing them. His gaze came to rest on Martin. Recognition sparked in the eyes. "And this must be..."
"Yes, Cyrus," cut in Jauffre. "This is Martin Septim, lost heir of Uriel. Are the Blades assembled?" His voice had an undercurrent of impatience; he was obviously unused to being kept waiting on the doorstep of his own fortress.
"We are assembled, Grandmaster," replied Cyrus. Turning to Martin, he offered another salute. "Your presence honours us, your Majesty. Cloud Ruler Temple has not had the honour of an imperial visit for many years." Nodding once more to Martin, the Redguard turned and led the way up the stairs. The steps were wide and long, spaced to enable horses to be brought up to the Temple. Jauffre motioned for the rest to follow him and started up after Cyrus, leading his horse behind him. The others followed suit.
Waiting to greet them as they reached the top of the stairs was a courtyard full of Blades. Drawn up in two ranks either side of the courtyard, they flanked the path to the entrance to the main hall. A handful of Blades came to take their horses, but Gorgoth judged that apart from them, the entire population of Cloud Ruler Temple was turned out. It was a fine display of power. A hundred Blades stood either side of the courtyard, and more were in the guard towers lining the walls. Two Knight Captains flanked the small set of stairs that led to the main hall, standing to attention like the rest of their men. Gorgoth recognised Renault from the sewers where Uriel had died; the only change he could notice was that her armour had been cleaned of blood and grime.
Jauffre led Martin up to the stairs, then turned him to face the assembled Blades. Ilend and Aerin, both looking somewhat awkward, stood behind Gorgoth and tried to make themselves smaller, while the Orc stood tall with arms folded, behind and to the left of Martin. Jauffre spread his arms wide and addressed the gathered assembly of Blades; his normally thin, reedy voice being projected loud and clear to the Emperor's bodyguards.
"Blades! Dark times are upon us. Emperor Uriel Septim is dead, killed on our watch. We must all bear the shame of our failure." Helmeted heads lowered at the grandmaster's grim words, grimaces contorted faces for instants before they were wrenched back to neutrality. "Long will we bear the stigma of seeing Uriel and he three sons die when under our protection. We failed in our duty, something that must never happen again." Jauffre paused to allow time for his words to sink in.
"However, all hope is not yet lost. The Enemy has not yet triumphed. Blades, you still have a duty to perform: guarding the last child of Uriel Septim with your lives!" At this, eyes flickered towards Martin before swiftly returning to Jauffre. Hope appeared to be rekindled in battle-worn eyes. "Yes, a last heir of the Dragon Blood yet lives. I present to you Martin Septim, last surviving son of Uriel Septim!" Jauffre stepped back and gestured to Martin with a sweep of his arm.
With the roar of two hundred voices and the rattle of two hundred katanas leaving their scabbards, the Blades hailed Martin Septim, genuine devotion shining in their eyes as they raised their katanas to him, the cold steel shining in the sunlight. Martin seemed overwhelmed by the gesture, taking a step back, eyes wide, and almost tripping over a stair until Gorgoth grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear: "They need a few words. Make it simple, make it short. They need no more." Martin nodded nervously, and Gorgoth released him. The priest – ex-priest- stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"I... thank you," he managed; his voice not as confident as Jauffre's but just as audible. The Blades watched him, katanas hanging by their sides. "It reassures me to know that I can rely on such good men in these troubling times. I... hope I can prove myself worthy of your loyalty in the coming days." The priest-turned-heir looked around uncertainly. "That's... that's all," he announced.
As one, the Blades sheathed their katanas, the sound almost drowning out Jauffre's instructions to the captains. Renault and the other captain moved off, ordering a return to normal duties, and the assembled Blades immediately began to disperse. Martin sighed in relief and moved back to talk to Gorgoth, keeping his eyes on the Blades. "Wasn't much of a speech, was it?" he grimaced.
"To the brave and strong, a few words are sometimes as good as many," remarked Gorgoth sagely. The Orc was tapping one of his prominent lower canines with a gauntleted finger.
"So it would seem. They seemed to think it was all right." Martin's eyes looked sideways at the Blades passing him, bowing their heads and muttering friendly salutes as they passed. "Gorgoth, I'll be the first to admit that this is overwhelming for me." The Imperial sighed. "I'm not even sure about what we should be doing, and now I'm meant to lead these people..." he groaned and rubbed his eyes.
Gorgoth gripped the heir's shoulder, forcing his head up. "You will learn," he reassured. "You are in good hands here. In time, you will grow used to your new duty." The Orc straightened and folded his arms. "For now, the key objective should be the return of the Amulet of Kings. As we speak, the magical barriers continue to crumble."
Martin nodded. "Yes, you're right; getting the Amulet back should be a priority. You should probably speak to Jauffre about that, I'll be busy getting... acquainted with my new duty." The heir sighed and started off in the direction of the great hall.
Jauffre was busy talking to Captain Renault, so Gorgoth went over to join Ilend and Aerin, leaning on the battlements and looking down at the landscape far below them. The Nordic architecture of Bruma was clearly visible, and beyond that, the expanse of the forest stretched for mile after mile. In the distance, Gorgoth's good eyes could make out Lake Rumare on the horizon, a pool of deep blue surrounding the architecture of the Imperial City, White Gold Tower seeming to reach for the heavens. It was visible from nearly every place in Cyrodiil, an omnipresent reminder of Imperial power.
"Nice place, this," remarked Aerin, casually leaning on the battlement. "Too bad about the bloody cold but that-" she swept her arm over the view "- is worth it." She was still wearing her own cloak and Ilend's on top of it, but with the hoods thrown back, so the wind tugged at her ponytail.
"I sometimes have to admit to an admiration for a view like this," replied Gorgoth, placing a hand on the battlement and standing tall, letting the wind buffet him and sway his war braids. "If my liking of natural beauty is a weakness, then I can be comforted that it is almost impossible to exploit." Aerin snorted.
"So, what happens now?" asked Ilend, folding his arms atop the battlement and gazing southwest, in the direction of Kvatch. "The Blades can do whatever needs doing from now on. I don't really see what else we can be used for."
"I think you'll be surprised, Ilend," mused Gorgoth, rubbing his chin. "In times like this, there is often a use for everyone. And deniable assets can be valuable tools." The Orc knew too well the brutal truth of that last statement; it was his use as a deniable asset by King Gortwog that had got him sent to Cyrodiil for execution.
Ilend sighed. "Well, as long as I get my revenge on Dagon eventually, I suppose my lust for vengeance can simmer for a while," he muttered. While he could head into the main hall to escape the cold that cut through his armour better than most steel could, the Imperial seemed to be deep in thought, ignoring the biting, chilling wind.
Footsteps on the stone behind them indicated the approach of Jauffre; any other footstep would have been louder due to the heavy boots worn by the Blades. Gorgoth turned, leaving Aerin to admire the view and leaving Ilend to his thoughts. "As the Emperor told you, it was not coincidence that brought you and he together in the Imperial City prison," observed Jauffre. In his hand he held a finely-made new Akaviri katana in its simple, boarhide scabbard. "I believe that the Divines might have had a hand in you being available when you were. That, combined with the old Emperor's trust in you, has convinced me to offer you a place in the ranks of the Blades, with the rank of Knight Brother." Jauffre took hold of the katana with both hands and offered it to Gorgoth.
Gorgoth concealed his surprise and rubbed his chin with a thick finger. While he knew he'd helped Jauffre and the Blades immeasurably, he'd never expected to be invited to join their ranks. "I need some time to think," he rumbled. "And, while I'm thinking it over... I think, if I join, I'll need a bigger katana."
One corner of Jauffre's mouth twitched upwards in the ghost of a smile. "I thought as much," he replied. He turned and walked off along the wall, presumably heading to the armoury. Gorgoth turned and leaned both arms on the wall, looking out into the distance at the Imperial City.
During his time in Cyrodiil, Gorgoth hadn't given much thought to his future. His life back in Orsinium had been unfulfilling; working as a freelance spellsword, a mercenary, brought him enough money to survive, but it created a yawning gap in his desires. He had been causeless; he had nothing to drive him. Previously, a fierce desire for independence had driven him, and now that he was his own master, Gorgoth had had little idea what to do with himself. He'd had all the personal power he needed; excellent armour, a mace of immense power, magical might, the ear of King Gortwog, but for all that, he'd been lacking.
Despite his unwilling entry into Cyrodiil, within days Gorgoth had filled that gap. The Emperor's quest had given him a much-needed direction in life; it had been urgent, and a worthy cause. Everything that followed filled Gorgoth with a sense of satisfaction that he hadn't felt since he'd struck his father down all those years ago. And now he'd been asked to join the Blades. Gorgoth had read a good number of books that mentioned the Blades, the personal bodyguards and spies of the Emperor. Without doubt, they were a proud organisation, fierce in the pursuit of their duties, and suitably honourable. Casting his memory back to those books, Gorgoth could remember few instances of an Orc joining the Blades; he would join the ranks of those honoured few, should he accept.
Taking up the offer would mean continuing down the path that the late Emperor had laid for him; the path that might be essential to saving Tamriel. Gorgoth inwardly smirked at the thought of this destiny falling to him personally. It was good that Jauffre knew almost nothing of his past. If the Breton knew a fraction of the things Gorgoth had done, it would probably be enough for him to call on the Blades to kill Gorgoth and stick his head on a pike. Merely thinking about his past actions brought it all back to Gorgoth: the screaming, the innocent Bretons running around in panic, blood spraying the grass as he struck them down, fireballs from his hands setting thatched roofs alight, and the ever-present, maniacal roaring of the Orc raiders under his command.
Shaking his head violently, Gorgoth dispelled such thoughts. He did not regret any single action of his past, but he remained wary of some of it catching up to him. His eyes refocused, alighting on Cloud Ruler Temple, the symbol of Imperial power in the region. It might fall whatever he did, or the fate of the Empire might rest on his shoulders, or it might rest on another's. But Gorgoth was not one to shirk his duty, and he knew that, whatever happened, he would do his utmost to fulfil an old man's dying wish: to close shut the jaws of Oblivion. Jauffre's shoes clicked on the stones behind Gorgoth.
The Orc was ready. Straightening to his full height, he turned. Jauffre held out an Akaviri dai-katana, a twin to the weapon strapped to the Breton's back. "I will join the Blades," he announced, his mighty voice resonating over the courtyard.
A ghost of a smile flickered over Jauffre's wizened face. "Very good," he replied. "Down on your knee. Repeat this oath after me." Gorgoth knelt in the Orc-fashion, left knee down, head bowed, right fist clenched on the ground beside his right foot, left fist clenched over his heart. "I, Gorgoth gro-Kharz, swear to protect and serve the Emperor of Tamriel with all my strength, his word being my command, my blood spilt before his, my life before his. I will serve with unquestioning obedience and unwavering loyalty until the Emperor releases me from this Oath, or death takes me."
Gorgoth repeated the Blades Oath without hesitation; his word of honour would bind him to that oath far tighter than any magical trickery. He would willingly die to uphold his word. "Rise, Knight Brother" Jauffre told him. The Breton handed Gorgoth his new dai-katana. "Use it well, in the service of the Emperor," intoned the Grandmaster, as Gorgoth bared an inch of steel and grunted in appreciation.
"You've displayed a surprising amount of trust in me," remarked Gorgoth, fitting the dai-katana to his belt. His legs were long enough to keep the tip of the weapon half a foot above the ground; it would do until he found a suitable belt or strap that would hold it to his back. "You can be assured that I will repay you."
"That's good to know," replied Jauffre, moving forward and leaning on the battlements. If the old Breton was cold in just his monk robes, he did not show it. "However, I am unsure what to do with your comrades. I'm not willing to invite them to join the Blades, yet they could be valuable in the days ahead." Jauffre gazed along the wall to where Ilend and Aerin were leaning at their ease. Both of them seemed to have forgotten that there were fires available in Cloud Ruler temple; they both seemed absorbed by the view.
"They can be of great use to us," observed Gorgoth. "We should keep them close. I am sure we'll have no problems convincing them to be of service; Ilend's motivation is revenge, while Aerin seems to hate boredom." The Orc turned back to the Breton. "We need to discuss a plan of action. What's our next move?"
"Our priority is the recovery of the Amulet of Kings, but we have no idea where it is at the moment." Jauffre's face twisted as he grimaced in frustration. "Fortunately, we have agents working on leads. The most promising lead we have at the moment is in the Imperial City. Baurus and Glenroy are working to find out anything they can about the cult that assassinated the Royal Family and planned the attack on Kvatch. When we get word of their progress back from them, I'll send you and possibly your companions to assist them in any way possible."
"What do we do in the meantime?" asked Gorgoth. He was an active kind of person; the idea of sitting around warming himself by the fire in Cloud Ruler Temple waiting for the progress of others did not endear itself to him.
Jauffre spread his arms wide. "Cyrodiil is your oyster. I'd rather you didn't leave the province; that'd make it easier for me to contact you. You'll probably want work to occupy you, I can understand that. The Fighter's Guild would probably be your best bet. I hear they're in particular need of numbers in Cheydinhal and Anvil."
Gorgoth nodded. "I was going to go to Anvil on business anyway," he muttered, recalling his promise to Agronak. "I might as well see what the Fighter's Guild has to offer." Gorgoth inwardly smiled as he remembered his previous dealings with the Fighter's Guild; it had ended with a very angry father and the Guild gaining a lot of land near Orsinium.
Jauffre smiled. "Good to hear it," he said. "I wouldn't want our newest Knight Brother growing fat and complacent out of inactivity. The West Barracks is full, but you can sleep in the East Barracks; barely anyone occupies it nowadays." The Breton turned and walked out along the battlements to the guard towers, exchanging a few words with the sentries. Gorgoth walked off in the opposite direction.
"That reminds me of the time when I swore my oath to the Count of Kvatch," observed Ilend as Gorgoth approached them, clearly having observed Gorgoth's earlier taking of the Blades Oath. "I was only nineteen at the time. Still, I don't regret it. The Guard taught me a lot."
"So, what goes on now, big guy?" asked Aerin, turning and leaning with her back against the wall.
"We find something to occupy ourselves while we wait," replied Gorgoth. "Baurus and Glenroy are investigating the cult that's behind this conspiracy. When Jauffre gets word from them, he'll send for us."
Ilend grunted. "Tell him that, if he needs me, he can find me at the Skingrad Fighters Guild." The Imperial seemed to have almost expected the long wait. "As long as I eventually see action against those fucking cretins, I can wait for months."
Aerin seemed to be less enthusiastic. "What do I do?" she whined. "It's so bloody boring in the Imperial City, and I'm not about to join the Fighter's Guild just ta wait for something."
"Ever been on a goblin hunt?" Ilend asked her, caressing his sword hilt as he did so. His daedric longsword was hanging from his belt easily enough, but he had yet to find a suitable scabbard. Aerin shook her head. "Well, it's anything but boring. Come with me to Skingrad, it's the best part of the country for it. Best hunt you'll ever go on." A smile spread over the Imperial's face. "Me, Parwen, and Ah-Malz had competitions whenever we went on a hunt, back in the day, to see who could kill the most. Ah, good times... it was when the leave wasn't so strict in the Guard."
"Well, at least it sounds more interesting than putting some poor kid to sleep in the Arena," sighed Aerin, shaking her head, her ponytail swaying. Gorgoth stepped back out of the way as her impressive auburn plumage missed him by inches. "What about you, big guy, what are you doing?" she asked Gorgoth. "I can't imagine you just sitting here twiddling your thumbs and getting philosophical."
"I'll be heading the same way as you, most likely," he grunted. "I'm going to Anvil on business. Might stop by the Fighter's Guild while I'm there. It's something to do. I'll stay the night here first. I could use a few good hours sleep in a good bedroll in the barracks."
"Ya know, you've got a point there, big guy," mumbled Aerin, turning away and stifling a jaw-cracking yawn. "Mainly thanks ta you, I don't think I've had what I'd call a full night's rest in Divines knows how long." The sun had drawn considerably closer to the horizon since they had arrived at Cloud Ruler Temple, and the approaching dusk was starting to banish what little warmth there was in the air. Aerin shivered, drawing Ilend's cloak and her own cloak more tightly around her. "I don't see much point in standing around freezing our arses off when we could be getting roasted by the fire," she observed.
"Well said," muttered Ilend. Aerin's mentioning of the cold had reminded him that he was standing on an exposed wall wearing nothing but some thin, southern clothing and chainmail, neither of which offered much insulation. "I think I recognised a couple of people from the Kvatch Guard who left a while back. Might be able to catch up with em over a beer or six."
Gorgoth said nothing, merely following them along the wall back to the courtyard. A handful of Blades were diligently practising their swordwork in the practise area, their individual skill with their elegant, deadly katanas evident in the way they moved and attacked. Braziers spread out in the courtyard gave at least a hint of warmth to those stood around them. The stairs leading to the finely-carved wood doors leading to the great hall were smaller than the entrance stairs, evidently not meant for the hooves of horses.
The doors were heavy, but Gorgoth pushed them both open effortlessly and stepped inside. Immediately a wave of heat washed over him, emanating from both the roaring fireplace at the far end of the hall and numerous torches fitted to wooden pillars. The Orc stepped forward to let his companions in, then shut the door behind them, cutting off the cold wind that was making nearby torches flicker.
Cloud Ruler Temple's great hall was large and cavernous, with a high ceiling. The wall were heavily decorated, some with Akaviri murals, some with Imperial wall hangings, but the largest section of the wall was reserved to display the katanas of notable Blades, their weapons that had served them faithfully being displayed to honour them long after their demise. There were numerous chairs and benches spread out in a haphazard fashion, taking up a large amount of the available floor space. A lot of the chairs were concentrated around the massive fireplace, which reached half to the roof. Aerin immediately moved towards it, shrugging off both her cloaks, and Ilend followed, deftly catching his own cloak as she tossed it to him with a murmur of thanks. Gorgoth followed more slowly, taking the time to take in every aspect of the great hall.
"Those Akaviri sure did know how to build, didn't they?" grunted a grizzled Imperial, a Captain judging by his armour, who had been idly leaning against a pillar. "Names Steffan, Knight Captain. Been stationed here for a lot of winters, and looking at the place and the view never gets old."
"Good looking, for sure, but for durability, you want Orc-forts," replied Gorgoth, folding his arms and looking critically at an intricately carved pillar. "This looks elegant, but it won't stand up to many blows from an axe."
"Maybe not, but you can't deny that it's great stonework out there," responded Steffan. "Some real good craftsmanship, that is." He smirked and shook his head. "Heh, listen to me, prattling on about stonework when there are green warriors to train. I'm getting old." He straightened and gave a salute, fist to heart. "See you around, Knight Brother." Steffan turned on his heel and marched out of the great hall into the courtyard.
Gorgoth walked over to the fire, where Ilend, Aerin, and a handful of Blades were warming themselves. Laughter rippled through their ranks at some offhand comment made by Aerin as Gorgoth stepped up to warm himself. He largely ignored them and stared into the flickering flames, thinking about nothing in particular but allowing himself a few rare moments of relaxation. He registered the arrival of another Blade stepping up beside him, also looking into the fire, but it was only when she spoke that he turned his head slightly and recognised her.
"You appear to have come up in the world since we departed, prisoner," observed Captain Renault, her blue eyes reflecting the dancing flames. "I suppose I shouldn't really call you that now," she added with a wry smile. "I'll just need a bit of time to get used that a revolutionary sentenced to death is now a Knight Brother." She shook her head in mild disbelief.
"That's the first time I've ever been called a revolutionary," grunted Gorgoth. He wasn't surprised that the Blades at least knew why he had been in Cyrodiil, but he was confident that he had buried parts of his past so deeply that it would take enormous efforts to piece it together. Only one man knew everything about Gorgoth, and he was trusted. "It was a bit of wet work, that's all. Nothing revolutionary about it."
Renault nodded, pursing her lips. "I guess it was going a bit far," she admitted. "But you did commit an open act of rebellion and attempted to murder an Imperial citizen. Still, the Emperor pardoned you, and Jauffre seems to trust you. If you were ever going to betray us, you would probably have done so by now, so I'm prepared to trust you as well."
"Good to know that I can trust those who will be fighting alongside me," grunted Gorgoth. He turned his head slightly to look the Breton in the eyes. She returned his gaze without blinking, retaining the natural Breton haughtiness despite having to stretch her neck in order to meet his eyes. "How much have you discovered about this ex-prisoner through your digging?"
"Very little," sighed Renault, a flicker of annoyance playing across her face. "You seem to be skilled at burying your past, Gorgoth. You work as a freelance spellsword in Orsinium, seemingly an ordinary occupation, except for two things; you have a solid working relationship with King Gortwog and might just be the most powerful mage in Orsinium."
A corner of Gorgoth's mouth twitched in what could be called a smile. "For all the Blades' vaunted experience, they cannot successfully investigate the past of a humble spellsword," he taunted. Renault's face stiffened. "I admit, though, that it would be a difficult task. You said it yourself; I bury my past well. I intend to keep it that way."
"I respect that. I'm sure you have your reasons." At this, Renault leaned in closer to him. "I'll admit, however, that you make me curious, Gorgoth. I'm sure you won't mind if I do a little extra digging in my free time?" An innocent smile spread over the Knight Captain's face as she turned to go, leaving Gorgoth alone, staring into the fire.
"Good luck, Captain," he murmured to himself. "You'll need it." Various people in Orsinium knew pieces of Gorgoth's past, some could give detailed information about some of his past doings, but only one man knew it all. Gorgoth trusted that man with his life and more. That ghost of a smile stayed for a few seconds before fading. A bedroll and sleep sounded good to him right now; building up hours of sleep now would allow him to go without when he needed to later.
As if they could read his thoughts – a disturbing idea – Ilend and Aerin appeared by his side. "The sun's gone down, and I'm tired, big guy," drawled Aerin, stifling a yawn. "I say we head ta the East barracks and hit the sheets. Your verdict?"
"You've come up with a good idea, Aerin. Try to keep it up, it's good for you." Gorgoth didn't wait for a response as he headed over to where he judged the East Barracks to be. Aerin, mouth still working to attempt to come up with a reply, fell in behind him, along with Ilend, who was yawning so widely his jaw muscles were locking. As the Imperial frantically punched himself in the chin to unlock the muscles and ease the pain, Gorgoth decided not to try his luck with the numerous doors that could lead anywhere and instead headed to the courtyard.
The dark red stain on the western horizon was all that remained of the sun's light, and Masser and Secunda were shining overhead instead, against a backdrop of a many-starred night. There were no clouds from horizon to horizon. The night air was chilled, meaning that Ilend and Aerin both shivered and walked quickly towards the East barracks, a long, low building sandwiched between the great hall and the stables. Gorgoth pushed open the plain wooden door and ducked inside, his bulk barely squeezing through the small doorway.
As expected, the barracks was a basic building; soldiers, even soldiers as prestigious as the Blades, only needed the most basic of accommodation. Rows apon rows of bedrolls stretched from end to end of the building. As Jauffre had mentioned, few were occupied. Weapon racks and armour stands lined the walls, bending under the weight of Akaviri katanas or the armour of the Blades. Personal possessions were presumably kept under the pillow or strewn around the owner's bedroll. Gorgoth and Ilend, both experienced soldiers, had expected something of the sort. Aerin simply grumbled about the lack of privacy, something that brought a smirk to Ilend's face.
"Aerin, before you collapse onto a bedroll and take your well-earned rest, I need a favour," grunted Gorgoth.
The mentioned Bosmer's head jerked round, and she raised a startled eyebrow as she looked up at Gorgoth. "Not like you ta ask favours, big guy," she drawled, turning to fully face him. "What is it?"
Gorgoth's hand twitched towards his long war braids, two thick coils of black hair that hung to his waist. "It's been a long time since my hair has been unbraided," he explained. "I normally unbraid it every night, but there has been no time for that recently. Doing it myself would be... complicated."
Aerin nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, I think I'm up ta that," she muttered uncertainly. Gorgoth nodded in thanks and proceeded to remove his armour, the clanking and crashing not being enough to wake the few Blades that were sleeping over in the far corner. Ilend was doing the same a few bedrolls down. After a few minutes, Gorgoth, now clad in only his loose-fitting cotton trousers, sat down cross-legged, motioning for Aerin to join him. He threw his head back, letting his braids hang to the floor, giving the Bosmer easy access.
"OK... give me a few minutes here," muttered Aerin, frowning as she concentrate on the Orc's hair. "It's the first time I've worked with someone else's hair."
"It's perfectly simple," rumbled Gorgoth, and proceeded to talk her through the process. Aerin's hands were swift and dexterous, and within minutes Gorgoth's fine, glossy black hair was flowing freely to his waist.
"That's... some pretty fine hair you've got here, big guy," murmured Aerin in an awestruck tone as she gently sifted her fingers through his hair. It was fine, silky, and smooth, not the type of hair she'd expected to find on a battle-hardened warrior. "I'd thought I'd find dried blood caked in your hair, but this is... good hair." Gorgoth snorted.
Ilend looked over at them from where he was pulling his shirt up over his head. "I thought it was only wives and lovers who did that," he said, a questioning tone in his voice but an impish grin on his face as he motioned at Aerin's hands in Gorgoth's hair.
The Bosmer's hands sprang away from the black curtain in front of her as if burned, but Gorgoth merely shrugged. "True, most often this task is performed by those you mention," he rumbled. "But merely because they are the most readily available. Anyone with delicate hands is good enough. Sometimes even my brothers of battle have unbraided each other's hair." Gorgoth's mouth twisted slightly as he looked down at his own massive hands. "My own fingers have always been too large and crude for such a task." Ilend remembered those fingers fumbling around the dagger hilt protruding from Aerin's stomach, unable to get a grip.
"I thought as much," muttered Aerin, shaking her head and shooting a glare at Ilend, but it contained no malice. She crawled over to a nearby bedroll and started to remove her own armour. Ilend's chainmail lay in a semi-neat pile at the foot of his bedroll, along with his shirt and socks. The Imperial himself was lying on his bedroll, arms behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Gorgoth had got to his feet and was stretching his mighty frame, the green skin stretched taut over raw, strong muscle. Aerin frowned and, throwing off her boots, moved closer to get a better look at something that had caught her eye.
"Hey, big guy... what is that?" she asked, pointing at a wicked-looking scar that started in the centre of his stomach and ran down to his right leg, disappearing below his trousers. He had a few other, smaller scars, but this one stood out from the rest for a reason that she couldn't identify, apart from the fact that it seemed to be slightly darker in hue than the others, a faint hint of dark blue around the edge of the white scar tissue.
"A scar," grunted Gorgoth, relaxing his muscles and looking down at the inquisitive Wood Elf, making no effort to hide the old wound. "Proof that even I am mortal if confronted with an enemy more skilled than I." He sighed and tapped his canine. "These minor scratches are old scars," he growled, motioning to the handful of small scars, white lines that stood out from the green of his chest and back. "I received them before I knew how to heal myself. The one you noticed is more recent."
"So why didn't ya heal that one? That looks kinda deadly."
"There are some blades in existence that leave a mark that is hard to erase," explained Gorgoth. "I fought one who had such a blade, a few months ago. He was skilled enough to have earned the right to wield that blade. I eventually drove him off, but he had wounded me badly enough that I couldn't follow and finish him off."
"Wow. He must have had some skill with a blade." Aerin hadn't even considered that there might be someone who could best the mighty Orsimer before her in battle; his martial and magical might seemed to be undefeatable. Ilend snorted from his bedroll.
"No-one is perfect, Aerin," he said, his voice flat. "Try to live in the knowledge that there is always someone better than you. Might help keep you humble and on your guard." The Imperial's head rolled to the side, the light catching his blue eyes as he looked at her earnestly. "It might save your life one day. Pride comes before a fall."
"I'll take my chances, thanks," Aerin told him nervously, returning to her bedroll and leaving Gorgoth to trace his scar with a finger. She continued to remove her armour and pile it at the foot of her bedroll, in a fashion similar to Ilend. Kneeling, she twisted her arms behind her head to release the simple leather band that held her hair up in its simple, long ponytail. As she did so, she caught sight of Ilend, still awake, furtively leering at her chest, which was thrust out due to the position of her arms. Shooting him a glare that threatened him with a dagger to his genitals if he didn't avert his eyes, she tossed the leather band to the floor, her auburn hair cascading down around her shoulders, reaching her waist.
"Sleep deeply. Do not be troubled by dreams. May you live to see the morning." With those slightly unsettling words, Gorgoth pulled his blanket over him, settled down on his bedroll, and closed his eyes. Within minutes, his breathing slow and regulated.
"Wish I knew how he drops off to sleep so quickly," grumbled Ilend, jerking his own blanket over him. The Imperial's height meant that the ends of his feet stuck out under the end, a fact he was choosing to ignore. "Night, Aerin. What he said, but less cryptic." Aerin stifled a giggle and closed her eyes, rolling onto her side. Tired by the hard riding of the past days, sleep came to claim her quickly.
The morning sunlight was swift to enter the barracks through the east-facing windows. Aerin was eased out of her sleep by a hot beam of sunlight draping itself over her sleeping body. She slowly eased herself up, groaning as she worked a crick in her neck. Sleeping on the floor on bedrolls might be good enough for soldiers once they got used to it, but not for a Bosmer used to sleeping in a soft bed every night. Still, it had been better than sleeping on the bare grass, a common occurrence when travelling on the road with Gorgoth.
Rubbing her eyes, Aerin rose to her knees and abruptly stopped. She knew she probably shouldn't be surprised at the sight of Gorgoth combing his hair in a mirror after what she had seen of his hair last night, but it was still a shocking sight to see the Orc performing such a task. Gorgoth acknowledged her presence with a grunt and went on combing. Aerin shook her head in mild disbelief and straightened, grunting with effort as she stretched her body and limbs. Remembering suddenly that Ilend could be leering at her, she quickly spun to face him, only to find that he was still asleep, an arm thrown over his eyes. Aerin paused for a second to admire his taut muscles, fully visible due to most of the blanket being ripped off; while the Imperial looked insignificant when compared to Gorgoth, he was still considerably muscled, presumably due to the rigorous training of the Kvatch Guard.
Ilend stirred and muttered something. Not wanting to be caught looking at him after the events of last night, Aerin hastily turned away and started donning her leathers. Behind her, she could hear Ilend dragging himself to his feet and walking over to Gorgoth. She didn't expect to hear him to ask to borrow Gorgoth's comb.
"I normally don't bother," he explained. "But it's starting to itch, and I really hope I don't have lice, they're a bugger to hunt down." Seeing Aerin looking at him with a raised eyebrow, he growled and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, Aerin, men other than Gorgoth also care about their hair."
"It's not actually my comb," stated Gorgoth. "I happened to find it under the bedroll next to mine. I hope its owner doesn't hold a grudge against me leaving Orcish hair in their comb."
Aerin snorted with suppressed laughter and went back to donning her armour. She did her best to ignore the weight of Ilend's eyes on her as she squeezed into the tight boiled leather, which she'd always used as an outfit to attract exactly those kind of stares rather than to be of any actual use as protection in combat. The Bosmer was simply uncomfortable with people leering at her when she didn't intend them to.
Ilend had in fact turned away and was inspecting the Akaviri katanas and dai-katanas lining the weapons racks that decorated the walls. Every single one was sharp and battle-ready, in perfect condition, with no marks or any hint of dents or scratches. The armour of the Blades positioned on armour stands was in similarly good condition. "Better equipped than the bloody Guard, at least," muttered Ilend, shooting one last wistful look at the katanas before stomping back to his bedroll.
Gorgoth, having finished with his hair, tossed the comb to Ilend and examined his own dai-katana. "I have often fought with bound dai-katanas," he mused, baring an inch of the finest tempered steel available in the Empire. "They are good weapons, and truly deadly in the right hands. Some elite swordsmen have fighting styles involving the katana that look more like a dance than a fight; if you can call war poetic, then they are the embodiment of it. It's Redguards, mostly." It wasn't clear if the Orc was talking to himself or them, so Ilend and Aerin kept their contributions to polite grunts. Gorgoth rammed the dai-katana back into its scabbard.
"Aerin, I need another favour," he rumbled, rising to his knees. "I would prefer it I did not have to braid my own hair. It is difficult to do it yourself." The Bosmer grunted, finished securing her boiled leather, and moved over until she was sitting behind the Orc. Once again, he talked her through the process of braiding his hair into a pair of waist-length, thick, heavy war braids. Aerin managed to restrain herself from mentioning the quality of his hair. The warrior-shaman sat as still as a rock until she was done.
"You have my gratitude," he grunted, rising to his feet and looking around for his shirt and armour. If he really was grateful, none of it was evident in his voice, which remained the same deep, emotionless rumble as usual. He picked up his cotton undershirt - which after days of hard use looked slightly ragged - and donned it, reaching for his boots at the same time. Aerin turned back to her bedroll and attached her bristling quiver to her hip, then picked up the unstrung Trueshot and thrust the composite bow through a loop in a belt that stretched across her back, designed for the purpose. Pulling on her sword belt, she aligned it so that the hilts of her two shortswords crossed each other over her stomach. She turned to find that Gorgoth had already somehow managed to don the lower half of his armour.
"Do you use magic ta help ya with that, big guy?" she asked, somewhat incredulous. In the past, she'd seen some guards employed by her father take up to as long a half an hour to don a suit of armour of the complexity of Gorgoth's. At least knights had servants to do the job for them. Ilend, who had just finished tightening the straps of his own chainmail, was looking on, nodding in admiration and understanding.
"No, I just have a decade and a half of practise," replied Gorgoth, stamping his feet to settle them in his boots. "My Orcish heavy battle armour is far more complex than this basic steel suit. This is simple in comparison." Aerin shrugged and left the warrior-shaman to it, walking to the door and wrenching it open.
Harsh, bright sunlight enveloped the Bosmer, and she screwed her eyes shut, blinded by the sudden invasion of light. She instinctively moved an arm to shield her eyes from the intrusive sun, instantly aware of the cool breeze wafting through the door, chilling her skin. Lowering her arm and opening her eyes fractionally, she could make out the sun poised above the Jerall Mountains, burning brilliantly in a cloudless sky. The shadows of the mountains were shortening, falling far short of the Temple. Blades sentries were patrolling the battlements and manning the sentry towers, and there were already some practising swordplay in the courtyard, the ringing of metal on metal reaching Aerin's sensitive ears.
Ilend appeared behind her and leaned on the doorframe, screwing up his own eyes as he looked out past her at the rising sun and the scenery. "Now that's a bloody good view to start your day with," he commented, a smile creeping onto his face as his eyes slowly became accustomed to the light. His stomach audibly growled, and his smile grew broader. "Speaking of which, this morning could be improved by getting something good down your gullet. Know where you can get something to eat?"
"I'd say heading to the great hall then following our noses would be a good bet," replied Aerin, Ilend's close proximity to her making clear the fact that he hadn't washed since the Battle of Kvatch. Then again, neither had she, so she was likely to smell nearly as bad as him. Fortunately for the both of them, the wind helped to repress the smell of unwashed bodies. "Come on, I'm just as hungry as you are," muttered Aerin, walking out into the courtyard, heading towards the great hall, ignoring the wind's cold touch. Ilend fell in beside her.
The great hall seemed to be completely unchanged from when they had first entered; the only difference was that the Blades sitting around the fire were different. Aerin's suggestion of 'following their noses' proved to be easier than first thought; the smell of food seemed to come easier to the hungry, and the duo swiftly found themselves in what was the Cloud Ruler Temple canteen. Soon they were feasting on what was standard fare in Cloud Ruler Temple to blunt the edge of hunger that appeared without fail after a hard days exertion in the cold training grounds: plates piled high with bacon, eggs, mushrooms, sausages, potatoes, beans and tomatoes.
"I thought you Bosmer ate nothing but meat?" asked Ilend through a mouth crammed full of food.
"The only plants we don't touch are those grown in Valenwood," sighed Aerin, rolling her eyes at Ilend's ignorance. "Besides, I wasn't really brought up with that Y'ffre stuff anyway. I'm not really a Valenwood Bosmer; I was born near Arenthia, but after two years we moved to Cyrodiil on a semi-permanent basis. I've only ever visited Valenwood ever since, and not in the last few years."
Ilend grunted in response, his mouth still too full of food to articulate an understandable reply. Both looked up briefly as Gorgoth appeared and thumped down across from them, bringing with him a plate that strained to withstand the weight of the food piled high upon it. "Eat a lot when you can," muttered Gorgoth. "Every meal might be your last; get enough energy from it so that it won't have to be." With that typically cryptic statement, he started eating, oblivious to his comrade's bemused stares.
"Has he always been like that?" Ilend asked Aerin in a low voice, wiping the grease from his chin.
"I've only known him a few days longer than you have, guardsman," muttered Aerin in response, shaking her head. "I think I might have seen him smile once. You'd get more emotion out of a rock."
"I'll take that as a compliment," grunted Gorgoth, who had evidently overheard them. He didn't pause in the relentless attack of his food until he had reduced the enormous mound in front of him to a few scraps that would later be given to the dogs. Ilend and Aerin, still unfinished, both looked up in surprise when he let forth a sickly growl.
"Urgh... I knew I shouldn't have eaten that much," he muttered, clenching his teeth and staggering to his feet. One hand went to his stomach. "I should have known I need to balance out a deficit, not pile it all on in one go..." the Orc groaned, turned, and threw up most of the breakfast that he had just consumed. Ilend immediately leapt to his feet, but Gorgoth waved him back down, snarling and gripping the back of his chair for support, one hand clamped to his stomach. "I can't eat massive meals or overly rich food," he explained, his face a slightly more pallid shade of green than normal. "The blade that gave me that scar ripped up my stomach. I did what I could, but... that blade is no normal blade." Wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, Gorgoth stomped out of the canteen, waving off the concerned chef.
Aerin and Ilend exchanged looks, then stared down at their plates, the piles of food mostly gone. "You know, I don't think I'm hungry any more," announced Aerin, throwing down her knife and fork and rising. Ilend snorted in disapproval, but made no move to finish off his breakfast. The Bosmer led the way out, stepping delicately around the large puddle of partially digested food. "It's not like him to show weakness of that kind," remarked Aerin as they stepped back into the great hall.
"It is a comparatively new wound," retorted Gorgoth, who had been leaning on a nearby pillar. "Three months old, I think. I'm still getting accustomed to it." The Orc's mouth was twisted into a grimace of distaste, and he muttered some harsh-sounding words in his own language. He looked up and forced his face back to its normal neutrality. "We should leave soon," he advised. "That is, if we're travelling together. Skingrad lies on the road to Anvil. With the rise in banditry, it would be wise, and I am in no real hurry."
"Well, a good mage can be useful for protection and the like, even if I always did like to rely on my own steel," replied Ilend. "Still, I see no reason why we can't join forces. It'd be stupid not to, seeing as we're going the same way anyway."
Aerin nodded in agreement. "What he said," she told Gorgoth, pointing at Ilend. "And, ta be honest, the sooner we leave, the better. The weather seems OK at the moment, and I sure wouldn't like ta see how cold it gets when a rainstorm catches ya out in the open."
"Saddle the horses," instructed Gorgoth, straightening and checking that his mace was secure in his belt. "It'd reassure me to talk to Martin briefly before we go. Meet you in the stables." Not waiting for a response, he turned and stomped across the great hall, entering a corridor that presumably led to the heir's quarters.
"As far as I can remember, the stables are somewhere behind the East Barracks," said Ilend, rubbing his chin. He'd taken the opportunity to shave shortly after waking, though the cold water and basic razor hadn't provided the best job. "You got everything you need?" Aerin nodded, taking her rolled-up cloak off her back and throwing it around her shoulders. "Good. Like he said, there's no point in waiting around."
The stables were easily accessed from the courtyard, which seemed logical; horses needed more space than men and mer to manoeuvre. Within minutes, Firebrand and Ilend's chestnut, which he had taken to calling Javelin, were saddled and impatient to go. Vorguz proved more difficult to prepare, having a fierce temper when roused from a well-deserved sleep in a warm stable, but by the time Gorgoth had arrived, all three horses were ready to leave Cloud Ruler Temple.
Once they had left through the front gate, they all mounted and took one look back at the fortress of the Blades. It dominated the horizon, a sanctuary whose appearance was a mixture of beauty and readiness, readiness for any dark time that might fall upon it. "Like Steffan said... damn good stonework," mused Gorgoth. "I just hope that it will not have to be tested in a siege in the near future." He turned and booted Vorguz to a trot. "Come on. I am in no hurry, but I despise wasting time."
A/N: You can probably tell by now that I like to write long chapters. DO NOT forget to review. If more people review, who knows... I might be more inclined to motivate myself to write faster.