One Last War
By: Dirty Reid
Chapter 6: The Lull
Fortas Catranian did not need to twist his neck around to know that the slow and soft footfalls behind him belonged to General Fire-Eater. He continued to lounge on the bank of an elbow in the Mander, legs splayed out before him and propped up by his arms. He looked completely relaxed as he gazed out over the sun-kissed riverbed. With eyes keen from decades at sea, he tracked a pair of single-occupant canoes as they rowed slowly up the river. Downwind, a single sail pleasure skiff glided along, a handful of men and women in loose clothing visible on the deck. Up the river, a jetty played host to a number of boats, reminding Fortas of a gaggle of piglets at their mother's teats.
"A little boat-watching to pass the time, Admiral?" Tonje asked.
"To relax, General. And please, call me Fortas. We are not on duty nor in the presence of the Empress, so I believe we can forego the formalities." Fortas assured as he patted the ground next to him. The Nordic general was silent for a moment before she heeded his invitation and seated herself beside him. Even sitting down, Tonje was taller than him. Out of the corner of his eye, Fortas saw hr raise a dark green bottle to her lips before taking a long pull.
"What do you have there?" He asked curiously. Tonje swallowed quickly and gave a thoughtful sigh.
"Arbor Gold. A wine from the Lady Olenna's home city. 'Tis supposed to be among the finest of vintages in Westeros." She paused to take another drink. "And while I cannot compare it to any other Westerosi wines, I can say with conviction that it is easily as delectable as most spirits produced in Skyrim or Cyrodiil." She said before holding the bottle out to him with a raised eyebrow. Fortas looked down at the bottle for a moment before slowly grasping it and taking a drink. A bloom of warmth rose in his throat as the wine went down like water. On his tongue, the taste of perfectly ripened plums, a hint of cherry, and just a touch of pepper for spice danced about like a Breton ballet.
Fortas could not help but let a sigh of pleasure rise from him. This Arbor Gold was his first alcoholic drink in over two months. Unlike a number of his fellow officers or crew, Fortas refused to drink while sailing, maintaining that "If the sea is not given the respect it deserves, it will surely hasten your end." Some scoffed at what they perceived as paranoia, but those that were close to the Admiral and deemed worthy of the stories of his childhood knew that his reasons were founded on past experiences.
"That is quite pleasing to the palate." He agreed as he handed the bottle back to Tonje. The Nord's stern face softened into something thoughtful.
"If our quest goes tits up, at least we will have Arbor Gold." She said lightly. Fortas snorted quietly at her comment before voicing a rather spontaneous thought.
"On the subject of our quest, what are your thoughts about it?" He asked. Tonje did not answer immediately, instead taking a contemplative sip of wine.
"... If there is anyone living who could stop an Oblivion Crisis, it would be Hippolyta." She said after a moment.
"You seem unsure of that." Fortas observed.
"My faith in her cunning and intellect is unwavering, but... I suppose..." She fell silent as she grasped for the correct words to use. "I suppose a part of me is still skeptical of the tales of the Dragonborn's power." She finally admitted. Fortas was thoroughly intrigued at the admission of Tonje's lack of faith, even if it was reluctantly done so.
"Why is that? It has been proved time and time again that her exploits are not exaggerated." Said Fortas.
"I know. My doubt stems from a lack of eyewitness accounts on my part." She said.
"... So the hundreds of separate reports from persons who can attest to her strength and exploits mean nothing to you?" He asked incredulously.
"Now that I hear it, that statement was poorly worded. What I meant to say was that I have not seen her in a pitched battle for my entire career as an officer." She backpedaled.
Fortas made a noise of comprehension. "I understand. You believe that because she has been so proficient at preventing conflict that she has unintentionally deprived herself of the ability to keep her skills honed." He summarised. Tonje pointed at him.
"Perfectly worded, thank you. The last major conflict in Tamriel's history was the Whitestrake Rebellion and that ended, what, forty-five years ago?"
"Forty-two." Fortas corrected.
"That is forty-two years since Hippolyta was last involved in a war, small though it was. Such a period of stagnancy is not something one can just bounce back from at the drop of a hat. One of her Praetorians let slip that she was left fatigued after capturing the ironmen's flagship." Tonje admitted.
"Her skill with a blade is but one facet of her strength to be considered. I watched her produce a Thu'um powerful enough to reduce half of the enemy's numbers to dust." Fortas countered.
"Fair enough, but what of a situation in which she cannot use her Thu'um without injuring a friendly? And if her magick is not enough?" Tonje asked.
Fortas did not respond for a moment. "If we are discussing this, then no doubt Hippolyta has known about it from the moment it became apparent. T'would not be a surprise to me if she was already taking steps to correct her shortcomings." He said. Tonje nodded.
"True enough. I suppose I was hasty in my judgment and neglected to consider her ability to compensate for her weaknesses by swaying people to act in her interests, as well. Not even Tiber Septim could boast bringing Black Marsh into the Empire... Or rebuilding it from the ground up with as little blood spilt as she did." She said with no small amount of respect. As she sipped at the wine and passed it to Fortas again, she let her muddy eyes linger on the Imperial sailor.
"May I ask you a more personal question, Fortas?" She said after a moment's contemplation.
"Of course, Tonje." He said easily, while redirecting his attention to her.
"It occurs to me that I know very little about you. How did your service with the Empire begin?" She asked. Some uncertainty clouded her face as a frown moulded into place on Fortas'.
"... It was not voluntary." He finally admitted. "Before I joined the Navy, I came from a family of merchant sailors. We carried mostly goods for the well-off: Furs, expensive tomes, spices and the like aboard our ship, the Rosie Dawn. To our detriment, it was the aftermath of the Whitestrake Rebellion when I was allowed to sail with my family for the first time. Because there was so little demand for luxury goods, we were forced to sell our haul for a loss and return to Cyrodiil." He paused and held his hand out, silently asking for the bottle. Tonje obliged, and he took another swig before sighing and continuing his story.
"I left aboard another liner, the Blue Gull, to acquire more capitol as my family attempted to secure another haul. My path to Navy service began on that voyage when reavers attacked our ship off the coast of Ebonheart. I was one of two sailors to be spared, and I have the ear to prove it." He tilted his head to the right and showed Tonje the full extent of his wound. The upper portion of his left ear- the helix- had been ripped apart, and the lateral segment flopped about like a torn up, fleshy flag.
Tonje winced. "What happened next?"
"I was rendered unconscious along with the other sailor I mentioned, Annika. I... I am not proud to admit it, but I allowed myself to be press-ganged into their crew under pain of death. Because I was literate, I was made third mate. Annika was..." He trailed off and a dark look came over his face. Tonje did not ask him to elaborate, knowing full well what had happened to the girl. She had conducted a handful of raids against the reavers of Morrowind during her three-decade long service, and had come to experience a particularly sickening dread when prisoners were to be found and freed. One in twelve was the average ratio of female prisoners who made a full recovery after their ordeal. Six, on average, were broken both physically and mentally to varying degrees, and were never the same again. The remaining five ended up taking their own lives, unable to live with the horrifying acts of torture, mutilation and rape they had endured.
"You needn't continue Fortas, if the memory is too unpleasant." Tonje assured him with a shake of her head.
"No, no, it's fine. I worked alongside the reavers for almost a full year before an Imperial raid discovered our hideout. I managed to evade detection until most of the reavers had been killed or captured and surrendered immediately. I had been fortunate in that the ship had only scavenged for the year in which I was forced to serve on it, and during my eventual trial, my family was able to vouch for me. The judge and jury believed in me, but as I had still committed theft, a sentence was to be given, albeit heavily reduced: One year of labour in the ebony mines, or one year of mandatory service in the Navy. Because we are speaking now, I trust you know which choice I made." He finished by holding his hand out in silent askance for the wine, which she obliged.
"That is quite the tale." She remarked softly. "Thank you for sharing it with me."
"Don't mention it." Said Fortas as he handed the bottle back to her. "It occurs to me that I know very little about you as well. What is your story of origin Tonje?" To his interest, she did not answer immediately, and exhibited several signs of uncertainty before saying anything.
"A painful memory, I take it." He stated, to which she nodded.
"Are you familiar with the Skaal?" She asked, to which he nodded. "I come from a settlement of them in the northernmost reaches of High Rock. The Skaal are traditionally isolationist, so while not technically anti-Empire, they have no desire to answer to Hippolyta." She explained. Having an idea of where she was going with her story, Fortas nodded silently.
"I was the fourth child among six, and the only one who wanted more than a simple existence of farming, hunting game and bearing children. When I told my father and mother that I wanted to join the Legion, the ensuing argument could be heard in Farrun. My mother called me a deserter of our way of life, and my father..." Tonje stopped to swallow and Fortas could see her eyes develop a sheen of tears.
"... I call myself Fire-Eater but I am not welcome among my clan. My father disowned me the moment I walked out the door of my ancestral home." She hung her head and tried valiantly to keep her body from shaking. "I have not seen my family in thirty-eight years." Her voice caught and she blinked hard. Fortas chose not to push as the general fought to keep her emotions under control.
"Do your siblings share the sentiment of your parents?" He asked after Tonje took a calming draught from the bottle.
"My eldest brother Aros, to a degree. He does not resent my decision, but he does not understand why I would choose a lifestyle so 'strict and controlling'. My older sisters Eldrid and Bera support my decision silently, as does my younger brother Keldan. My younger sister Maeva has not expressed an opinion one way or the other." She answered.
"They informed you of this through letters?" He theorised aloud.
"Yes. Eldrid, Bera, Keldan and I have been communicating in secret for near thirty years."
"Why the secrecy?"
"Old though they may be, if mother and father found out, they would ensure that no mail sent by them or me would ever reach the other. They hold a great deal of influence within my former home." She elaborated.
"I see. What do you speak of, if I may ask." He pushed.
"Mostly the notable happenstances that occur in our lives between letters. I mostly tell them of my promotions or my Legion's actions against those who would defy Hippolyta. They tell me of the happenings in their settlement. The few times we have sent each other a common topic have been when our children were born." She said with a sad smile. "I have eight nephews and six nieces that I have not, and will likely never meet, nor shall my son." She sighed.
"What can you tell me of your son?" Fortas asked quickly to move their subject to one much lighter.
"Aevar is his name. He was born twenty-six years ago after a... lapse in judgment following the destruction of an elven supremacist cell hiding in Elseweyr." She began, prompting a tiny smirk from Fortas. The Nords knew how to throw an awesome shindig, but among the Legion and Navy, a saying had been brought into use hundreds of years ago: "Side effects may not manifest for nine months."
"He wanted to follow me into the Legion, but I managed to dissuade him from taking a position where he would be under constant threat of death. He knew that he was the only family I truly had left, so he chose a career in intelligence with the Eighth. He has been there for five years." She sighed fondly before returning her gaze to him.
"Do you have any children?" She asked.
"Two sons, a daughter, and my wife is expecting another within a few months." He pulled on a golden chain around his neck and cracked open the heavy pendant dangling from the end. The familiar purple smoke of a Moment Catcher spell began to rise from it, congealing into an image of Fortas in the standard Navy formal dress. To his right, a sharp-faced woman with a smile on her face and her glossy black hair in a plait rested her hands on the shoulders of two young boys. The elder with his shaggy hair pulled into a ponytail looked to be a teenager, while the younger with short bristles looked no more than ten. In front of Fortas, a little girl of perhaps seven smiled hugely, showing several gaps where teeth used to be. Tonje smiled at the memory imprinted on the locket through magic.
"You are a very fortunate man, Fortas." She said genuinely. "What are their names?"
"My wife is Sofia, a herbalist from the Nibenay Basin whom I met during shore leave almost eighteen years ago. She is as stunning now as she was then, and I knew she was the one the very first time I bought a bushel of sage from her. After the first time, I always ventured back to Drakelowe when on leave in Cyrodiil. Our courtship progressed quickly owing to my profession, and we married after three years. My sons are named Regulus," He pointed to the older boy, " and Pietro," He indicated the younger son, "and my daughter is named Cecilia. Regulus will begin studying at the Arcane University in a few months, and Pietro wishes to follow in his footsteps. Cecilia has said that she wishes to follow me into the Navy 'Because I want to be tough like Papa'." He smiled fondly. "The boys did not appreciate her saying that, but I could not have been prouder."
Tonje smiled in amusement. "A girl after my own heart." She stated, prompting a laugh from Fortas. From there, they finished the bottle of Arbor Gold and continued to trade light-hearted stories about their children, appreciating the brief lull in what was indubitably going to be Hippolyta's biggest campaign since the war with the Aldmeri Dominion.
Telina Delvanni ambled slowly through the richer district of Highgarden, having carried out Hippolyta's unspoken orders to the letter. The children, Devon and Danelle had been persuaded to spy for the Dunmer woman through displays of genuine affection, and Barton the beggar had been quickly won over through use of her wiles. Hundreds of years utilising seduction techniques had left the elderly woman indifferent to acts of manipulation, conversion and subversion, and as one of Hippolyta's most connected operatives, she put them to use now even more than she had while gaining control of Morrowind in all but name. Personally she felt that her newest informants would be of little help and had said such to Hippolyta before their trek to Highgarden, but the Empress was firm in her orders to have eyes among the lowest of men and women in Westeros before swaying those of influence. Telina was half-sure she knew the reason already, but had asked the younger mer regardless.
"There is great power in being ignored, my friend. People will utter their secrets in the presence of a beggar for they disregard the possibility that someone so piteous and wretched has no way to use it against them. Those who fall within the sphere of The Great Darkness do not hold the grandeur one may expect from the acolytes of a Daedra, but it would be foolish not to use them." She had answered. While her skepticism was not completely allayed, Telina accepted Hippolyta's reasons nonetheless.
With her task complete for the moment, her mind wandered about as she continued her languid stroll. After purchasing a fire plum from a vendor and sinking her teeth into the ripe and juicy fruit, she began to contemplate the benefits and drawbacks of seducing the royal sons of Highgarden. She had briefly entertained the thought of working her charm on Lord Tyrell, but Hippolyta had come to an agreement with the Ladies Olenna and Margaery, and would have been apoplectic with rage if she had destabilised the fragile alliance. The thought of the Empress being consumed by the red mist brought back a rather revolting memory from the aftermath of the Whitestrake Rebellion where Hippolyta had stormed the a prominent stronghold, all one thousand of her Praetorians in tow. She shuddered and took another bite of her fire plum, the sweet fruit infused with a warming heat pushing away the thought of just how nasty the Empress could be.
Her aimless wandering eventually led her to a courtyard filled with voluminous trees and waist-high hedges. Cushioned chairs and stone benches occupied the eastern corner, and a handful were occupied by dress-clad women and squires. In the middle of the courtyard, two young men in boiled leather vests and helms traded blows with longswords. Telina's vermillion eyes roved over them, watching every move both contestants make, noting even the slightest mistake they both made and observing any opportunities that they exploited or missed. The combatant in the green doublet proved to be the more skilled of the two, taking a more defensive approach and forcing his opponent to use more sweeping, inefficient moves in order to counter his attacks. It took him perhaps half a minute to disarm his foe and hold him at sword point. Though she would not utter it, Telina was mildly impressed by his efficiency. The ladies clapped politely and the squires rushed in with cloths and beverages. The victor removed his helm and Telina cocked an eyebrow as the curly locks of Ser Loras Tyrell fell about his handsome face. Without a helm obstructing his view, Loras eventually took note of the Dunmer woman staring at him. Telina strode slowly into the courtyard proper, putting a little extra sway in her hips as a distraction. The defeated boy, who could not have been more than five-and-ten looked at her mesmerised, as did the squires and even one of the girls. That being said, Telina did not make it difficult to become distracted in her presence. The blue robes she favoured left her arms uncovered and the slits up the sides bared her slender legs. She was not fond of armour, preferring spells such as Ebonyflesh to protect herself, but wore an enchanted steel cuirass contoured perfectly to her torso. Also enchanted were the intricate cloth bracers and leather boots she wore, cumulatively tripling her magicka reserves and imbued with enough energy to deflect arrows.
"Lady Telina," Loras greeted with a nod. "What brings you here?"
"Aimless wandering brought me here." She answered. "But curiosity has made me stay."
"How so?" Asked Loras.
"For one so young, you have some skill with a blade. I am wondering who taught you so." Telina mused aloud.
"I began learning the craft of the knight at eight, and squired for both my brothers. I earned my knighthood less a year ago after foiling an attempt upon the life of Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End." He recited proudly. The small group of women- one of whom Telina noted was Loras' sister Margaery- smiled and giggled quietly.
"Quite the tale." She remarked dryly, her attitude prompting a look from Loras and his defeated opponent.
"You do not seem impressed." He remarked a little sharply.
"If you are expecting me to swoon at your feet in reverence because of a title attached to your name you are going to be extremely disappointed, boy. The term 'knight' carries no weight in Tamriel, and for all I know, your teaching could be even more lackluster than the drills Legion recruits are put through in Basic Training." She said coolly, her eyes roving over the squires and women.
Loras exhaled loudly. "I number among the most skilled nights in the South Lady Telina, as many a true warrior will tell you." He said while puffing up his chest in an attempt to intimidate the smaller Dunmer. Telina knew that she should not have rose to the bait, but she had never had any patience for male chauvinism. With a quick jerk of her right arm, she thrust her staff forward, catching the custom made piece of winding quicksilver in the blink of an eye. The large and inordinately pointed blue soul gem fused to the top quivered almost close enough to tickle Loras' throat. The youngest Tyrell boy jumped back in surprise at the unexpected move, the squires jerked forward and the ladies gasped.
"Another inch and you would be dead in three minutes." Telina stated flatly as she withdrew her staff. "A true warrior would know better than to let their guard down around one they just insulted as grievously as you did I."
"Th- that was not fair! I was not ready!" Loras exclaimed.
"No foe waits for you to ready yourself for battle, Ser Loras. But if it is a fair fight you desire, then so be it." She slammed her staff into the ground hard enough to keep it upright and reached for the longsword at her waist. As the ebony composing the blade sang as it flew from its sheath, a bright yellow light in the centre of the ornate crossguard began to glow. Loras, who had been in the middle of readying himself, stopped and stared transfixed as ghostly fire began to burn along the fuller of the blade.
"What is that blade?" He asked more to himself.
"Behold Dawnbreaker, a gift from the Lady of Infinite Energies, Meridia. Oh don't worry," Telina assured him with a small grin. "The flames that burn along it are harmless... assuming of course that you are not a corpse returned from the dead." She grinned more broadly at the looks on the faces of the Westerosi.
"How... how is that possible?" Asked Loras' still unnamed sparring partner.
"Magic." Telina answered glibly, adopting a ready stance she had learned from Hippolyta: Body facing sideways, sword held with the tip pointing at the target's head, non-dominant arm held behind her back. The aim of this style was to utilise one's speed and (in Hippolyta's case) reach to contend with one's foe while presenting themself as a smaller target. Loras adopted a rather standard stance: Feet at shoulder width on a diagonal, blade at shoulder height and pointed forward. For a moment, Dunmer and man stared at each other before Telina began circling slowly, never taking her eyes off Loras. The Tyrell matched her speed, his brown eyes boring into her vermilion ones.
Telina opened her offense with a swift thrust, parried by Loras. He countered with a two-handed backswing she leaned away from, resuming her opening stance. The purpose of her strike was to test his reflexes against her own. She had been aiming at a point just to the left of his ear, so had he not reacted fast enough, she would not have hit him anyway. Surprisingly he was faster than she anticipated, and coming from someone with a... blessing as unique as her, that was saying something. As Loras moved in for another strike, Telina greeted him with an overhead swing. Sparks flew from Dawnbreaker as he blocked the blow. Just what she wanted.
Telina resisted the urge to grin as she shunted their blades to the side and seized his arm before lifting both his feet off the ground with her left foot. With strength uncharacteristic of one her size, she hoisted him into the air before slamming the pommel of Dawnbreaker into his chest. All the breath went out of Loras as he hit the ground, but he recovered by batting away her thrust while simultaneously rolling away and returning to his feet. His brow was furrowed in frustration, and at that very moment, Telina knew she would win. She drew Dawnbreaker close to her body and wrapped her left hand behind her back just as Margaery and her gaggle of maids beseeched Loras to fight. The Tyrell knight advanced with several rapid slices and thrusts, all of which she leaned away from or ducked, lashing out and jabbing him in the chest after an overextended backswing. The impact made him hesitate just long enough for her to lash out and block his sword arm as he transitioned into a swing. Loras sucked in a breath as Telina stepped in under his guard before shouting as she dragged Dawnbreaker along a point just above his wrist. The spectral flames, while not harmful to living mortals, still cauterized the wound. She grasped Loras' wrist with her left hand and dug her shoulder into his chest before shifting her body and executing a modified shoulder throw. Loras hit the ground again, and the throbbing in his wrist clearly became painful enough that his grip on his blade loosened. Opportunity presented, Telina lashed out with a kick, sending the steel sword flying before pointing at Loras' throat with Dawnbreaker. To the side, Margaery, Loras' partner, the squires and the maidens were all making noises of disbelief or despair as the Knight of Flowers fell at the feet of the Wrath of Vvardenfell.
"Yield! I yield!" He exclaimed, raising his hands to the side of his chest. Telina gave him a hard look before sheathing Dawnbreaker and offering him her left hand. A blink of surprise was Loras' only reaction before he slowly took her hand and allowed her to pull him up.
"You are swift with a blade Ser Loras, I will give you that." Telina admitted as her right hand began to glow a soft yellow. Loras tried to flinch away, but Telina had not let go of his hand. He calmed as the throbbing in his wrist began to dull and the rent flesh began to knit back together.
"But you are arrogant. In both the fact that you are considered formidable in Westeros, and that you do not believe a woman could be as skilled with a blade as you." She added with a hard look as she released him. As she unstuck her staff from the ground, she gave Loras one last look.
"A piece of advice that has saved my life many times before, Ser Loras:" Telina began, pausing as multiple eyes set on her. "Always assume that anyone you do not know on the battlefield is more skilled than you. Fear, in the correct circumstance, can make anyone capable of feats they never believed themselves able to do." And with her declaration, Telina Delvanni strode away to report to Hippolyta and ponder what she had learned: Not once did Ser Loras seem distracted by her attire, and his extolling of Lord Renly Baratheon of Storm's End was just a little too passionate to be born of professional respect. A tidbit to exploit for another time, she said to herself, filing the hunch away in topics she would bring up after consulting Hippolyta regarding her next move in the slippery game of politics.
A.N.: Chapter 6 complete! To my fans, I apologise for the extended period between this chapter and the last. What's my excuse this time, you might be wondering?
Arkham. Fucking. Knight.
Seriously, if you haven't already, go buy it after you...
1) Tell me whether or not you liked this chapter
2) Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this chapter
3) Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this chapter
4) Recommend a suitable improvement
Until next time,
DR