Authors notes: The action never stops! 8D The title? You'll have to find it. The story is about Abigale and Hassildor, they both have revelations. The big important ones get special titles. But in response to the smut reviews…you seem to be under the impression that Abigale and Hassildor will become a couple. This could be wrong, we're not even halfway into the story yet (not even close). I could resurrect Uriel Septim and make Abigale fall for him you know?! Eww!…XD but this is the beauty of fan fiction. Suspect the unexpected. I know what I'm going to do in this story, but I want to surprise YOU. What needs to be taken into consideration is that Hassildor really loved his wife. He's not going to change that overnight just because he's near a girl. So I'm sorry to disappoint you (I think :3), but that's not happening for a while…
Love or Blood
Chapter ten: The First Revelation
I am greatly impressionable. I am undeniably foolish; preeminently senseless. I am an embarrassment to women everywhere and I should be ashamed to call myself an equitable lady, but I am not. All this may be true but I am in no way abashed for my actions, whether they be in the past, present, or near future. I cannot stop myself from behaving the way I do, and although I look daft when acting on my impulses and assuming the worst out of everyone I fear that nothing can be done. It is the way I have subconsciously trained myself: to be wary of all eyes and hands, to expect what I dread. It is the way of me.
And although I will repeat myself and stand tall with my pride everyone secretly gets embarrassed, and I am no exception. I wont ever utter a word of my shame but inevitably it is there, I just conceal it under this false façade. Even if I may be shy, quiet, and nervous I hold dear what little pride a 'once thief' could have. Therefore silent I shall be so no one will ever expect an answer when verbally questioning my honor.
But there is no greater humiliation then which I had just faced, so I have no qualms about contradicting myself this time. I could easily shed tears over such degradation. It was silly of me to think my first encounter with a vampire was bad, it may have been scary but my thoughts about him wanting to hurt me weren't far off that first night. Now it was once more just my fears getting the better of me. All the Count wanted was his book back and I had readied myself for the worst, for death even.
Silly little Hummingbird for jumping to conclusions, I know.
Horrible simply horrible the way I acted. I was seconds away from dropping to the floor again to beg forgiveness when he barley seemed troubled at all. Of course he was upset at first knowing I was the one to handle something of his, but once he saw that all was well he was fine, kind even, and still I was overdramatic - which is highly unlike me despite what you may have seen.
I tried my best to overcome my own instincts and I was happily surprised to find that I gradually loosened, but all the same it was a constant effort. Had the Count not been distracting me with meaningless questions I would have never stepped from the door; I would have ran from it.
Another thing he did was talk to me again; more irrelevant conversation. He must know I want to get away yet he still bothers me. Perhaps he does it for fun, like a game to slowly torment me. If so then Mr. Hassildor has a very bad sense of humor. I sincerely hope its not for his amusement, but I honestly don't think it is either. He's supposed to be a stingy, disgruntled, full-blooded Imperial, not some open conversationalist.
I may never understand the ways of men. What do I do that is so fascinating? Is it my quirks or reserve, maybe its my face? I must look so bare and blank to them they probably think I'm simple and easy. Whatever the case or their reason I wish it would stop. I'm terribly afraid the Count is one like them, he has yet to make an attempt for anything strange and I have never even caught him looking at me in that discrete manner, but why else would he be nice to me? I have never met anyone who was just nice to me unless they were required to be or they wanted something of me.
That could be it though. He does want things from me and he requires my presence daily. I'm just being unreasonable, he only wants a good relationship in order to keep me a good maid.
See now there's a reason for everything, no need for me to fret. Vampire or not, man or not, alive or not I can trust him. After all he has yet to imply otherwise.
XXXX
Janus watched the pendulum of the clock swing back and forth, the effect it had on him was almost hypnotic. He didn't like clocks, he didn't like time in general, surprisingly though the clock didn't bother him today - at least not as much as it usually did. No, today he was anticipating the hourly change. It was still early by his standards, the sun had finally begun to set and the peoples of his province would all be in bed soon. For that he was grateful; when the people of Skingrad slept he could roam.
Like a dog he needed a walk. It would be lonely and quiet - it always was - but he still desperately needed to feel cool air. The month of Heartfire wasn't a personal favorite, he preferred the warmer months, but he would take any whether that was offered at the moment.
His head was dense with thoughts today. He could usually maintain a good balance and remained level-headed for the most part. But after receiving another letter from the Elder Council - which still remained sealed - and all the documents he asked for from Anvil he wasn't sure he could. It was better not to think about it, he didn't want to ruin his temporary optimism.
Yes thankfully his good mood had not wavered. The Count was still in high spirits and had been since his maid had left.
He smiled at the thought of her. She was a sweet little thing even if timid. It was hard to believe such an innocence was once nothing more than a grimy thief sobbing on his partially clean floors.
With a smirk he turned to look at his desk, in one of the drawers he still had her gauntlets. The girl never even knew he spelled them off her and she had yet to ask for them back. It was almost comical; those tiny gauntlets and big fearful eyes were the main keys to sparing her. The Count vividly remembered walking to where he had cast them aside and picking one up in distain, with every intent on throwing it into the garbage. But it fit so snuggly in his hand, the tips of the glove had barley reached his knuckles. As a man with big hands it was not uncommon, but his butlers words echoed in his head and the warmth still clinging to the glove was seeping into his palm, all the sensations made him frown.
'She is but a child…'
He could still see her gaunt dirty face and the way her tears left clean trails along her cheeks. Poor thing. He couldn't help but to take pity on her. It must have taken some willpower for her to talk to him during her interrogation.
Even now though it was hard for him to understand why her quirks remained. She was young, weren't the young supposed to be free spirited? Sure she was shy, and might still be embarrassed for having given such a soppy display on their first meeting, but couldn't she see past all that now? He did - the girl was far too cautious to attempt to pull a fast one. He made no mention of their introduction for her sake, but she had come a long way from being a weeping girl in irons.
She had elegance now, he saw it grow each day. Grace too, of course the agility of a thief. But it was something about all her features that puzzled him. He had been watching her for sometime - it was impossible to do otherwise - and there was something he just couldn't place about her that made him smile.
Possibly her shyness, he was used to seeing fear but not genuinely timid people, he thought it quite the paradox for a little, shy, bandit to wander her way into his midst. She was silly to watch and she was annoying to watch, but everything she did had his attention. The way she looked up at him only hours ago was permanently burned into his memory: that 'almost' nervous smile, curious green-blue eyes and long dark lashes, her milky-white skin and blushing cheeks, that beautiful curve of her neck as she turned her head to walk down the corridor. She was pretty, she was young… and he needed some fresh air.
xxxx
I sat quietly by myself at an unoccupied table in the maids quarters. Today was one of those rare days when most of the servants go home to their families and friends. Even Rheena and Tualga had gone. Its times like this when I feel that inevitable grip of loneliness. Its protocol for them to leave just as its mandatory for me to be alone. I repress my occasional want for company though and curb it with thought. I like to think, and I do it best when no one is around to distract me or watch my expressions, sometimes the want to laugh or frown at seemingly nothing is inevitable.
But my thoughts were interrupted as I heard someone winding down the stone steps. I sighed discreetly as I felt those all too familiar eyes on my back. Carefully I turned in my chair and looked around me, "Good late afternoon Stewardess." I said in a tone as happy and high as I could hope to make it.
Hal-Liurz waved my greeting away with her scaly hand. "You have not gone to bed yet today. Are you on some type of sleep strike? Or do you enjoy just sitting alone at an empty table?"
I harshly bit my lip and looked back to the vacant room and table. Why is it so hard to understand? Sometimes I do just like to sit alone and collect my thoughts. My mind has a tendency to wanders far and I've found the best way to keep up with it is to relax and think about my day. This is something I have done ever since I was small, but then I had a journal and wrote all my thoughts down in it. I miss having one, I'm lost in my mind without it. I so long for a diary. "No, I was only thinking miss."
She crossed her arms. "What about?"
Shifting uncomfortably in the chair I licked my now chapped lips. Its one of the most indecent questions to ask someone in my opinion. Especially when asked in such a tone. Peoples thoughts are their own, we should not be questioned about such private things, so I always answer this question evasively. "Things."
"What kind of things?" She pressed, walking around the table so I would be forced to face her. "Would these 'things'have anything to do with the Count?"
Again I bit my lip and cast my gaze to the floor. I suppose most of my thoughts have had the Count in them recently. He was nice to me and that's very hard to understand when the sentiment is from the opposite sex. I appreciate his kindness, but it leaves me more troubled than his anger would.
The Stewardess snorted. "Well ironically enough your silent's speaks for itself." She pulled out the chair in front of me and took as seat. "He didn't yell too much did he? His tantrums can get ugly when he has a mind to make them so."
I shook my head. "No miss, he…" I trailed off, my brows knitting together. "Stewardess, how did you know he was angry?"
"I am the one who told him you had is book. I assure you I had no intent of getting you into any trouble." She shrugged, a very Argonian gesture. "I just didn't expect him to get so fired up about it though." Although her voice was flat and mainly emotionless, I believed her. The Stewardess is not one for affectionate shows either at any rate…
"He didn't through things did he? I need to know ahead of time. Ordering his kind of furniture can lead to a rigorous task and quite the amount of paperwork for me."
I blinked. "Throw?" For a moment I wasn't sure how to answer her, I thought she was just being sarcastic but the look on her face said otherwise. "No, he wasn't very mad for long." I briefly reflected his actions in my memory. I could plainly see his face as it was now etched in my psyche: intense and unwavering at first, then for a longer amount of time, small smiles. "He was nice."
"Nice?" She repeated, her voice had become strangely hoarse. I nervously began to prod at the table. She didn't believe me and I didn't know why. How hard can it be to imagine the Count being nice? How mad was he when she told him that I was handling his things, and - more to the point - how does he usually react around his staff members when he's in a bad mood?
"W-well," I quickly changed tact. "He didn't yell, and his anger towards me was very brief." I was trying my best to stress the shortness of his actions. I wanted her to know that he was not mad at me still, but at the same time I didn't want to tell her anything about our meetings. For me it feels private. Everyone makes the Count out to be some crazed vampire but I have yet to see it. I don't want to prattle on about his benevolence towards me, especially if he does not show kindness to other people often, it feels rude to do so. I may not yet grasp his reasoning but I do appreciate the gentleness he seems to keep for me.
"I suppose that's not too unusual then, he is prone to mood swings." She quipped, but her gaze on me was more scrutinizing than normal.
To divert my attention on something else I began to massage my forearm. That scar has been acting up lately, it always does during the colder months.
"At least you didn't get a book flung at you." The Stewardess pointed out, as if in attempts to make me feel better…she failed miserably. I stared at her wide-eyed. "Not that he would actually hit you," she continued. "He could, but he would intentionally narrowly miss."
XXXX
As expected his walk was long and lonely, but it had served its purpose.
He now held the banister that connected to the fencing of the courtyard deck. Simply standing there, thinking about nothing and everything.
He walked through town this evening and saw the many faces of his people. Sadly the only people who tended to be up at night were mostly drunks, thieves and harlots. But for the most part he was proud of his province. Financially it was the best county there was, but one didn't have to be the Count to know that…even the local whores looked expensive…
Yet he was aghast, completely bewildered. Out of all those faces and all those people not one had him the slightest bit interested; none were appealing in any sense. Truth be told he was looking for a meal tonight, but they all just seemed so bland to him. He was a picky eater, and wouldn't dare to harm anyone who didn't deserve it. It wasn't like he did this often. On the contrary he rarely fed upon the living and only went after anyone causing trouble...which limited his options immensely. There weren't many bandits in his town at any rate, it only takes one encounter with a vampire to make them flee.
He liked his province but was rather disappointed with its civilians. None of the people had that thing he liked, that unexplainable thing they all lacked. A bandit would not sate him, a mugger would not sate him, and a wench with too much rouge definitely would not sate him. No, he wanted something sweet, he needed something sweet, and clean and hapless - enough to stumble into him at least. But there was no one.
His head dropped and he stared down at the floor boards for a minute or two. The life of a vampiric aristocrat was a difficult one indeed. More so when said Count couldn't even have what he really wanted for dinner. Tonight he was going to have another tall glass of bottled Khajiit…
It wasn't that bad, once he picked the hairs out.
xxxx
I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned in annoyance and pain, all revolving around my throbbing arm.
There are only three things that I hate in the world: rain, the month of Heartfire, and my own naivety.
The funny thing about all that is how they are all connected. One night in Heartfire when I lived on the streets it was raining, and that same night a seemingly harmless Dunmer man came and offered me a place to sleep. Because of my own naivety I took him up on his offer. I was just about sixteen at the time, and this was my first winter on the streets. He had seemed so nice, even now I have trouble understanding why he did what he did.
I will never tell a soul what went on within his house. Its shameful.
He didn't…you know, do that, but he tried and now I have this mark on my arm to prove it.
Normal people have morals to there stories, I get scars for mine. But that's just another thing I am lucky for, I was trapped in his home for days and only got marred when I fled. I think the mental scaring is a bit more deep than the mark though. I flinch every time I hear someone say 'sera'.
Which leads me to a very important question: why is it always love that drives one mad? I'm glad I don't know what it is or ever be able to feel it…
I probably wont get much sleep tonight. I don't like thinking about him, I can still here his voice as plane as day, "I will keep you sera. You and I are going to fall in love."
xxxx
I rubbed my eyes and reluctantly stumbled from bed. I was still alone and once again suffered through a restless night. Lying in bed when you cannot sleep is torture all its own, but when its pain or memories that's keeping you awake than its worse.
Sleepless nights are something that I am used to, but not something I enjoy tolerating. Especially not when I am to meet the Count before I start my routine. I wonder what he wants me to do. I suppose it cant be anything too difficult if he's having me handle it first, I don't think he would let anything get in the way of my work.
I think he likes the way I clean - he often watches me do it - but its not something that can be easily overlooked. I think I make so much noise when I clean, I wince every time I place something down too hard, and I do my best to stay out of his sight too. My odd ways could be distracting him and I wouldn't want to tear him away from a good book just because I like to double check on everything and make sure its put in its proper place.
With another yawn I proceeded to light a candle and dress. Its strange to be all alone in the castle; here with only the Count and another handful of staff whom I don't see. It feels good to know that I'm not being watched. I can actually take the time to get dressed instead of ripping clothes off and throwing new ones on.
I like Rheena and Tualga and never before did I think I was modest around the same sex, but lately I'm a bit more self conscious. Perhaps its because I am getting to know my own body a bit more. I used to curse what little curves the fifteen-year old me had. Now I don't mind them as much. Its very obvious that I am no longer a teen; I have the pronounced feminine curves of my mother. But its not much of a bother anymore, at least I don't have to tie my chest down and hide myself under many articles of clothing. Its nice to not have to cover my face in dirt and pretend to be a boy. Maybe I like my body now even if it looks like someone had a go at me with a hot-poker.
Someday I hope my scars can fade away, or at least stop preventing me from sleeping.
But for goodness sake, I wish I had some shears. My hair is terribly long now and it reaches all the way down my lower back. More importantly its getting in the way of everything I do. I even had to add another several minutes to my bathing time just to make sure its rinsed all the way through.
XXXX
The Count craned his neck and refrained himself from standing on his toes. He could barley see his old dusty weaponry now, but he knew it was there, somewhere on the top highest shelf. It had been years since he last thought about his old swords and shield, and he wasn't entirely sure why he decided to look for them again in the first place. Such keepsakes barley made themselves known to him now and he often forgot they were even there. It was a rather random thought that struck him in boredom; Janus suddenly wanted to see his old things.
This occurrence was unusual for him, he tried his best to hide any remnants of his previous life. Actually touching the old relics always seemed to make him sick, so it wasn't hard to understand his confusion. He had no other excuse for his sudden motives so he settled with the typical explanation to such a nostalgic feeling: he was getting old.
The idea made him wince. He didn't like to think about it for obvious reasons, but like it or not ninety-three years was quite over the hill and back down its slope.
Indeed he dreaded the day he hit that century mark. Anyone in his situation would loath said day as well. To have walked on Nirn for a hundred years, alone and diseased, without anyone with a pulse whom he could truly call 'friend'. Perhaps that was why he impulsively wanted to cling to his personal effects from life; it was all he had left.
And so he looked for old mementos; his prized possessions of a time when he was young, in love and surrounded by loyal friends and family.
In retrospect it could be thought of as funny. Time has a strange way of sneaking up on you, and you'll never know where you will be in the next ten years. Of course he could guess - but he would probably still be alone after all - so there was really no excitement in guessing for him. Janus tried his best not to ponder the future or reminisce on his youth, it did more bad than good. He settled with just being, not living or dieing or having anything to live for or care about other than his wife who left him fifty-three years ago.
Sleeping, he proposed, was better than his affection.
He could call it self-pity and try to ignore it - as he often did - but sometimes it became to hard to pay such an idea little mind. He was not gifted with ignorance so every once in awhile he felt that inevitable loss of impassivity. Stoicism could only keep him complacent for so long.
Finally his gaze dropped to the floor in defeat. He hated letting his thoughts wander, it always left him distressed. His ways, his life was hackneyed and sickening if one delved deep enough into his conscience. How he could still look in the mirror everyday he didn't know. Something must have been terribly wrong with him as it made Rona leave. She would rather face unholy nightmares than stand by him and fight this blood curse. Sad to know that his love wasn't enough to make her stay, what a painful blow to a man's once proud ego. It ultimately shattered not only his self-esteem and most emotions but his own self-image also.
Here he was, the Count of Skingrad: one of the richest men of Cyrodiil, the most powerful Count, ruler of the most influential province, and dead, lonely man who's wife would rather die than face him, and who's staff feared his teeth more than his rule.
What a sad life to lead when walking with eternity.
xxxx
He sounded miserable; his voice held nothing to it, not even the usual firmness that I have become accustomed to. It could have been his heavy door that possibly altered his voice and made him sound so distraught, and I had half hoped that was the case too, but sadly it was not.
As I entered the room I tried to look at him without giving myself away. I know that simply looking at a person wont tell you why their upset, but you can usually see to what extent their current depression is at. At first I saw nothing different in his face, but that was mainly because my glances were so quick that he looked like a blur of colors. I didn't want him to see me trying to study him; I know he doesn't like that. Even though he looked himself I could almost feel something amiss. I didn't want to upset him further so I maintained my little curiosity and kept my eyes on the floor.
It wasn't hard to do, I never really look people in the eye especially when I talk to them. Just thinking about it makes me feel uneasy.
The Stewardess was right though, the Count is certainly prone to mood-swings. I suppose I would be to if I was always isolated and always…hungry. He has every right to be happy one moment then angry the next, it must be hard to keep himself so…so docile all the time when his instincts tell him to do the opposite.
"You wanted to see me sir?" I asked nervously after a few moments of silence. Perhaps he changed his mind and didn't want me near him at the moment. I too like to be alone when I'm upset, I think I heal faster that way.
" I did." I think I may be right, he said 'did' not 'do'. "Come here." I obediently walked over, still keeping my eyes to the floor.
He was so nice to me earlier and even though he is upset I think he may still be nice to me now, so long as I do as I am told. I wanted to show him my appreciation somehow, but I cant think of a way to say 'thank you' to him. If there was a method of some sort that I could do to show my gratitude than I would do it. Sadly though I don't know sign language, and I'd rather not touch him.
Not that there's anything wrong with him but he just strikes me as a man who wouldn't want to be touched by lesser people. So taking his hand in gratefulness is definitely out of the question, but it was common practice in Anvil even towards commoners and nobles, and I miss it.
Once I stood next to him he held out his hand. At first I was confused and though that he had read my mind and wanted me to take it, or give him something, but I soon felt a strange prickle run down my back and watched as his hand was quickly immersed in light. It was the Breton in me, I could always feel magic being conjured and cast. I've always been very sensitive to magic and I have been told I would have made a great mage…I wish I learned to cast spells.
It was a fascinating little ball of light. He held it in his hand as any wizard would do with a Mage Light, but it was so bright I had worries it would hurt him. Instinctively I squinted at it, it had been awhile since I was exposed to such a glow and I had to stop myself from taking a few steps back and shielding my eyes. He however barley seemed effected by it. My eyes slowly adjusted but I had to constantly blink back tears. His magical skill must be great, I have seen this spell before but most of the time its just rays of light from the casters body, he held the light neatly like a melon sized orb.
I was captivated by it like a moth to the flame. I wondered what it felt like in his hand. I couldn't feel any heat from it, and it almost certainly had no mass whatsoever. It was probably like holding your hand outstretched, you have a palm full of air and you don't even know it.
"Can you see up there?" he asked quietly as he turned to me. I looked up at him first to see what he was gesturing to when I noticed how illuminated his face was. Besides the eyes one could barley tell he was a vampire - so long as he kept him mouth closed. I could see different features of his face in this light that dull fires do not show. I've always liked faces and hands on people, which is why I find it so intriguing. He has laughter lines on either side of his face, they are little but still plan to see, and very oval shaped eyes. He has a funny nose too; long tear-drop shape with rounded nares.
Once I realized I was staring again I sharply turned my head away and preyed he didn't notice. I bit my lip and finally nodded, looking upward at what he was pointing to.
"What I want you to do first today is see to my old weaponry. I want to see it shine again." I nodded once more and watched his light slowly disappear out of the corner of my eye. "There is no need to rush," He continued. "But I want it done within the hour. You have other things to do besides this."
I did not want to correct him because technically that is rushing. My father used to be in the guard and I would wipe down his armor and equipment all the time. My father never asked me to do it, but I tried my best to make him happy…he had so much to put up with. I wonder if him and my mother are still…Never mind, they are not my parents anymore; I abandoned them.
The Count turned and began to walk away, leaving me to stare up at the bookshelf foolishly. I don't know how he expects me to get up there, he always seems to want to thrust me up a bookshelf or dangle on a chandelier. Well I cannot do it, if he wants this done within the hour than he had better provide me some type of help. I'll admit it's a bit frustrating; I'm always told to jump, and although I shall ask every time, 'how high?' and not quip at this, people should at least be nice enough to make sure the leap is within my reach. I'm a lady, not a miracle, I have limits.
"I…" I tried to straighten up a bit, I cant look very demanding if I'm off cowering by a shelf. "I'll need to get them down, my Lord."
He turned - almost lazily - toward me, with that ever apathetic expression. "Obviously."
My straightened posture faltered a bit at his statement. Just one little word from his mouth and I'm already biting my lip again. He can make me feel so foolish with one word.
But I don't think the workings of his mind is as complex as I once thought it would be. If it was he certainly would have seen that I have no means for these silly things he asks me to do. He's far to expectant, I cant help but to be slightly irked by it. I know he is usually nice to me and is just in a bad mood right now but must he strive to make me look stupid? Does it make him feel better? Of course he has every right to do with me as he pleases, but I do have feelings.
Maybe its just me and I have just become too soft and extremely sensitive. He didn't insult me after all, he only said 'Obviously'.
I looked to the shelf again to hide the obvious degradation on my face. "How?" I asked softly, still trying to keep myself as strong willed and spoken. I know it sounds silly but I feel embarrassed and cant help it. It would be far more easier to tear up and ask him through sniffles to get his armor down for me than it is to stand up and ask for it politely. I believe that shows how little tolerance I have toward conversation. The Count is partial to my weeping, maybe he will help me again this time if I start to cry.
"How?" He repeated - he does that often too, as if I ask some unfathomably stupid question. "Spell it down girl, you are of Breton blood."
My cheeks burned further and I looked down to my shoes again. The humiliation I must go through all because I never finished any schooling, magical or otherwise. How am I supposed to tell one of the greatest users of magic I have ever known that I: a half Breton, never learned to even cast the simplest restoration spell correctly? Its impossible for such a sentence to even form in my mouth, how am I to explain such a dishonor to my employer?
"I cant." As if he knew I was going to say that he walked back over to me. I hope he doesn't think I'm disobeying him. But maybe he knew I was telling the truth. He could hear lies, he should know then that I am willing, just not capable.
"Never learned telekinesis…" The Count pondered quietly. "I suppose that's understandable. Its not a very common spell, and is probably useless to girl such as yourself." He said pointedly. "You strike me as a 'do it yourself' type of person."
I gave a little nod, deciding it was best not to verbally answer. I don't know if I am what he says or not. I don't like laziness, but I think it would be nice to simply beckon a glass of water to come to you rather than having to fetch it yourself.
"What about levitation?" He inquired again - quite randomly. If I had a mind to ask questions my first one would be: 'why sir must you make me speak?'
"No, my Lord." He made a little face, like taking a sip of too bitter tea, and turned away to summon the items from the top shelf. I didn't like that expression, it was different. Did I say something wrong with just three tiny words? Did my tone have an unlikable sharpness to it? Maybe he somehow learned that I knew no magic and had no skills. Is that even possible? I hope to whatever deity there is that it isn't.
I don't want to look worse than what I already do. In his eyes I must still be a thief, I don't want him to think I'm slow too.
"Here. Just do this for now." He held out a long silver sword. It might have been shiny too if it wasn't coated with dust and dirt. "Seeing as your hesitance has made time pass so quickly this is all you will do today."
The Count held it out to me carefully and I took it with the same caution. I forgot how heavy weapons were. No sooner had the sword left his hands did I hunch over to keep from dropping it, my knees already quaked at the weight. I looked up at him and wondered how he just held it a moment ago in one hand, treating it as if it were as light as a quill. He must be strong, or was still secretly using a spell to show off for some reason.
"I shall leave you to it then." He said simply, just as another important item for a task such as this came into my head.
"W-what about polish? I cannot get it to shine without it. Waters not good to…"
I stopped talking as he quirked his brow and inclined his head to the side ever so slightly. "Is this some obvious care of weapons knowledge or are you speaking from experience?" I bit my lip and again shifted, but not from discomfort, the weight the sword was almost unbearable. Sadly I have never been a strong girl, just a good problem solver. "Do you know what your doing?" He asked again more gently, probably mistaking my pained face for embarrassment. Surprising as it may be I'm not embarrassed at the moment, just very uncomfortable.
"Yes sir." I answered quickly. "I did it for my father sir, when I was young...s." I had almost said 'sir' again. At least I'm trying, I may babble foolishly but I am trying.
He gave a wiry smile. "When you were young? How old are you now?"
I probably should have seen this coming. People and their ages, I do not understand sensitivity to a fact like that. We all grow older so why does everyone dread or hate it? Then again I'm being a hypocrite; I despise being young, he probably feels the same towards his age though. He is…how old after all? I believe he said a long time ago that he had seventy years on me - more or less I am not sure. "I am twenty my Lord. I shall be twenty-one in Frostfall."
He nodded. "Oh yes. You are positively ancient indeed." The satirical comment was almost funny. I wanted to laugh but bit my tongue hard instead. I think his good mood may be coming back to him. Maybe. He still seems irritable. He was probably just lonely. Poor Count Hassildor, I'll let him poke fun at me if it makes him feel better.
He glanced over his shoulder to his paper-littered desk and sighed when turning back to me. "Little perfectionist, you will have to make due with what you have for now. Take a seat and get to it, wont you?"
"Where do I sit?" I asked cautiously, looking around to the Counts fine furniture. I did not want to ruin any of his chairs or sofas, what's more; I didn't want to have to fix any mess I made on them.
The Count took a brief look around the room and then tilted his head to the floor. "Seeing as you are about to crumple with age before me, I think the floor will suite you just fine." At the command I quickly dropped to the carpet, carefully maneuvering the sword away from me as I did so. I think I'm an efficient worker, but I also think I've questioned him enough today and I don't want to push my luck.
Without another word he went to his desk and I set out to do what I do best, which is thinking and cleaning.
XXXX
Janus rifled through the papers on his desk, successfully ignoring the girl on the floor who had her back facing him. He had become too absorbed in his work, and her - whatever he could find on her - documented history. The Count had sent a letter to Anvils 'widowed' Countess and asked for a small favor. Anvil had always been a well organized province, and he had been good friends with the recently missing Count Corvus Umbranox's father - who had long since passed. Documents on the citizens of any state were usually passed along throughout Cyrodiil for criminal records and such, the Count had only asked for a tiny list of names beginning with the letter A.
He would openly admit he was curious about Abigale Lynn, but his research wasn't just out of pure curiosity. He liked a back round check on all his workers, and what he heard in gossip contradicted what she had told him. When he spoke with some of his trusted guard most recalled seeing a little red-headed beggar wandering Skingrad several months ago. Some even remembered her in shockingly distinct detail.
Apparently Abigale Lynn was famous for getting caught stealing grapes at the local vineyards, and could often be found staring in windows of the pastry shop. One guard even mentioned seeing her crawling from another citizens smashed-in basement. The man didn't slap her in irons, he admitted that he pretended not to notice the girl. It had been snowing that day and his shift had just ended, no one wants to chase a thief in cold, wet, boots. But she had said she had come from Anvil, so Janus was left to believe she had departed from there recently. He soon found out how wrong he was.
Lady Umbranox had sent him what he asked, which was any document listing women with the initials A.L who had departed from Anvil in recent years. There were many more men with those initials, so it should have been relatively easy to find.
But after several stacks of papers, going back three years, the Count had to wonder if Abigale Lynn just fell from the sky. Flipping though more paper and going back more years he was starting to get irritated. It was a bit more enjoyable than his usual homework but it was still work, and he wanted to know about the girl who he let live with him now. She wasn't in the least bit dangerous, but she could be on the run from a cult like the Dark Brotherhood, and joined the Thieves Guild in hopes of protection. Gods knew he didn't need to have another uninvited visit by a chipper assassin in the dead of night.
After searching those records and finding nothing he decided to search through the obituaries just out of curiosity. Scrolling half way down the page he found those initials he was looking for.
A. Lynn. R. Beincourt / Missing: 3E. 427. Frostfall. Put to rest. 3E. 429. Lastseed.
That was enough to make a man blink…
Beincourt certainly was a Breton name, and the document clearly said it was her. 'R' had to be her middle name and Beincourt was her last. Janus clearly remembered her telling him she had no surname. Either she was a very good liar or a girl who had too many names to remember. He couldn't help from turning in his chair to look at the girl, who had unknowingly begun to hum, with an odd interest. Anyone in Anvil who had known her thought she was dead. That was something they both had in common; dead to the world. It was quite sad.
There was a small reward for anyone who found her, and a little list of people who attended her 'burial'. He wondered why the search had been called off so soon. The guard found no body, and all that was put in a casket was some of her personal effects. It struck him there as he sat that someone in Anvil could be missing their daughter terribly. Even though the reward was such a paltry sum someone in Anvil could wish to see her again and know that she was safe.
He could always write again to Lady Umbranox and have her inform Abigale Lynn's family that she was alive, but a criminal serving a life sentence. He would think about. It could bring some peace of mind to any relatives. Better alive then dead after all.
Janus was considering it, mulling it over in his mind as he stared down at the paper and listened to the girl's humming die down. His finger tapped absently against his temple as he measured the trouble one would have to go through to file all this paperwork out. It wouldn't be much at any rate, just a paper saying she was here, alive, but deprived of any visitation rights. Abigale Lynn wouldn't be dead to all but him. Perhaps he should ask her what she preferred.
He was about to finalize the decision when suddenly there came a little shaky breath from the back of the room where said maid sat. Only then did Janus take into account that the humming had stopped. And like a small gust of wind he felt a wave of panic, not from him but from the girl. The atmosphere of the room abruptly changed. It was…different somehow. Whatever this change was it now had the always apprehensive girl on the edge. Quite literally, he could smell fear on her. He was about to look up to see why she had become so frightened when a horrifyingly familiar smell drifted towards him. In an instant he went rigid in his seat. All his muscles quickly tensed and relaxed in such a swift motion that it made his mind hazy.
The smell that came to him was warm and sweet, and welcoming, and beckoning, and all the things Janus Hassildor did not want in his bedchamber. In the very far back corners of his mind he heard the primal call; the halleluiah for empty bodied and bellied vampires. This of course was too far back and receded in his thoughts. Abigale Lynn certainly was not a wounded animal in his mind, nor was she a hunger temptation.
No sir, she was just a very clumsy girl who was very fortunate that her Count had began to build up a tolerance and an innocent fascination to her. She should thank anything she believed in that he was a Hassildor and a master of self control, otherwise she would not be a happy girl at the moment.
He sighed but promptly stood and walked over to her. Janus made sure to take care with his steps, knowing all too well that bleeding in a room with a vampire is liable to cause some tension.
Unnecessary tension. Just because her skin smelt sweet and her blood had the strangest most alluring aroma didn't mean that he was going to pounce. He liked to think he was a bit more dignified.
xxxx
I was surprised at how shiny the sword became so quickly. Using nothing but I dry cloth I thought I might be stuck doing this for ages. Thankfully that was not the case, but I guess I wouldn't have minded either way because oh did this bring back memories.
I used to do this sitting at our little round kitchen table in Anvil with a bottle of polish to my left, and several gray cotton clothes to my right. I would have clear view of the sun going down from the little window in front of me, and it would cast strange orange and pink lights along the oak furnishings. I would vainly look at myself in the reflection of my fathers sword and admire how the orange hue of light made my hair fit my round face better. I would think about my day and listen to the children playing in their bedrooms despite me having told them it was time for bed. Usually I would start humming loudly, the sound always drifted into their rooms and inevitably put them to sleep.
But I was always faced with worries then too. I would think about my mother and wonder if my father could find the poor bumbling lady before the rest of the guard did. My grip on the sword would tighten as I dreaded having to clean up any liquor my mother couldn't hold down. Then there was always the worse fear of who my father was going to drag into the house with him. He would always bring his friends over to meet me, and ask me later if I would ever consider having them as a husband. My father desperately wanted to get rid of me.
Don't get me wrong, he loved me, but my father wanted me out of what he would call 'our hell hole'. He wanted me to live a happy life and move very far away. I wanted that too, but I never wanted to get married. I always dreamed of living in a small cottage by myself with a dog or cat to keep me company. I wanted to grow gardens and have some friends I would write letters to and visit during spring. The tiny one roomed home of my dreams would be made out of pearly-white stone, covered in ivy and roses, with a little porch in the front where I could sit and read until the sun fell from the sky.
I always liked that, especially white stone and very red roses. Its such a pretty color combination: ivory and scarlet, red on white, crimson over porcelain, just like I'm seeing now…?
I blanched, any color draining from my face, probably never to return either.
It was like being slapped; a sudden jolt of unwanted reality. In an instant I went from sitting at my kitchen table in Anvil, to my imaginary dream home, to an insufferably witless girl who cut herself and didn't even realize it.
Naturally I panicked at seeing my own blood, I did not feel myself get cut so I didn't know where it had come from. With a little effort I managed to calm down enough to gently put the Counts sword aside and examine my hands. I was bleeding so much I was afraid I punctured something important, but I didn't think there were any major veins in the palm of my hand so I tried to silence the fear. I cupped my hands; blood pooling in my wounded right hand, and made out the deep gash that cut through my life line. I must have gripped the sword too hard at some point, my fingertips have little cuts too.
Even though I was bleeding rather profusely I was more worried that I sullied the carpets, or worse, the Counts sword. Thankfully upon quick inspection I found no remnants of blood anywhere but on me. I sighed with relief but grimaced once I felt my hand give an overdue throb. I was about to get up and excuse myself when I heard the Counts chair creak nosily behind me.
Only then was I reminded of another very unwanted factor: vampire.
I don't know why people tend to forget such important things like that when their in a flurry of panic, but we do. When I heard him begin walking towards me I hastily wiped my now stinging hand of with my apron. It was to no avail, blood began dripping down my arm and soaked my tan sleeves, despite my best efforts to stop it. I whimpered as I painfully squeezed my own wrist to stop the blood flow. The desire to bang my head against the floor was there and rather prominent. How irresponsible could I be? Why cant I pay attention, why must I always think and get lost in thought?
This stupidity could cost me my life. I don't remember ever being so careless. If the Count decides I've caused him too much strife than I shall die. I deserve it don't I for being so foolish? I wont go willingly but I suppose its justice.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Doesn't he like me just a little, just enough to pardon me once more?
"He is not an evil vampire. He's the kindest person I've have ever known outside of Anvil. He doesn't want my blood. He told me so himself when we first met. Be patient and be quiet, just do as he says and all will be well…All will be well. Please Gods all will be well."
Authors Notes: I did NOT want to leave it here! XDXD This wasn't my fault, the chapter was about sixteen pages long! Sorry for the cliffhanger, I hate it too. Makes it a bit more dramatic ehh? Not really what I was going for but ohs well. Btw, I have grammar checker! 8D So I hope this was a bit better…If not…I'll do something. But what will happen in the next chapter?! Vote now! (yeah I'm tired.)
1. Hassildor throws a tantrum because she's bleeding all over the place - :C
2. Abigale pulls a Mary Sue and faints - *o*. Shockingly handsome glittering Hassildor to the rescue - 8D
3. Hassildor magically loses 53 years of self control just because he's around her blood - :3
4. She grabs a band-aid… :D!