Authors Notes: Longest chapter for anything I've ever written…but I was planning on making the chapters for this story longer anyway. Sorry for lack of updates but here I am :D. I figured its time for everyone to see more of Hassildors view on Abigale Lynn. We all see what she thinks in their meetings, so it's his turn.
Love or Blood
Chapter nine: The Book of Names
I felt a bit strange when walking back to the Maids' Quarters. The conversation I shared with the Count was so meaningless that I found it hard to fathom. I was left to wonder why the Count wished to share words with me at all. There was no need to talk to me, he also had not asked that I get him anything. To my knowledge, Lords were not to converse with their maids unless they want something of them.
Then again, I knew I could be taking this all too seriously. Perhaps he had just been incredibly bored. It was possible. I should not let it bother me so but I did not like to make a fool of myself in front of anyone - which was inevitable once I happen to be forced to talk. If not before, The Count now most assuredly thought there was something the matter with me. I could not blame him. When I blabber and stutter like a fool, what other conclusion was there for him to make?
Unfortunately, this left me more distraught. What if the Count grows more annoyed with me now for my behavior? He certainly would not want an incompetent worker. Most would not. Especially not a Count or any other form of royalty. That worsened matters. I could not act so ridiculous around him. He very well could get angry with me and no longer want me near him or require my presence anywhere else in the castle. I cannot have that, any of it. I knew I must remain calm and force myself into equilibrium when in his presence. It was the only way to maintain my position and keep the peace. However, it was a task more easily stated than done.
xxxx
I continued down the stairs quietly until I arrived in the Maids' sitting area. No one happened to be about at the moment. I was grateful because I did not feel too well. My woes granted me a cloudy mind and weary step. I felt I desperately needed to get some rest. Unfortunately, the silence was too good to be true. When I pushed open the door to my room I found myself in a heated, whispered discussion.
"How far along are you?"
My stomach muscles tightened as I quickly identified the voice and the topic of the conversation. I seem to be jumping from one awkward situation to the next. I debated leaving the situation altogether, but there was nowhere for me to go and my intrusion was already apparent.
"Three months," Rheena answered flatly. Her tone of voice almost startled me. It was very unlike what I was used to hearing. Her voice was flat and guilty sounding, yet held a firmness to it. I had heard that tone used many times. Mostly by the same people who raised me, too.
"Well, that's bloody fantastic, Rheena!" Tualga snapped. "How long did you think you could keep this all a secret? Good Gods. Who is the father? Not that damn stable hand, I hope."
I approached the two of them silently. Neither of them acknowledged my presence but I had not truly expected them to. I was the intruder here.
Both women sat on their beds, whispering angrily across the room at each other. They had probably just woken up to start the day when Rheena finally told her secret.
"For your information," she stated haughtily. "Verick is the father. He and I are very happy. We're planning to-"
"Happy? Happiness dies, hun. How do you expect to make a living? Sure you can have the baby here but do you honestly think the Count is gonna let you keep some squawking bundle? And what of Verick? He's certainly not going to want to do this on his own, and if you leave your position neither of you could get by. Forget about the baby, you wouldn't be able to feed yourself!"
Tualga's rant was something you would expect to hear from an angry or hurt family member. It was obvious she was only afraid for Rheena. But it was done. In my experience, I knew all anger would soon fade away once the child is born. Sadly though, that 'bliss' of a new baby never lasted long. Parents grow bored and tired of demands. The reality of your life no longer being your own shocks and jades most. Not many can digest that truth well. Parenthood was indeed a scary thing, but it was a fact that your desires were now moot. It was not so grim, but people are selfish, at least in my experience. I prayed Rheena was different - better- than the women I knew.
I knew I could do nothing so I strode past the two of them and went to my bed. I undressed as their argument continued. The levels of noise throughout the night would rise and die, like waves of the ocean on a grey day. Eventually, all would fade. Peace would return and the new would become the norm. Though, for obvious reasons, I too worried about a baby being born in Castle Skingrad. I did not know the Count well, and thus far, he squashed all Vampiric stigmas. Still...the thought of a helpless, noisy baby worried me. Perhaps it was a cruel fear to have - unjust.
Yet, again, I did not know this man.
No sooner had I further settled into the covers of my bed did I hear Tualga say, with a much more uplifting tone, "Have you thought of any names?" Smiling slightly into the darkness, I shook my head and listened to Rheena. She began to list off possible names she had piled up. I soon drifted into sleep sometime around girl names that began with the letter 'M'.
XXXX
It was still several hours before dawn once the Count had entered an all too familiar and all too dreaded room. Deep within the castle, below the basement and directly below his own bedchamber was where he presently stood. He hated it here. It smelt of death, mold, and frozen decay - like cold meat slowly rotting, covered by a heavy fog of perfume. It was a repulsive odor but try as he might it wouldn't go away. His servants constantly scrubbed and cleaned the room to no avail.
To a human nose, the smell went undetected. Lucky them.
The stone beneath the heel of his boots clacked loudly. The sound pierced his eardrums and echoed off the walls for a good few moments. Constant taunts. This room would not stop making itself known to him. He would swear that it strived to make every bad memory come flooding back, which it succeeded in. The Count did not have one good thought to dote upon about this space. It was just another thing he hated about the chamber. Regardless, no matter what evils dwelled within the Chamber of Fate, he would brave them. For the one he once loved gave him enough strength to face them... Or at least that's what he told himself.
A soft orange glow enveloped the small lavish bedside, forcing some normalcy and warmth into such a cold crypt.
She would like that. She loved the color orange for some unfathomable reason.
Like a memory on repeat, his body acted of its own accord. Once he stepped on the carpets he pulled the now rickety chair across the floor and to her side. It scraped loudly against the stone and creaked at his familiar weight. All these sounds and feelings were normal, just something he became accustomed to.
The room itself truly was not so harrowing. It was stuffed with ornate furniture and expensive supplies for the inhabitant's care. Still, his constant demeanor seemed to permanently damper the atmosphere and damage the space. Over time, all had become thick, cold, and oppressive. Under the circumstance of his visit, could he be blamed? All was only how the Count perceived things. Like the stench of the room, it was all in his head. It was all repugnant only to him: the one who hated and loathed everything that dwelled within the chamber.
As if he snapped from a trance he looked up to her face. Janus mentally winced. She had once been so beautiful. Despite the years, it still startled him to see her in such a state. No matter how many decades passed, the haunting stillness was something he could never get used to. Life was still beneath those heavily lidded eyes and gaunt features. It lied there with her waiting to be tapped...or snuffed. All begging him to see to it. Help her. Save Rona. Free Rona. His once beloved Rona.
If he closed his eyes he could still envision her youthful face. The smallest of details he could remember: she once had many freckles and dark brown hair, a big toothy smile with full lips. All features so eloquent and sharp it would make any mer jealous. Everything on her had been unique. Of course, it always was when said features belonged to the person you cared for. But it wasn't his wife's appearance that he missed so dearly. No, it was her voice, her laugh, her arm on his own, her simple companionship and presence. Everything.
She had been his love. Their union was not picturesque, but he would label any married couple who claimed to have no woes as liars. They had been so different, and this made each day unique. There was never a dull moment in their union. The Count missed his wife so and thought about her each passing day. In nearly every dream he saw her face, and every nightmare she turned to ash in his hands. She would be swept up by the wind, gently and softly taken from his grasp. But no matter how the nightly visions were meant to be interpreted, they left him mad, screaming, infuriated and weeping in his sleep. The loneliness was astounding. Because of this, he would let no wind ever graze her. Cruel and selfish as he was, he longed for their mutual suffering to end, but was equally terrified of the impending closure.
Janus sighed heavily through his nose - a mortal habit he could never quit - and leaned forward in his chair. The Count was tempted to touch her, any part so long as it was some form of physical contact, but he knew better. The memories a simple touch would invoke could make him witless, so fear kept him from doing so. The Count had not touched his wife in many years. He was tired of bloody tears staining his shirts.
She always looked at peace. He could not begin to fathom the dreams she was having. Was she plagued with Vampiric nightmares or was she in so deep a sleep that it was dreamless? For her sake, he prayed the latter. The unknown guilted him further.
By the state of her dress and neat setting of her hair, the Count guessed she had been tended to recently. This was good. Rona was never one to wander around in her bedclothes all day, no matter how her health was. She was stubborn in that way.
With everything in place, he sat and waited. Never would he think of this as 'paying his respects', because it was not what he was doing. He was greeting his wife, estranged as they happened to be. No words or contact was needed - he had given up on those. As long as he could see her he felt reassured. She may not speak, move, or breathe but she was there and alive, in a sense. In spite of the torment it inflicted on him, the Count felt the visitation was also a healthy habit for himself. It was a strange desire, spending time with the unmoving, but it made him feel so less alone. One day, his Rona would truly be gone. He greatly feared this but had accepted it all the same.
All in all, it was a bittersweet reunion.
In the past, there had been times when the Count entertained more elaborate fantasies. He would hope that his wife was not as far gone as he believed her to be. He would imagine her to be sleeping and too tired to wake. Surely, like all slumbering vampires, Rona retained some train of thought. In his imaginings, he considered that maybe, possibly, his wife was still mulling over their situation. Although he did all he could to reassure her over the years. Janus had told her time and time again that the province was thriving, their identities were safe, and their condition was livable and could be done virtuously - something his wife did not think possible. Still, fantasy or not, she would not be convinced and remained silent and unwavering.
The Count had long stopped speaking to his wife and being so frivolous with his thoughts. Talking to her was useless, as he greatly doubted her ability to hear him. His past illusions gifted him the grace to remain patient. While the harsh clarity of his predicament gave him the courage he needed to seek out Rona's deserved peace. It was his cross to bear. He had once loved his Rona so, and he now saw how wrong it was to keep her for fear of loneliness. But, despite her wishes for a swift end to her suffering, he could not kill his wife as she so desired. He would find a way to bring her solace. He would set her free. It would not be done out of love, but out of duty.
They had departed on terrible terms, and her motionless body and choice still gnawed at him. In the past, the Count had begged for his wife to simply move countless times, for her to show a sign that he was heard, but never did she do a thing. Rona was not one to remain motionless when someone she cared for was in distress, and she had cared for everyone, while alive. Her few weeks with Vampirism displayed and magnified the virtues his wife held dear, more dear than their love or future. Her religious and moral code was not one the Count ever agreed with but he had tried to remain respectful throughout their marriage. Now he deeply questioned his actions as a husband. Perhaps he should have been more firm. Perhaps if he had forbidden her from such piety, she would have been more accepting of their new unlife. It mattered not now, of course, for she had made her choice and was truly gone - taking so, so much from him in the process.
They were two selfish people. But even as he stared at her now he could not bear to think about her. He would try to stifle all thoughts. He would let his mind wander to other things. It was torment. A child having to stand in the corner and stare at the wall. In his way, he still loved Rona and that would never change but her stubbornness had killed them both, each had suffered differently but the damage was equally distributed.
Vampirism indeed was a curse. Feeding on the living for their life source and lifeblood was messy and challenging. It took the Count years to establish a food source that was not too morally compromising. With help in the oddest of places, he had managed and was satisfied. Of course, there was also more than just feeding that proved challenging. Anger, lust, hunger. A thirst for more that would never end, a dark line that demanded crossing and a dire need to exert his will...these were but a few of his daily inclinations that he had to stifle and master. But master he did. He ruled himself, his affliction was not his definer. Thus, he felt he was gifted with Vampirism and embraced the new changes he was given and rejoiced over the lack of mortal change. He would not age, he would not go gray, he would not die. He could rule Skingrad and be the master of himself...if only his wife had felt the same.
She lied there taunting him, her last request for him to end her suffering, to end her entirely, to let her 'sleep'. What type of wish was that to tell the one you claimed to love? It was unfair and unjust, to put it lightly. Rona had not granted her husband or their new condition any consideration. She waisted no time damning both to cold loneliness. Rona could have stayed, could have fought the affliction with him. Together they could have had forever. Now they were both dead. But even in death, they weren't united or apart.
Fate was cruel to him. Janus wondered if he been that bad of a man to deserve such a punishment as this by the Gods. He was once a loving husband, a chapel abiding citizen, a just Count, and fair political leader... If his wife had tried, if she had only tried, he would have made a good father too.
xxxx
While roaming the halls with a pout, I let my mind wander. There were many things I found puzzling within Castle Skingrad. One such thing happened to be the routine of the workers and how strange life was for the servants. I had once been free to travel all across Cyrodiil, now I was never permitted to leave the place I currently reside. I had anticipated changes, but I never would have imagined how drastic and odd those changes would be. Most of those who found their station in the Castle went about their daily business with smiles and laughs. None seem to find their positions disagreeable. Half of the staff could only leave the Castle several times a week. Others found a near-permanent residence here and were only let out if shopping was needed. No complaints ever graced my ears regarding this odd employment. None felt so stuck as I.
Yet, despite it certainly not being any of my business, I could not help but wonder how much they were paid to remain. I was sure that the Count provided for their food and lodging and other such essentials, and that the servants were more than adequately compensated. Regardless, I questioned how many septims it took to keep a person quiet and trustworthy. It was more than difficult to find employment within the Castle, one had to have a decent pedigree - myself excluded. This also left me curious as it vastly limited options for the Count. Perhaps he had to literally buy trust. Bribing was often the best way to win another over. The vast amount of wealth the Count had to possess to simply run his home was staggering, thinking on the gross amount of gold belonging to Skingrad was staggering. However, I believed there had to be more than money motivating his closer workers.
I considered the Count's magical ability and his title as a Mage. Guiltily, I wondered if a more 'delicate' touch was required to keep his secrets. I knew certain charm spells could be quite powerful. Some, if done correctly, could become permanent. However, those thoughts made the little hairs on the back of my neck stand, so I tried to dismiss them. It was a frightening thing to consider. Regardless, I truly did not think the Count's closer staff were brainwashed, but did I doubt his ability to make it so? Absolutely not.
This left me more resolute in my findings to the Castle's dutiful workers and loyalty. Fear. Fear was a powerful motivator. If wielded correctly, it certainly was a good way to keep another close. I found myself to be a prime example. I was in the Count's debt eternally. Fear of death played the greatest part in making that happen, and fear of his wrath and reach made me stay. I went from a thieving beggar to the girl under his thumb, at his beck and call. Thankfully and luckily, the Count did not call me often... excluding our previous evening's conversation. Said conversation happened to be the reason why I was currently so puzzled and curious.
Yes, his small-talk had me thinking. Truthfully, I was more trying to dissect his reasons behind inducing it. Dread formed in the pit of my stomach at the mere thought of being so close to him again. I did not want to talk. I looked like such a fool, a shrinking maid who spoke too much or not at all. It was an embarrassing act to stutter and spout out random things, especially as it served no purpose. Naturally, I was hesitant when addressing the Count. He was the Vampire noble that held my life in his hands. I did not want to say something wrong or offensive. I felt in this I was doomed, as I had little options when my Master addressed me. I no longer had the luxury of absolute silence.
This pressure worsened my already poor ability to speak. I never used to be so afraid of speech. Embarrassed, yes, but the very real fear of displeasing the Count gave me chills. I had now long known that I was unable to take good care of myself. Miraculously, I had kept myself alive and loosely trusted in my abilities to do so. Now, this responsibility was out of my hands and into another's. I could no longer truly protect myself, my existence was the product of the Count's wishes. I also did not dare doubt him or his word - I remained in Castle Skingrad for life, there was no alternative -and how comfortable I was to be wholly resided in my ability to please him.
I knew this was a morbid truth, but it was nowhere near as bad as it sounded. I gave my literal existence to another and had more at my disposal than I ever could have dreamt. I was clothed, I was fed, I had a bed all to my own, and had many other comforts at my disposal. The servants, odd as I found their confining work to be, wanted for little. I now could easily see why the other workers still disliked me. I came from thin air and was given this 'employment' and all the wonderful things that they had to struggle to obtain. Most still thought my situation was gained by a more 'intimate' relationship with the Count. Shameful as it was, it suited my position just fine. I supposed they were well within their rights to make up rumors about me. If it pleased them and kept the truth hidden, I would not discourage it. It bothered me, slightly, but I had known ridicule for most of my life. If they all knew the truth, I doubted they would still be jealous.
My pout turned into a full frown as I continued on down the corridor. I thought about the strangest things when troubled: glaring maids and promises I verbally swore too. Oddly enough, it made my stroll around the Great Hall more enjoyable, as it distracted me from the thick walls I was encased within. Without thoughts I was alone. No one wished to speak to me, which was alright, I preferred it that way. Well, to be more accurate, no one but the Count wished to speak to me, and he was the one I wanted to talk to the least. Again I wondered about his interest in myself and where it stemmed from. He had hardly spoken to me in the months that I had served him. What had changed and why? My mind circled back, ready to go over all again, untrusting and nervous as I was...
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the newest addition to the Count's most humble staff."
My steps and musings came to a grinding halt. I did not recognize the voice so I was unsurprised when I turned to see a blonde, Imperial man that I had yet to meet.
The stranger swaggered over to me with a book under his arm, taking strides that were far too long for such a stout frame. He held his nose high, a look of arrogance plain across his features, and by his clothes, it was easy to tell he was someone of relative importance. Immediately, I did not like him. It could have simply been my prejudice for the opposite sex, but his pompous gait told me that I was right to be leery. I could not stop the budding anxiety forming within me. We were alone, after all, and that worsened matters considerably. With him standing a little more than ten feet away, he was already far too close for comfort. The smile he fixed on me was oily and purely false. This instilled more resentment in my heart, as I came to the conclusion by his tone alone, that he believed himself to be special. Harsh assumption as it was, I did not doubt his entitled nature. One would be amazed if they knew what rich really thought of those less fortunate.
"What a visage. It is pleasure, yes, an absolute pleasure to meet you, miss...?" I did not answer him. Instead, I scanned the hall, wondering how long this man followed me before making himself known. Words seemed impossible to form as I longed for the random patrolling of a guard to pass us. After a moment of silence and staring, he began to snicker and draw in nearer. "Does the cat have your tongue, little girl?" I answered him with another bout of quiet. He barked out several more laughs at this, eventually stopping his approach to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Come now, do not try the coy act with me. As Castle steward, I will hear your name from your lips. After all, I have so longed to meet you, the very symbol, the very image, of our Count's kindness."
My lips pressed into a thin line. I did not know the Count had another Castle Steward. Hal-Liurz was difficult enough to appease, now I was to deal with a loud, pompous chamberlain.
I thought of the Count at his words, the Master he reported to, and decided to be amenable. I knew better than to mock his type, he would tell the Count about my 'arrogance' to his station. I did not want that coming back to me. I swallowed hard and gave an awkward bow, thus fueling his ego and dampening my pride. "Abigale Lynn." I straightened to his smile, all the while trying my best to keep from running in the opposite direction out of fear and annoyance.
"Wonderful. See? That wasn't so hard, was it? I am Mercator Hosidus, the head Steward, as you now know. You'll pardon me for not meeting you sooner. Unlike some other nobles, I have work and people to see to. You understand…Well, actually you wouldn't understand, would you? But let us not discuss your incompetents to politics and such. Best not to start on the wrong foot, hmm?"
Wrong foot? Sir, you've already stepped on all ten toes. I nodded to him all the same and agreed. It was better for me to stay out of trouble. I would gladly take a verbal smack rather than a physical one. But his words did not bother me as much as they perhaps should have; I cared not for what he found important.
"Good, you know your place. I see now why our Count likes you so." He smiled, viciously tugging on a string that lay on the side of his book, looking at it as though it was the most interesting phenomenon. "Why he kept you from a rightfully deserved death was beyond me. Before." I thought the encounter could not get worse, but him so casually bringing up my near demise filled me with further discomfort and panic. I could hardly register his words. "Now that I see you, it all explains itself. And I'm most sure that you keep him entertained with your silence, hmm? We all know that he is not one for idle chatter. A most endearing match he has found. Your quiet and pretty self must keep him very pleased." Mercator chuckled as though he made some amazingly funny joke, then brought his attention back to me.
"You are a wonderful conversationalist though. Just how a worker should be…barely a peep. Although this has been a most interesting encounter, I am afraid that I must now take my leave. But, while I have you, I shall need you to run a little errand for me."
Shaken from the fright induced by his words and irritated from his implication and consistent drawling, I would have done just about anything to get away from the new Steward. I nodded frantically and tried my best to remain still.
"Here," the Steward, Mercator, held the book out for me. "I understand you are one of few who holds a key to the Count's Manor. Take this book to him or put it in his library. I do not care which, so long as he knows it has been returned."
I took the book but did not even glance down at the covering. "I-Is…" I sighed in annoyance at myself, needing to speed along our parting. "Is that all, Steward?"
He waved a hand at me as he turned, causing me to step back before being 'accidentally' swatted by it. "Yes, yes now scamper off to him, will you? Between us, the Count is rather formidable if his things are not returned on time. For your sake, the wind had better be on your back." I gave another quick bow and turned, heading up the staircase, but not in the direction of the Manor.
xxxx
I closed yet another set of doors behind me. I had not yet reached the Manor, but at least I managed to put some much needed distance between myself and the Steward. Again alone, I attempted to collect myself. "What an awful little man." I breathed, leaning against the now closed doors.
I sighed heavily and frowned at my fears. I could not even hold a conversation with someone - no matter how revolting they were or were not- without it ending poorly. This further fueled my dread for my upcoming shift. Such a small encounter with another had left me in an absolute state. I needed to lock myself away to simply catch my breath and stop the shakes. It could have been a worse discourse, it could have been terrible. Regardless I was put into a panic over nothing but a few words and poor manners.
Mentally, I cursed myself - berated myself, to the point of tears that I hurriedly blinked away. Again I thought of the Count I was to soon serve and it knotted my stomach. I had to see him again, serve him, I had to fight my fears. I could not run off and hide as I presently did and this scared me. My reaction to his simple presence scared me. Truly, I felt ruled by all of Castle Skingrad, but the Count, in particular, possessed far more of myself. What would he do, should his attempts at conversation result in me breaking down before him? What use was I then? How could someone so weak-willed be beneficial or trustworthy?
My life was at stake, no matter how one viewed my predicament. I did not know these people who presided over me well, and I was to walk on eggshells and please them, all the while being a damaged - perhaps even useless - person. I did not know how to act, nor if I was capable of conforming to their needs and whims. I adapted poorly to most things, being more stunted by my trials, rather than growing from them.
All my life I had been singled out for reasons I thought fickle and wrong. Until present, living within the Castle had been the most peaceful existence I had ever known, Vampire Master and all. Outside the protective walls that I occasionally resented, I had known only discomfort and subjugation. My childhood years consisted of forceful vanity pushed upon me by others, my teen years were purely survival and pain. I was broken now from my past, I knew this, and such a small, uneventful moment with the Steward reminded me of it all, of my weakness and worthless self. How I was to act 'normal' when I clearly was not, was a harrowing duty. Yet if I wished to survive my new station, I had to behave and not draw any unneeded attention. I had to comply, speak, remain useful, and not cower.
Again I mentally cursed, this time towards my upbringing and life. Perhaps if circumstances were different, and people acted civil towards me, I would not be so timid and prone to dread and distrust now. If life was not so harsh and unforgiving, I would not need to overanalyze every gesture or look directed at my person.
Maybe I would talk, smile, and be wed to one of my father's many friends...
Married and miserable with a pushy husband more skittish and frightened than me.
I felt true happiness and contentment would have always eluded me, no matter which path of life I took.
XXXX
The Stewardess watched Mercator Hosidus and the little maid. Hal-Liurz had never liked Mercator since he came into the Count's employ but she tolerated him all the same. The Count was not too fond of the assistant chamberlain either, however, he claimed the Imperial had a specific singular use - one he would not divulge - and needed to be endured for this. The Count had also insisted that the Stewardess was to keep a close eye on him, should he partake in activities outside of his norm. Unfortunately for Hal-Luirz, today was such a day.
Although the Stewardess would argue that such a task should be given to one much sprier, she understood the Count's reasoning for selecting her. Hal-Liurz was perhaps the most skeptical of all his servants. In truth, she trusted little to no one, and her critical ways aided the Count's condition greatly. She also was no fool and her education and reasoning were equally useful. Obviously, she knew the stubby Mecator was up to something the Count did not like, he had been for ages, and she was to act as an agent to keep suspicion from the Count himself. Although she did not like being used as metaphorical bate, she obeyed all the same, just as every other staff member would.
Regardless, the occasional trailing of the man irked her endlessly. Truly, she loathed having to watch his moves. It was boring and tedious and she had much more important things to deal with than to sneak about and be downwind from the repulsive, little man.
Today, Mercator was doing something off of his usual routine. At present, he was talking to the new 'help', Abigale Lynn - better known amongst the staff as 'The Quiet One' or 'The Conservative One' or more cruelly, 'The Count's Whore'. That bothered the Stewardess as well, perhaps as much as her current duty to spy. It was needlessly cruel and unnecessary. Hal-Liurz, in all her years of servitude, never heard so many complaints and rumors from her underlings before about another worker. Most women were naturally competitive and in Skingrad, they were greedy, but that did not change the matter. She was a Stewardess: highly thought of amongst the other provinces, she wasn't supposed to lie through her teeth just to keep revolting, avaricious maids off the Count's back. Nor was she supposed to keep Abigale Lynn away from cruel co-workers. The Stewardess knew the poor girl didn't have a backbone and she did not want to see her flinch anymore than necessary.
She could partially understand the other workers' jealousy. Abigale Lynn came from nowhere, knew nobody, was a nobody, yet she ended up with one of the highest paying jobs a commoner could achieve. Many distasteful rumors had spread fast about the castle because of this. Abigale Lynn having to work all night certainly didn't help that gossip, either. The ones who knew of the Count's disease thought she was his recent food supply and implied many offensive and disgusting things. But those who didn't know of his state made up their own accusations about him and the girl. Each rumor was frowned upon by the Stewardess but she made no attempts to silence them. It was easier to cover up the previous little incidents and girl's position that way. Regardless, all was irritating.
Now, though, Hal-Liurz was more puzzled than annoyed. As she watched Mercator and the maid, she noticed a rather old tome that the Chamberlain was almost discreetly handing to the girl. No sooner had Abigale Lynn bade him farewell, she bolted to the door. Mercator's behavior almost matched the young maid's as he quickly left the castle.
The entire exchange, though odd, was probably nothing. However, Hal-Liurz knew of the girl's love for books, and she also happened to know that Mercator Hosidus recently handled some sort of record for the Count. Apparently, the butler had been late on returning it, so he passed it to the Chamberlain, who now passed it along to Abigale Lynn. It was almost amusing to see what grown men would do to stay away from an angry Count Hassildor.
With a furrowed brow she turned and left, not wanting to get the girl or Steward or butler into trouble - unless needed be - but she needed to inform the Count of her findings, however minute and probably unimportant they were.
XXXX
The Count locked the door to the Chamber of Fate behind him and began making his way back up the winding staircase. With one hand on the rail and the other on his brow, he rubbed his temples gingerly. Although he held much dislike for the room he hated leaving it even more. Janus always felt guilty coming up the steps, each footfall felt heavier than the last, as though his conscience was trying to pull him back and make him stay just a minute longer. It was his own little mental battle - one of many he had to fight regularly. Luckily for him, however, his guilty thoughts were quickly silenced as the sound of another's heart alerted his senses, and soon the figure it belonged to came into his view on the stairs.
"Good day, my Lord." His Stewardess began. Hal-Liurz flashed him an awkward, sympathetic smile, the one that plainly praised him for seeing Rona again. His Stewardess was not one to emote 'happiness' very often, if at all. He very much hated the strange tilt of the mouth that Hal-Liurz seemed to save just for him, should they cross paths on their way to the Countess. Janus was in no mood for that usual smile, so he continued up the steps without a second glance, halfheartedly motioning her to follow.
"Leaving the Countess so soon?" Hal-Liurz asked quietly, mainly to herself. The gentle rasp of her voice and question quickly snapped the Count's temper into a less than agreeable one.
Janus shot his Stewardess a dark look from the corner of his eye. Thankfully, it silenced her - something he could not do often with his nagging, aging, Argonian help. "Do you have something of importance to say to me or have you simply tracked me down in attempts to make me feel worse? I am in no mood today. Make it quick, whatever it is you have to say."
"Forgive me. Perhaps it can be dealt with later? You seem...preoccupied. Have there been developments regarding the Countess that I am unaware of?" She continued, easily brushing aside the bite in his tone with that same odd, warm, smile resurfacing.
Again, he felt his grip on his disposition slipping. The Count loathed that. He greatly disliked many things, but he really hated that. Nearly every time he exited Rona's accursed room, should he cross paths with Hal-Liurz, she would expect him to tell her that he finally had some strange epiphany regarding the Countess. Those epiphanies she hoped for usually revolved around granting Rona 'peace'. Janus did not understand what Hal-Liurz hoped to achieve. He had a plan for his wife's eventual rest. It could not be rushed. He would not one day stake his Countess in a fit of passion to hurry things along. Rona had begged him to end her suffering and he would do it. He would. However, it was a process that he truly had no control over. His wife would be put to rest properly. It was her wish. He would grant it. Yet until he had the necessary implements to end her unlife, they were both to suffer. It was Rona's choice.
Ending the woman he had once loved dearly in her current state was cruel and selfish. It was also the greatest lie to say he derived no comfort from her constant position in his life. The thought of the Chamber he now stalked from being empty one day both chilled and comforted the Count. He had loved her. He loved her still... It was a mess. He had to push his thoughts.
"You have come all this way for something. Obviously, it cannot." He replied acidly, effectively silencing the overwhelming gloom with his present irritation. "So what is it that you have to say?" As if his Stewardess was literally tone-deaf, that smile still remained plastered on her scaly face. It had the opposite effect that she was hoping to achieve. Instead of making Janus feel better or comforted…it made him tempted to pull her tail off.
"I have been watching Mercator Hosidus as you ordered, my Lord." Hal-Liurz finally offered. The Count only grunted in response, so his Stewardess continued, gently. "Today he did nothing too special. He tended to his usual duties and activities. However, just a moment ago, I saw something that I thought was a bit peculiar. For him, at least. It could be nothing but I thought to inform you, regardless." The Count finally stopped climbing the stairs to face his Stewardess. With a rather uninterested expression, Janus remained silent and leaned against the stone, arms folded, waiting and hoping she would continue fast so he could leave the stairwell. "He had a brief chat with your newest 'worker', Abigale Lynn."
Janus mentally snorted, I doubt it. An image of the girl in question came to his mind then as he thought on their brief talk from the previous evening. Her clasping her own little hands over her mouth, her heart pounding, its beat loud to the Count's heightened senses. Her distrusting stare...
"Mercator gave her a book. I assumed it to be the one I overheard you speaking of to Shum gro-Yarug. I believe he gave it to her so she could put it away. Now, I do not wish to worry you, but she did not immediately head in your Manor's direction. The girl could have taken a quick detour-"
All thought quickly ceased. The Count scarcely registered all else said. With one word, Hal-Liurz made his every nerve jump. Book.
The Count felt his muscles tighten and a sudden, strong, surge of anger began to pound in his already aching temples. There was only one book that left his home recently. Unlike most books he collected over the decades, this one was not for reading or touching. It had been sent off for small repairs. It was not his, it was his wife's. It was private. The mere thought of something she once loved going into Mercator's grimy hands infuriated him. Nor should it have passed to the small hands of a had-been thief who had a strong liking for books.
"Was this tome a pale blue?" He asked slowly as he moved from the wall. His tone quickly took on a dangerously low level, despite him wishing it would not. "Perhaps it had gold seams and was thick, worn even?"
Hal-Liurz blinked at his sudden interest in the conversation, more so at the irritation and the look on his face. The Count was furious. The Stewardess sometimes thought of her Count as a fanged teakettle. He didn't hiss or turn red, but Hal-Liurz could always tell when he was getting mad. Unfortunately, the Stewardess, for once, was utterly clueless as to what angered him so this time. Any important logs leaving the Castle normally would have passed her hand first. She wondered what the Count sent off. If he did not deem it worth her time, she highly doubted its value.
Regardless, she too thought the Butler's actions foolish. Although he had little idea as to how greatly disliked the Imperial Chamberlain happened to be, he should have known to follow the Count's orders. Facing the wrath on lateness was far easier than going to the Count with an unsatisfactory job. It was in even poorer taste as the Butler had hoped to dodge the Count's anger altogether by sending up Mercator.
"Yes, I believe so." She continued, remaining utterly calm for one within such a small space with an angry Vampire. "It was the one you had Shum gro-Yarug get repaired. To my knowledge, it was the only record that left your Manor recently. Unless there is another that I do not know -"
"First Mercator? Now that maid ran off with it?" The Count interrupted, looking livid.
The Stewardess fought a sigh, doing her best to remain utterly impassive. She understood the Count's frustration to an extent. Perhaps in the future, she hoped he would simply have her do such tasks. He normally did. "No, she did not necessarily run. We both know how irritating Mecator can be, my Lord. She will return it. I think she only went off to collect herself -"
The Count snarled, again interrupting his Stewardess. "You 'think'?" His face contorted to pure irritation but Hal-Liurz was used to such mood-swings. Janus Hassildor always had a poor temper, even in life. But before the Stewardess could comment further, the Count turned and marched up the stairs as though he was on a mission. She winced as she listened to the heavy, stone door at the top of the passage slam closed and wondered briefly if she just got Abigale Lynn in more trouble than necessary.
"That poor girl has got some terrible luck." She mumbled under her breath as she went to take her turn to see the Countess. The little maid would be fine. Perhaps shouted at to the point of tears, but fine all the same.
xxxx
The Manor was dark, much darker than its norm. With a small glance about the space, I doubted that the Count was close by. Mage lights or wall sconces were usually dimly illuminating the Chambers the Count occupied. No sparse light came from beneath any of the doors and this ashamedly calmed me. Although I knew not where the Count could go during the daytime, I was soothed by his lack of attendance. I was dreading having to see the man again. I entertained the thought of him resting, but doubted it all the same. After working for the Count for many months now, I learned that he rarely slept, his bed remaining untouched and neat for weeks on end. This came as a bit of a shock to me during my first few weeks of servitude. I had thought Vampires slept much more than the living. Having been brought up hearing stereotypical Vampire stories in my youth, I knew that they slept, I simply assumed they did so for weeks at a time and rose only when to feed...
This small knowledge was but another tool for me to utilize. I seemed to learn new things constantly while in my new charge. It was good, as it helped me to function easier under the Count's nocturnal rule. The more I learned of the Count and his needs, the better I could be to serve him. It was interesting to find that I did not need to have my nose in a book to learn something new about such a mysterious being. My strange life taught the essentials, but I still deeply lamented over the majority of my lessons.
I fingered the spine of the tome as I walked, having kept it hugged to my chest the entire time, I knew not what it was called. Nor did I want to get into trouble for flipping through one of the Count's books...but the temptation to peek inside was there and prominent.
My footsteps slowed slightly as I stole a glance at the cover. The work looked old, very old, but several new stitches along its length indicated that it had been recently repaired. It may have been unwarranted, but I felt a small dose of admiration towards the Count due to this discovery. He took care of his library. I smiled slightly at that. It was nice to know that even while being so rich, the Count cherished and tended the literature he had come to obtain.
Being so unwatched, I came to a full stop and pulled the tome away from my body further. I knew it was not my place, but without another's scrutiny, I decided that no harm could come from looking over the cover of the book. Yet, as I did so, what I saw puzzled me. It was not at all what I had expected.
The leather covering was certainly timeworn. The once no doubt deeply blue cover had faded to an ashy grey shade, with some of the lettering being almost completely illegible. It was ancient and torn, but I still could make out a picture of what formerly had been a great, white, bird on the cover and its title. "The Book of Names…?" I read quietly as I gently flipped the binding around in my hands, looking for some other indication on the context. I found nothing and this only further stirred my curiosity. Again, I knew it was wrong of me to do, but the absolute stillness of the Count's Manor fueled me with a wrongful sense of security. With another glance about the corridor, I chewed my lip and set back down the hall, opening the book as I did so.
Perhaps it was having so many luxuries at my disposal now that I had garnered the courage to nose my way through another's belongings. Truly, I knew not why I felt the right...or rather, the lack of respect for another's privacy, to act on my petty desire. Yet it was only a book, the Count possessed hundreds of titles. Naively, I did not think such a thing was personal. It was no diary, of course. Still, I felt a little deviant as I strolled, running my finger down the faded text. I soon found that the title was not as deceiving as I thought it was meant to be. The work was more of a record rather than an actual book. It was indeed as the title indicated. This was a book of literal names. Many names. At first, I wondered if what I held was a strange log. Skimming further, I noticed the little, washed-out print that told of the meanings of the names.
My eyes narrowed from sheer disbelief, but my smile grew as I curiously flipped through the pages faster. I had heard of such books in existence but knew them to be rare. Never would I have ever dreamt of stumbling across one from a Vampire Count's library. The tome was designed for nobles who were expecting. It was all names deemed acceptable for Imperial royalty. Again I found it highly peculiar, but under my circumstance, it was a rather useful book. I thought of Rheena and her soon to be born baby. I knew she would adore such a tool.
Standing before the Count's library, still feeling impossibly secure and a tad rebellious, I did the natural thing that most would should they find a log like this: I looked for myself and the people I knew.
I was soon met with small disappointment, as the book primarily covered Imperial names. I did find my mother's name but backtracked fast upon the discovery…Instead, I opted to find others, eventually glancing down at 'Mercator' with a grimace. Again I flipped back pages, making another discovery that oddly filled me with discontent: Janus.
With fast hands but extreme care, I closed the book, unsure why I felt compelled to do so upon glimpsing a few letters. I felt sheepish and off, as though I should have not ever dared to even glance at the Count's first name, nevermind read it in my own mind. Too personal. Too informal. Sucking in a breath, I turned towards the chamber door, tucking the tome under my arm gently while fishing in my pocket for the library's key. I still had a small lingering desire to look through the pages but reading the Count's name zapped me of my enthusiasm toward it. This book was not mine, I should not have poked through it in the first place. Nothing around me was truly mine, not even the clothes I wore. Being subtly reminded filled me with shame and unease. Moreover, I did not want to get caught rifling through the Count's belongings.
It was moments into my mental berating, key still in the lock of the door, did I hear someone fast approaching me. I did not have time to turn around, his fast and purposeful steps were my only warning. In one brief moment, the book was snatched from my grip, the action so swift that I remained frozen in place. I knew my eyes to be wide, stare fixed on the door. I dared not move. I knew the 'culprit' as his impossibly large shadow loomed over me and onto the door. Despite the now very prominent absence of the book in my arm and the person - the Vampire - at my back, I still could not move away. Obviously, the little record was an artifact of some interest. It became painfully clear to me by his actions alone that he was thoroughly displeased with my handling of his personal belongings.
Knowing he was there, silent, most likely angry and so very close chilled my blood. At first, I only bit my lip, trying my hardest to keep any small, pathetic sounds of fright at bay. My other hand, still grasping the key, trembled terribly, causing the lock and metal to rattle. My eyes screwed closed of their own accord - the complete opposite of what I should have done - but having already seen an angry Vampire once in my life, I certainly did not want to relive it again. It was horrifying, like one being pulled into dark waters even though they cannot swim.
"What are you doing with this?" The Count snapped, startling me some from my stupor, causing me to jump and then hunch further into myself. Still, I had not the courage to face him. His voice, his tone, was low but deliberate. Urgent. I could hear the bitter emotion thick on each word. His displeasure was more than apparent. "Who allowed you to touch it? To even look upon it? I do not remember granting you any such permission."
I swallowed hard, garnering the strength to turn and face him, yet my movement was twitchy and forced. I did not want to look upon the Count but knew I absolutely had to. Cautiously, reluctantly, I withdrew the key from its lock and turned fully from the door, every intent to once again plead my innocence and case. However, upon seeing the Count, my voice long died before I could hope to conjure words.
His eyes were dangerous, bloody red, and passionately hateful. His expression was akin to a poorly fitted mask, the subdued rage on his features looked perilously close to breaking free. Above all, the absolute focus he had on myself left me unnerved and rigid. For what felt like so long to my very shocked senses, I remained motionless. I briefly wondered why he held such absolute animosity over my handling of a book but was unable to entertain any rational thought.
As his gaze steadily narrowed, him awaiting and expecting an explanation, I managed to regain some form of control over my person once more, but it was small. All I could achieve for communication was a weak shake of my head. On instinct, my legs moved me back further into the wood of the door. The Count observed this action, black brows meeting, eyes widening some; it was as though my impulse to move away incensed him. The mere look shocked my addled nerves and me into speech. "T-t-the Steward! H-he...He…" I swallowed hard as I listen to my voice abruptly stop. Coherent thought crumbled as I wondered if I was in real danger. Despite my best efforts, I could not keep my mind on what I was saying, I only knew how desperately I wanted to be away. The Count's eyes remained locked onto my own and I could feel the absolute disgust and anger emanating from him. He was a terrifying creature to behold. His rage, though blatantly obvious and present, was mainly visible by his stare alone. His features had hardly shifted from the usual placidity he exuded, though this guise hung on by a thread. It was the Count's reddened glare that rendered me utterly speechless and dumb.
Despite our previous forced conversation, I had very little interaction with the Count. I truly did not know this man, only having his nature and gossip to go by. I knew it to be foolish to put anything past him. He also very literally owned me. Thus, I felt I was just in my mortification. Him not yet acting deliberately cruel did not mean he was above it.
The Count took another step forward and what little control I had over myself fled. My mind reeled. I had too often in my life been on the receiving edge of another's fury and the Count petrified me to no end. I was deathly afraid of my Vampire Master's wrath. On instinct, I panicked and braced myself for the awfulness, tossing my arms up to cover my face, back flush to the door as I fought the urge to sink to the carpet. I trembled. I wanted to cry.
"Foolish child." The Count hissed, sounding affronted and livid. It was terrible but I had to force myself to stand and take whatever he was going to say or do. I could not run away, I had no place to run to. Nor did I want to attempt to contemplate what the Count would look like after my failed attempts to flee.
XXXX
The Count stood, shocked frozen, and mildly repulsed. His anger, though very much present, made room for confusion. He stared hard at the girl who quaked against his library door, unsure if he should find her more annoying, pathetic, or infuriating. One small movement on his part caused his servant to panic as though he had his fangs brandished at her. A simple step forward and she had thrust her arms up, bracing herself for a beating. In truth, he was appalled, her present actions warranting more fury from the Count than their original situation. How dare she think so lowly of him? Just who was she to judge? Servant, slave or otherwise, Janus Hassildor never struck a woman and had no intentions of starting. Although her thinking he would caused his fingers to curl at the implication.
Regardless, Janus would not touch the girl. In anger or no, he blocked himself from even entertaining the imagined action. Contemplating touching her was bad. It felt wrong to do so.
Foolish child indeed. He doubted very much that she would willingly speak to him again. The Count had grasped her strange speech patterns and easily noticed the social damage in this youth. In spite of this, her actions left him thoroughly irritated and insulted, the feeling far surpassed his anger over the initial issue at hand. Janus glanced down at the book in his grasp. He was mad, so very mad; the Count loathed how messed a simple task had become and felt it personally unjust. Additionally, the disorder extended to others. Eyeing his servant and her woeful appearance displayed plainly that he was not the only one suffering from the chaos. It was physically taxing but Janus desired correction. The entire ordeal was stressful and was taking much out of him. However, this time, he knew his anger to be misplaced. Detour or no, his little help was returning his wife's possessions, that was very much apparent now. Moreover, the book was fine.
She had only meant to return it. He recited mentally, still desiring to be violent at someone for such an injustice. Nevertheless, it was foolish for him to interrogate the girl. Furthermore, if he began to shout and frighten her further, then he would look like the monster she apparently thought him to be. This was not what the Count hoped to achieve, not in the slightest. He wanted to show her his humility. Inevitably, she would be spared from his wrath…but his butler, Shum gro-Yarug, would not be so lucky.
Again he eyed the youth before him, still affronted by her overreaction. He felt her behavior mocked his attempts to soothe her while in his home. What foulness had he done to her to warrant this display? He felt oddly provoked but did his best to label her response as mortal fear and sought correction. It was not a warm sense of sympathy that made him take a step back, but civility. If he wanted her to stop behaving the way she did, he needed to prove how very wrong she was to assume danger. Verbally mauling her would grant him no favors, and he longed to end the current fracas. Yet, should these reactions continue, he promised nothing. Janus would right this now, and not take his frustrations out on the innocent bystander of the predicament. So far, aside from her sheer lunacy, she had done nothing wrong.
Shum gro-Yarug was to be the one he would set his temper upon for allowing Mercator to handle his things...
With a concentrated effort, the Count unclenched his teeth and loosened the already fragile book in his grasp, his finger nervously dropping along its binding as he sought resolution. "You will pardon me." He said slowly, with the slightest angry quiver in his voice. Through the gap in her arm's block, he saw a pair of eyes flash open and set upon his form, unbelieving and unnerved. "I had reason to…" The Count pursed his lips, at odds with the stare behind her white limbs. Harsh honesty, he decided, was best; the girl's history was both the truth and an excuse for his harsh actions. She need not yet know of his naturally irascible disposition, presently, she had not truly warranted it. "I had reason to suspect you of 'borrowing' something without my consent."
His new servant barely moved. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, she peeled away her frail defense and let her arms fall back to her sides. Embalmed in sweat, the girl remained rigid as she carefully adjusted her posture, back remaining pressed against the wooden door of the chamber. He thought her fear excessive. She looked haunted. Her eyes met the Count's, her stare was wide and glazed with fear. Her hands trembled. Her heart raced. So loudly did it beat...
Janus' anger further dimmed as he watched her throat dip as she gulped, his gaze soon pulled to her pulse - a visible flutter at the base of her pale neck. Delicate muscles and tendons in her nape were made noticeable due to her present stress and strain.
"Or-orders." She choked, mildly shocking the Count with a voice so soft in spite of her obvious panic. "Please, I-I am so s-sorry, my Lord. I am. I was only following orders, Sir. I-I swear."
Janus was thoroughly surprised that she spoke again, moreso at the fact she was still cognitive and standing. Her fright was loud in his ears, almost unbearably so. The girl's usual pallor, already a snowy-white, had taken on one of the palest shades he had ever seen in a mortal. Her whispered apologies were nearly impossible to hear over the sound of her rapidly thudding heart - its frantic pound reminded him of a little bird's wings.
The Count worried then for the current health of his servant. Her fainting was an extreme possibility and the idea was uncomfortable. He knew neither of them wanted such an awkward predicament, and so hastened his tact. Janus cleared his throat, forcing his tone into a more gentle one, though it warped and cracked some from the concealed distress. Uncleanching his teeth was more a difficult task than originally thought. "You said 'Steward', correct? May I ask you then who's authority you were under? I have more than one Chamberlain in my Castle, and many others who carry out tasks for me." This was, of course, a foolish question. Janus knew well who sent the girl before him to his Manor. Still, it was something easy to ask, easier to answer.
"M-Mercator Hosidus my Lord. Please...I-I am sorry, so sorry. I did not mean to anger or upset…I did not know I was prohibited. I swear, my Lord, I truly did not."
His fingers continued to drum idly on the book in his hands as he considered the girl before him and how he should persist. Then, as though she could not bear the weight of his look, his servant quickly dropped her gaze to the floor and bowed her head. Although pleased by her words and submission, Janus found himself guiltily surveying the youth. She was...small. Though not terribly short, she was laughably dwarfed by the Count's much larger stature. Her tiny, pale hands wrung together from nervousness. Her shiny, red-copper hair, neatly set and tied in a practical tail, conveyed a lack of pretension. Her appearance, her behavior, caused the Count to reflect. In comparison to her, he was intimidating in many aspects, perhaps frighteningly so.
He was unfamiliar to her, she knew not of his ways, he was still a stranger. The girl was new, quiet, little, out of place, and odd. Jumpy. Cautious. Her reaction fit her character. This realization evoked foreign emotion within the Count. With a mental groan, a jarringly strong pang of sympathy crept up and into Janus' chest. He did not mean to scare her. Truly, he did not. He was only angry. It was almost jarring to be reminded of his rather menacing character. Those in his more intimate employ knew of his temperament, whereas she did not.
"There is no need to implore so. I believe you." Janus said sternly but gently, checking himself as he did so. It was trying, but he had to keep himself impassive and firm. There was still order to be kept and she was in his service due to her illegal actions...Still, it was a task, completely stopping the apologetic look from breaking totally free and crossing his every feature was more grueling than anticipated.
At his words, the girl chanced an upward glance to the Count, weighing his person in a fleeting look before fully committing again to talk. She perked up slowly, her brow slightly creased, nerves and suspicion remaining apparent. "Y-you do?" Still sheepish, but now she at least was seemingly pleasantly surprised and perplexed - if not skeptical. There was more: a steadying to her heart, a loosening of all taught muscles and features, a physical reaction to her dawning relief. Inwardly, Janus beamed at the change. Witnessing and partaking in the sudden - but stifled - eagerness in her face captivated him. The Count missed such mortal contact, to observe natural expression, not the false, forced, veneer from members of staff or extortionists. Sincerity such as this, even if stemmed from his abuse to the tentative, naive, youth before him was well-liked. Almost embarrassingly so.
To Janus' greater surprise, he found himself not minding his newest servant's bright, curious eyes today. Although the Count did actively watch the girl before him often, he would bristle should her gaze fall to him. After all, he was the Master, she was the new 'help' that required monitoring. The Count did not appreciate her utter lack of distrust, as she normally made her intense caution obvious. It irked him to feel so caught, despite the crime being so innocent as a second glance.
Thinking on her superior lack of confidence when in regards to himself, Janus sought a lengthier encounter. He decided more exposure would be good for the girl before him. She could grow to trust him in such a way. The Count harbored no true ill will towards her and decided to press reliance anywhere in the conversation. Their lives would be better - more comfortable - should she trust him more.
"Of course. Your continued, prudent, honesty is very much welcomed here. Nor do you have any true reason to lie to me, and I can plainly tell that you are not." Peculiarly, at his words, that gradual loosening he was so enjoying began to revert. The girl stiffened once more, looking odd and uncomfortable. Her already swollen lower lip returned between her teeth. Janus blinked, momentarily confused by her reaction. Then, as she passed a nervous hand over her chest, the Count then grew curious. He wondered if perhaps this servant was brighter than he had originally thought. He surmised she knew either something of Vampires or of her body's natural reaction to fabrication. Regardless of which, both uncomfortable truths led to her heart's rhythm as Janus' indicator. It was not unlikely that the girl felt uncomfortable knowing that he was actively listening to her every breath and heartbeat, searching for a lie.
"Oh..."
"Regardless," The Count began quickly, noting the obvious disappointment in the young woman's face, very much desiring her muted hope above discomfort. "I would have trusted your word alone. You also do not strike me as one who wishes to deceive. You have yet to try and fool me and I do appreciate that, very much."
She brightened some at his words, perking a little again. "No my Lord, I-I never would want to deceive you. Never would I even hope to attempt it."
Janus nodded in approval. Again, her honest confession, though small, pleased him. He forced a smile, though it took little effort. In spite of the 'natural' feel to his grin, he was still mindful not to display his teeth more than necessary. He did not wish to disturb her more than what was absolutely unpreventable. "Why not? Many try to mislead me daily. You would think it a sport for some."
His servant, the girl, tore her gaze from his and looked around anxiously. Her off survey of the halls and columns perturbed the Count some, but he watched on quietly as she strained another response. "I have no desire to lie to you, my Lord, or anyone. It-it's…I would get caught up in my own lies, Sir. I have learned it is easier to be honest...better I-I mean."
"Whether your honest is solely constructed for ease or virtue, I again thank you for it. And it is good for you to go by. The Gods shall assuredly smile upon this code of yours." He inwardly scowled at his own words, Gods, but was desperate to continue their talk and further divert from the earlier encounter. Janus also found his servant's apparent conduct difficult to grasp. An honest thief was a rather ridiculous concept. "Perhaps you were once a Chapel going girl even if times were…hard for you?"
Her hands began to wring again with renewed vigor, her eyes big and curious, almost as though she was searching for something he knew not. "N-no, Sir. I never formally belonged to a service or Chapel. I did not want t... I-I am of little faith, Sir. I am sorry."
The Count blinked and then could not help but to laugh, small and disbelieving. He was growing to greater like his odd, little servant very much. "Why apologize? This is something we both have in common. What a revelation." He remarked while still chuckling lightly, now more due to the puzzled look on the girl's face. "You would assume that the Gods would intervene more often if they still held power over the peoples of Tamriel. I think their Magicks and influence have long been cold. If they were not so idle and still held some might, they should have stopped me from wrongly accusing you tonight."
The corners of her mouth tilted upward slightly in a mere ghost of a smile. It disappeared fast as she fixed her expression but the ease was there, hidden some as she wrung her apron's pocket. When Janus acted familiar with her and forced her to talk, she seemed to gradually lighten, even when having tasted his temper. The more the Count spoke, the more relaxed she became. "I should think not, Sir. If they existed I-I would think that they would help those who were loyal to them. Those who had always been their faithful worshipers would not fall ill. Innocent people would not be punished…"
After tentatively vocalizing her beliefs, his servant went quiet once more. She faded off in her thoughts, her eyes gleaming as if she were in deep contemplation; staring at an unsolvable puzzle. Janus inclined his head and watched her, almost seeing the gears in her mind being put into motion behind her emerald and blue stare.
The girl was a thinker. Janus mused some of her quiet was due to this new fact. It was easy now to note she overthought... But dearly hoped she was not a slow thinker. That could be burdensome.
In spite of this, Janus was besotted with her opinions. He had no idea how long it had been since he spoke with another whos views matched his own. It was interesting - endearing - to hear his own beliefs from the lips of another who had been brought up on nothing but prophecies and laws of the Nine. During the time of the Nerevarine, many Imperials made routine Chapel runs to ensure no ill-fortune would make its way to Cyrodiil. This girl was indeed a girl, so surely since her birth, she must have heard the cries of fanatics and the ranting of local heretics. It was hard to find another who had built up an immunity to such garbage and saw through to the facts. The Nine had long lost their powers over Nirn. Worship was foolish.
However, the Count's attention was brought back to his book as he guiltily thought of cruel punishment towards the faithful and innocent.
"I expect to see you back here tonight," Janus said, his voice soft and kind. Still, it managed to snap the girl back into the present, causing her to nod hurriedly. "Come to me first before you start your evening."
His servant took a small step away from the wall and bowed, as custom. Visibly looser, she turned gracefully to go down the hall. The Count smiled again at her back as he watched her go. Janus usually only saw such lithe movements when the girl did not think him present or watching. This pleased him greatly. He was making progress already, even after all the eve's nonsense.
XXXX
Janus entered his room and closed the door tightly. He was in absurdly higher spirits then he had been when he first entered the Manor.
Relief. No harm was done to his wife's possession - why else?
The Count walked into the middle of the room with the book out before him. Carefully, he traced the golden lettering on the cover with his fingertips and double-checked every small repair made. Janus had seen better craftsmanship, but the book was in one piece despite its purchase being over fifty years ago.
With a narrowed gaze, he brought the book closer to his face and tried to make out the great, white, stork that he once laughed at - to him the bird always looked cockeyed. But as Janus brought it's binding nearer, he picked up a strange - however now very much familiar - scent. At first, he wrinkled his nose and thrust the book out at arm's length from shock alone. It was forgein...rather, it was out of place. The Count, being a Vampire, did not have to breathe to pick up an odor. Smells seemed to wander up to his nose as they pleased. At first, he had been so startled, believing it to be some awful burnt leather or glue smell - the book always reeked horribly once it was newly repaired...
But Janus was surprised to find that the scent was sweet. A soft, clean, smell, being both feminine and warm, still clinging to the book. The familiarity came to the Count fast. More than a few times as he walked his halls did he now find this strange aroma. It was fresh like soap, yet hard to trace, almost discreet and only thick when near its source. Heavy and potent - body identical to that of musk but hardly as overbearing.
It was a...nice smell. Simply nice. Something one should find bottled on a store shelf.
It was immediately recognizable. An image of the girl he had just been speaking to came to mind. He thought of her restrained, nervous, smile. Her smelling nice was something he was aware of. Even so, it was not a thing to think on, and he often overlooked it. The Count certainly did not go off sniffing any company, but sometimes it was unavoidable. He learned the hard way that the peoples of Cyrodiil needed to bathe more often. At least he knew Abigale Lynn was clean. Very clean.
Usually, Janus would get annoyed with other person's odor lingering on his things, but this was comforting and feminine. It was highly tolerable. Again, it was nice. It was also enjoyable to have something girly on his wife's old things. It brought back some long-gone normalcy which he dearly missed.
Authors Notes: Okay, where to start. I for one found Mercator's speech amusing in the game, he emphasizes almost every word XD And no, Abigale Lynn didn't run away from some arranged marriage thingy lol and Rona's chamber doesn't actually stink XD it's just what Hassildor thinks because he hates the room, he makes it out to be worse then what it actually is. On that note he's is going to need a lot more 'him' time (like this chapter) if this story is going to flow smoothly, I hope no one minds the constant random switching point-of-views. Grammar…? I actually took the time to re-read it once so I hope it's not too bad. (personally I think my lit teacher would hit me if we were related XDXD) But I am trying, know that I don't ignore reviews. Speaking of which… if its good, bad, or ugly I would like to know :D And I forgive you if you want to throttle me with one of my semicolons, lol I know I use them wrong nine times out of ten… And one more thing…(gets hit by angry readers keyboard) Hassildor is not lovestruck. I go for realism, (well, kinda. I attempt to X3) he's not going to fall in love randomly. I'm rambling about the longwinded descriptions: like smells and facial expressions, just things he likes to figure out and finds enjoyable. I'll leave you now, but not for long :D