Uhm... haha... erm... yeah this is an extremely long chapter. Around... 33 pages on Microsoft Word or something? If you wanted to know why it took so long to update-- that is probably why. If I get any complaints about this chapter being too long I will make certain that I never make a chapter this long ever again. I do hope you enjoy-- not very actiony. But anyways, enjoy.
Song: Passion – Utada Hikaru
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The next morning rolled in through the thickening white mist that lingered outside the fortress. The blistering sun had stood upon tiptoe as it glanced over the jagged shoulders of the mountains that seemed to circle Cyrodiil. The Blades were raised from their mats instinctively and almost by design. They stalked across the immediate premises as fear and anxiety hid beneath the safety of their helmets. As Oblivion woke upon this morning, the Blades knew that it would not settle for such a defeat as it had experienced the few days prior to now. Especially since no imperative lives were lost on Tamriel's side. The fog crept through the gate like a vagabond attempting to find shelter for a harsh winter's night. Only the rising sun seemed to push it back out upon the snowy terrain, clearing the temple's steps and courtyard.
The temple doors had swung ajar allowing the old worn structure of Jerald to saunter out into the courtyard. His arms had wrapped tightly around his chest in and attempt to preserve the escaping heat. His hot breath billowed out before him and rose into the misty air. He took deep breaths of the crisp mountain air as he would need all the energy that it could provide for him. Later in the morning and early in the midday, he must address his children of the matters that seemed critical at the moment. His eyes shimmered as he reminisced the last few days. He had recalled the anguish that overcame him when he only saw two of his three sons pace through the grand door—a look of grief was upon them. Orrick's heavy shoulders slumped under his padded armor as he could not dare face his father; however, Daelon approached him and without more ado told him of his brother's passing.
Jerald grieved within his own time and even so he was still strong. His son died with honor upon the battlefield in hopes to save Tamriel. For this, Jerald would hold him high in his heart and remember his childish ways and youthful spirit as well as his hardened heart of courage and wisdom. As his gold trimmed shoes shuffled across the old worn cobblestone courtyard, he looked out past the walls of the temple and to the transcendent peaks of the Jerall Mountains. His crystal eyes absorbed the natural beauty of these magnificent steeples of boulder. His black hair had fallen from its casual oiled position allowing some onyx strands to fall across his creased brow. A few jagged streaks of silver had rooted their way through the man's scalp and through the follicles of hair showing just how old he was getting. He hadn't objected their presence for he accepted his age of seventy-five. True to the fact that he wasn't getting any younger; however, he still had a ways to go until he certified himself to be just another old babbling geezer. His father had lived to be 156 and so he had hoped the same fate for himself.
As he marveled at the beauty surrounding this safe haven, another Asquerana had escaped the warmth of the temple to be embraced with the brisk mountain air. The temple door had closed much louder then expected which alerted the father of which child it was. His unmoving eyes focused upon the horizon as he called out to the wind which carried behind him and struck the ears of Daelon, "... did you sleep well, son?"
The answer was delayed as Daelon had been slapped with a cold burst of wind. His teeth gnashed together as he stepped forward and allowed his sore eyes to adjust to such brightness. His amber eyes had settled and he looked upon the back of his father. How is it you are so strong in these desperate times? The young Altmer questioned himself as he stepped forward and replied, "Yes, sir."
"I am glad to hear that," Lord Asquerana grinned as he turned around to welcome his son. His unkempt hair fell further across his brow as he cleared his throat and rapidly began, "I heard... that Grandmaster Jaufree had offered you a preparatory position as a Blade. He told me how fearless you were when you fought upon the battlefield and how you daringly charged through the Great Gate in search for Elizabeth. You make me very proud, son."
Daelon nodded his head in comprehension as he spoke softly out to his father. His wavering voice carrying through the smooth and gentle movements of the wind, "... I had never thought of myself as one to be offered such a noble and high-ranking position as this," his head bowed as he thought over his words and pieced them together. His lips had pursed as he made certain that the cold of the air would not invade his mouth and freeze his lungs. "I had hoped to return to Kvatch when this was all over... I want... I want to be there and protect it from ever being harmed again."
Jerald gave a head nod. His structure grew hard as he stood his height and looked over Cyrodiil which nestled itself beneath a thick sheet of crystals and snow. The Altmer glanced to his son and told him, "I don't think you'll have to worry about Kvatch, my son. After this is over I am certain it shall never be threatened again."
Daelon stood in silence as he tossed his eyes to the horizon as well. Cyrodiil began to stir as the blazing sun tossed its glorious golden hand across the land soon bringing life to every slumbering being and thing. The coldness began to seize the better of him as he began to shiver in the cold of the morning. The young Altmer's face grew stiff as the memory of Caldwyn began to flood his mind. His poor mangled body tossed so carelessly aside causing a few billows of snow to leap into the air as he struck and rolled across the frozen ground. Daelon could see those unfeeling demonic eyes of that damned Dremora. Just as he began to think of the wretched realm of Oblivion, another matter came to his mind and his head pivoted rapidly around as he questioned, "Has he waken up yet?" Daelon didn't think it necessary for a name for his father knew precisely who he would be speaking of.
"He awoke in the middle of the night. I'm glad that he had survived Oblivion yet again. He is rather blessed by the Divines or has the luck of the Gray Fox." Jerald scoffed with a gentle smile pulling across his pale lips.
Daelon turned his eyes away as he began to question many things to himself. Surely, he hadn't the answer to any of these questions, but he thought it necessary to ask at least someone. With one last glimpse to his father he told him, "I think I will head back inside now. Orrick and Elizabeth should be waking up right around now."
Jerald smiled politely at his son soon nodding in acknowledgement. His head turned back to the horizon and he allowed the beauty of everything to captivate him yet again as his eldest son turned and slipped back within the safety of the temple walls.
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Daelon slithered silently back into the warmth of the dim room feeling all the cold slip from him and vanish like a puff of smoke. His ears perked as he heard the Hero's distinctive Colovian voice. The smell of smoldering wood flooded into Daelon's nostrils as he leisurely proceeded with his eyes upon the fireplace where the Hero was. The knight had healed progressively from night into this early morning. He had risen from his bedroll and paced around the room speaking with fellow Blades and even questioning Jaufree what their next plan of action was.
Daelon watched as Jaufree bid farewell and hurriedly made his way to the training area to check upon newest Blades recruits. The Hero's lively eyes shifted and fell upon Daelon with a soft grin. He stepped forward and greeted the Altmer cheerfully which made Daelon almost wonder if he had amnesia as well.
The Altmer remembered perfectly how strict and callous the Hero had been upon the day of the battle, but now he had seemed transformed into a very kind and gracious Imperial man. Daelon's eyes drifted down to the man's opened tunic which brandished the thick bondages surrounding his upper chest. With a curious head nod, the Altmer questioned, "... how are you handling it?"
The Hero's eyes fell to his chest and he chuckled softly while glancing back up to his friend. He shrugged his heavy shoulders and retorted, "I've been in worse condition. Still, it's not just some walk in the park. It has its moments of true pain." Just as the Hero had answered him his eyes flashed with a question and his attention snapped to the Altmer, "... do you know where Elizabeth is?"
"No," Daelon answered hurriedly with slightly widened eyes. As his amber eyes narrowed he cocked his head to a side and inquired almost guardedly, "Why?"
"I ran out of health potions during the night and was wondering if she could give me a few more. I want this damned wound healed before Martin and Jaufree decide the next course of action." The knight explained while patting his hand gently upon the bondages a wince soon becoming of his face.
Daelon looked circumspectly at the bondages. His lips coiled downwards as disappointment smeared across his face. He knew clearly that the wound would never heal in time. However, he had seen quite a bit of miracles in his many days and by the hand of the gods he could be healed sooner then expected. "If you're looking for Elizabeth I'm sure she'd still be in her room. Other then that you would have to ask Jaufree or maybe even Orrick." That is if you can even find him. Daelon had thought after he spoke.
After bidding farewell, the Hero paced over to the sleeping quarters and slipped through the door. He was silent as he shifted across the steps and rounded the small case that led to the second floor. Many Blades were still asleep upon this frozen and dreary morning. Even Martin was still lying lifelessly in his bed, probably encircled in a fit of sheets with slobber staining his pillow. The Hero stumbled down the hall as he focused his eyes upon Elizabeth's idle door. Within his mind he could see her throwing open the door and frightening him just as he was about to enter. Was she even awake? Did she even have any more potions? Would she tolerate him awakening her from her sleep? A few of these questions stormed his restless mind as he crept along the wall like some sort of burglar. His fingertips were gentle as they slid within the handle and pushed the sliding door hardly back. His head of golden locks cocked to a side as he peered in and whispered in a deep rich voice, "... Elizabeth...?"
A head cocked to a side as well in almost a mirror image of the knight's head. Elizabeth grinned and let of a cheerful little laugh as she called him in. The sliding door slide as far open as it could allowing the Hero to saunter into the room. A few candles had been lit making the room glow a beautiful and warm golden color. Upon the desk sat a few books that had been taken from Jaufree's personal collection. All the books were opened nearly halfway in with little charcoal marks around some of the important words that the maiden had wished to remember. As the man looked upon this gargantuan pile he could bring to mind the day that he had walked into the temple to see Martin sitting around the same pile of books. Dark marks had settled under his calm blue eyes for he had spent most of his time with his nose stuck within a book.
The Hero tossed his head around the room with a soft chuckle as he murmured, "... why didn't I get a room like this?"
Elizabeth grinned as she walked back over to the books and closed a few. Certainly not before she put a quill between the golden crisp pages to mark her place. Her extensive silver hair had been pulled back and placed within a very tight ponytail. The hair arched its silvery back and swooped down like a horse's tail. It bounced with each step she took and shook with each shake of her head. Her porcelain face was fully exposed now instead of hiding behind a hoary veil. Her petite frozen rosebud lips pouted as she gave off a small smile while stacking a few of her books. When she had finished she tossed her eyes over her shoulder and questioned, "I suppose you are feeling much better then?"
"Oh, tons," he replied while walking a little further into the room. He crossed his arms behind his back causing his shoulders to pull back. He felt his muscles contract in his neck as he did this and suddenly he had remembered why he had came here. His eyes drifted across the room and suddenly befell the girl as he asked her, "I was wondering if you had any more health potions. I would really like this wound to heal as fast as possible."
"I have already given you a maximum dose. The rest of the healing will be up to your body," she explained while turning her back to the desk and leaning back upon it. Her arms crossed before her chest, resting gently upon the material of the burgundy gold trimmed dress that Jaufree had fetched for her in Bruma. The dark smooth material caressed her curves with a lover's touch. "I'm sorry to say," she continued with a hidden frown, "but there's not much else I can do for you."
With a heaved groan the Hero ran a firm tan hand carelessly through his golden locks. His fingertips dug into his scalp causing a diminutive sensation of pain and delight. His eyes shifted across the room as he thought silently to himself. With a swift eye shift, he glanced back to the maiden and questioned, "How long do you think it shall take?"
As she pondered over his question her eyes fell to his torso. She examined his body as if he were a collected specimen upon a pinning board. Her vision was gentle and very precise. With each advantage of his body came a faster healing rate; on the contrary, with every disadvantage came an addition to such a rate. She raised a hand to her chin soon tapping the pad of her index finger across the smooth and warm surface of her lips. Her eyes lifted back up to her friend and she frowned lightly with the answer he dreaded, "Maybe a day or two."
His hopes began to fade within a dark void as she had told this to him. Oh, how he had hoped he would be healed in a few hours or even less then that! No telling what Jaufree and Martin had figured out—and he would surely not sit idly by while they sent another Blade or just some paid adventure. The new hero would end up dead and Jaufree and the Blades would be one step behind while Mankar Camoran took a step forward. No, this he would not allow. With a desperate sigh, he questioned while waving his hands in the air hoping to bring forth the answer he desired, "Is there anything you can do?"
The Altmer's face became hardened like a statuette as she considered this. With a harsh shove off the desk she stood upon her two feet which were spread out a ways. She proceeded forward and stood directly before the Hero. Her hands lifted to his tunic as she spread apart the two loosely hung pieces of material. She observed the bondage and then replied to his question, "I may be able to heal you myself—but I can't promise to seal the wound."
"Anything that might work, I will try." He said while glancing down to the bondages with desperate eyes.
With a flick of her wrist, she motioned to the petite oak stool that casually stood before the cluttered desk. The knight caught on very quickly and made his way over to the little furniture. He was careful sitting for he didn't know if such a feeble looking piece of timber would be able to hold him up. The stool had not made any foreboding creaking noise that suggested a humiliating fall as he sat. Quickly the phrase, 'don't judge a book by its appearance' came to his mind and he turned to the mainden soon pushing the thought of a defective stool from his mind. Elizabeth stepped nearer with her eyes fastened upon her contracting and loosening fists. She watched as little orbs of blue appeared and vanished in her palm. She made certain that she could perform a Convalescence spell that may be able to heal the Hero's wounds. Just as she was certain she could preform the spell, she kneeled down before him and began to unwrap the bandages upon his chest.
Her fingertips were nimble and ever so gentle as her hands had moved about the abrasion upon the man's left breast. She unwrapped the wound like a child may do upon their birthday. Eager to see what surprise hid among the wrapping yet ever so wary for there might be nothing at all. Her trained eyes skimmed the area as the wound began to reveal itself. Splotches of dried blood had stained the bondages and she was careful for she didn't know if the wound was bleeding anymore. The curtains were pulled away and the abrasion took the stage. It was traced with a puffy swollen pinked edge as if it was showing just precisely how long and wide it was. It was the width of the fang of a Dremora longsword. The man was lucky that it hadn't been a claymore or even a battle axe that had pierced him for he may not even be alive in this moment.
Elizabeth's trained eyes observed the dark swirling crimson which pulled together the two pieces of skin to hide from the light of the room. Upon seeing this, her faith in the spell began to increase. She had feared the worst of the wound. A sickening golden pus, darkening area of infection, jagged chips of metal nesteled upon his skin—there were many things that could have been terribly wrong with the wound and yet there seemed nothing immediately wrong at all. Mara and Dibella must have been watching over him.
The curve of the maiden's palms began to emit a radiant cerulean sphere. The pulsating orb seeped out of her hands and began to fall like fog upon the man's chest. The Elf kept her hands moving for she didn't want to only heal a section of his wound; she wanted to heal the entire thing. Her hands moved in relaxed circular clockwise motions in hopes to cover his whole chest. The Hero felt a frozen chill run through his heart as he could feel the wonderful arctic rush of the spell. The pain that throbbed in his chest was now calmed under a perfect sapphire blanket. The knight leaned his elbow back upon the table in a rather relaxed position. As he leaned back he was also attempting to pull his eyes away from such a blazing light. His lips coiled into a grin and his eyes squinted as he smiled down upon the healing wound. His eyes suddenly shifted and he looked upon Elizabeth with comfort and a friendly sort of intimacy. "… Thank you for doing this, Elizabeth."
"You needn't thank me," she smiled while continuing to observe the area. She could see the tinted blue scraps of skin begin to crawl back together. Her eyes glimpsed up to her friend for a second before soon returning to the healing slash. "It's the least I can do for you," a scowl creased her face and an overwhelming saddened sensation overcame her heart. "I've been so cruel and oblivious to you and your feelings. I only wish for you to forgive me of that."
"Forgive you?" scoffed the Hero with an amiable smile, "I should be the one begging for forgiveness. The past is the past, Elizabeth. The only thing we can do about it now is put it behind us and start anew."
"Such wise words," she told him while glancing back to him again. Her voice was soothing and kind as she spoke, "… you sure have changed since I last saw you—what happened?"
His warm brown eyes observed his wound before returning to her, "… I... I began to realize how precious life is. Why waste my days in hatred and arrogance when I can spend it in happiness with the people who are closest to me." He turned his eyes to the desk to observe the open books whose pages seemed to glisten in the light of the flickering candle. He wondered if he might know any of the things that she happened to be studying. A grimace creapt upon his face as he had quickly familiarized himself with these works. All the books spoke the same thing and that was, 'CONJURATION'. The Hero turned his eyes back to Elizabeth with a manifesting sympathy. You told me you were fine. He spoke to himself. Even if he hadn't wanted to bring the subject up, it had seemed his mouth fell ajar and the words slipped over his damp tongue, "… Elizabeth you can't summon him from the dead."
The constant clockwise motions quickly came to a halt as she heard his words. The spell faded into a smoke and soon vanished all together and she turned his eyes up to him. Those eyes no longer held the innocence that they always did. Her face tightened in annoyance as he told her this. How would you know? Have you tried? Have you tried to call someone back? Her lips pursed and her teeth bit harshly down upon the side of her cheek as she spoke out to him and the soothing rich tone she used to shelter now vanished and her words began harsh and strident, "I think it can be done."
How could she think that? The only thing she would be able to get out of summoning him would be a floating crystal spirit and that may not even happen. Did Daedra even have souls that could be summoned back? Surely Xilivicus had turned mortal, but that did not mean he was given a Daedric spirit or a human soul for that matter. Her eyes held all the pain in the world as she looked up at him. She wanted to defy him and prove that she was right. She wanted to force him to lie to her—to tell her, 'I think it can be done! I think you can bring him back!' Was he jealous? Was that what made him disagree with her? No, it was the truth that made him disagree. His brow furrowed over his shimmering dark eyes as he spoke softly to her in hopes to calm her rising anger, "Elizabeth… it can't be done. If he were still alive in Oblivion then yes, I think you could do it and I would wish you the best of luck in doing so, but…" he stopped for a mere moment to reconsider his words and even his own opinions, "… but he died in Oblivion. Gods know if his spirit could escape that realm or even if he had a spirit-"
"-he had a spirit," Elizabeth interupted with a sharpened tongue.
"-my point is, Elizabeth," the Hero continued calmly, "He was a Daedra. I haven't ever heard of someone summoning a Dremora who had been wiped from the records of Oblivion before. Believe me, Elizabeth, I have been all across Cyrodiil and Oblivion as well. I haven't heard or seen anyone who could do that."
"Then I'll figure out a way to do it," Elizabeth argued while pushing herself to her feet. She glanced to the wound to see that it had sealed. It could be easily torn back open if the Hero had attempted to go on any missions for Jaufree or Martin so he would have to wait a few more hours until his skin had strengthened and entirely sealed.
The Hero forced himself up as well causing the stool to finally let off that predicted wary creak. The man narrowed his eyes and with a saddened head shake he told the fuming maiden, "… don't do this, Elizabeth. If you get completely involved with this summoning you will only cause yourself more pain. Xilivicus is dead. You must accept that."
"He isn't dead," she snarled while twisting her head back around and tossing him a scolding glare. "… maybe… maybe he drank a part of the potion. Maybe he was reborn in Oblivion. There is still hope!"
"No," the Hero shook his head while stepping forward. First she would be in denial and then she would turn to accusations, he was certain. "There isn't any hope left. It's over, Elizabeth. There's nothing else you can do."
Violent screams echoed through her mind as she wished so much for the knight to leave her room immediately. His mere presence fueled her anger and annoyance for he continued to object and deny her attempts to summon back the only being who she ever loved and who ever loved her in return. The flooding memories of Xilivicus began to cloud her mind and her body began to weaken just as it had in the early stages of the morning. She attempted so frantically to hold upon the last morsel of hope that escaped her body. Her head tore back and forth as she snapped, "Yes there is!"
The Hero proceeded with those dark sympathetic eyes. He reached forward in an attempt to bring the Altmer to him, hoping to comfort her. She tore herself away and turned her body away from him. She faced the wall as she lowered her head so her gaze would fall to the floor. Was this the side of her that she wished to hide from him? He stepped even closer and shook his head as if she were watching him, "… Elizabeth…"
"Stop," she snapped while wrapping her arms around herself, "Just stop, I don't want to hear about your pathetic attempt to keep Xilivicus away from me. You hated him. Don't lie—you were glad when you killed him! If I summon him back I'm sure that you'll only murder him again! You never did change did you? Did you?!" Her tone of voice struck a high pitched yell as she could no longer supress these emotions she wished to hide until she was alone and shrouded in the darkness of her room. Her fingertips dug into her sides causing a twinge of pain to run through her nerves. "Would you just leave me alone?! Leave me alone! Just leave!" Her voice shrieked out and pierced through the walls like jagged bars of metal.
Her voice was shrill and thunderous as it came from her contracted throat. The sonance of her voice had caused the Hero's eardrums to throb in a twinge of ache. Tears flooded down the Altmer's rosy cheeks for her nerves had finally unraveled. Her back heaved as she sobbed and she knew that if she faced the man she would only sob even louder. Her hands lifted and formed into tightened fists as she pressed them against the rough surface of the wooden bedroom wall. The crown of her head pushed against her petite white thumbs as she bowed her head in hopes to control her blustering sobs.
Over the blubbering noise of her crying, she had heard the faint scratching noise of the sliding door close. Had the Hero truly left her in peace? Her head had jerked from its position against her fists and she tossed her gaze to the door to see the knight standing besides the door. His hand still lingering in the handle as he closed and slid the lock into the wall. His hardened condoling eyes turned to the maiden as he had told her, wordlessly, that he would surely not leave her alone in this state. Elizabeth's face was distorted as she looked upon him in anger and sadness. Her rounded small nose became as rosy as her cheeks and her eyes glistened now like diamonds in a river basking in the rays of the sun. Her lips were pulled under her teeth as she attempted to hold back her hateful screams. Her lips trembled and finally she demanded of the knight in a harsh voice, "Get out of my room, now."
"I'm not going anywhere," he answered her demand by walking to her in a quickened stride.
"I'll scream…. G-gods help me—I'll… I'll scream bloody m-murder." She threatened while stepping back into a corner. She had quickly realized that he could pin her in the corner and this made her leap over the mattress and make her way to the other side of the room.
"Go ahead," he told her while proceeding after her. He had pushed aside objects to clear his path as his eyes were fastened upon her. The muscles in his body tightening as he prepared himself for a struggle. "Scream as much as you want. If you would like you can even strike me down. Shock me, burn me, freeze me…" his eyes had glimsped away to the glistening sharpened blade of an Akavari Katana whose head rested against the edge of the desk. "... If you would like you may even slash my chest back open. Elizabeth, I won't leave you here like this."
She shook her head furiously while snarling, "Stop acting like my Hero! I don't need a hero—I had one... and now he's dead."
"I'm not trying to be your hero," the knight's soothing words flowed into her and calmed her heart for only a few seconds. "I'm trying to be your friend."
"Then be a good friend and leave me the bloody hell alone!" She screamed while seizing a nearby Conjuration book from the desk. Her grasp had tightened on it and with one toss of her arm she flicked her wrist and catapulted it forward. The pages rustled together as the book spun through the air in an attempt to hinder the proceeding man.
The man stepped out of the way and continued to watch the maiden as he stood straight before her. Elizabeth looked up to him with frightened eyes for she feared some sort of punishment even though she was certain that he would not dare harm her. Her body jerked forward and she bolted to the door in hopes to escape from the Hero. Just as she moved past him, he had pivoted and launched his hand forward and seized her forearm tightly. Elizabeth yelped as she felt him seize her. His grasp had sent her skin on fire as if he were some sort of excruciating ailment. Vigilantly, he had pulled her back to him and held her securely to his damaged chest. She twisted and turned in hopes to escape his clutch, but there was no prevail. Her dress brushed across the newly sealed wound soon beginning to open it again. Her hands pushed upon his chest and he winced in pain but did not relinquish. The strength at last escaped from Elizabeth and she became a sobbing distorted figure in the man's constricted embrace. Her head buried itself upon one of the droopily hung sides of his tunic as she cried profoundly. Her tears stained his shirt; nevertheless, he hadn't mind.
His saddened eyes narrowed as he pulled her even tighter to himself. Oh, how he wished that he may take this burden and hurt from her. He wished there was something he could do to save her from this misery. But this would have to be a phase of her life that she would have to deal with on her own. No one could carry this burden for her. His square jaw was placed tenderly upon the crown of her head as she buried her head even further into his shirt. He stood there, idly, and became the crying shoulder which Elizabeth needed so horribly. Why hadn't he comforted her sooner? Was it for the reason that he had, in reality, believed her fabricated proclamation of being just 'fine'? As his left arm held Elizabeth securely to him, his right hand had lifted to the back of her head and caressed his innocent fingertips through her lengthy silver tresses which veiled the pain and suffering that was nestled in the darkness of her mind.
His eyes shifted across the floor as he could hear her abrupt breaths and her arduous sobs that she struggled to silence. Her fingertips gripped cruelly into his shoulders as she collapsed completely into his arms like a broken shell of her former self. His desire to take the weakness from her became an illness to him for he could feel his own body deteriorating along with hers. His murky chocolate eyes became hazy as his own sadness was exposed in this room. He closed his eyes vehemently and a few teardrops slithered down his tanned cheeks.
The knight and the scholar clasped onto each other in desperation and in dread of complete solitude from ever returning to a state of happiness. They stood alone in the center of this cluttered undersized bedroom with only the hope of the other person to accommodate them with the salvation they so desperately needed to escape their atrocious and haunting past.
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The main temple had cleared of regular Blades for Jaufree had called a clandestine session between the Asqueranas, the Heir, and the Champion of Cyrodiil. The fire shone brighter then it ever had as it lit the room allowing some luminosity to fall upon the opened crisp pages of Mysterium Xarxes that Martin had brandished to the surrounding observors. He explained most of what he had learned by reading it and many other things that had come to his mind in the past few days. Jaufree and the Asquerana men sat by listening intently, nodding in comprehension and sometimes putting in their two cents. Martin's aged sun kissed hands lifted the two intruments that the Hero had sought for him in the last few weeks. In his right hand he cradled the Great Sigil stone who appeared as a gargantuan hellfire pearl. In his left hand he cradled the Great Welkynd stone which appeared as a beautiful sparkling crystal which gave off its own eerie radiance.
Martin's knowledgeable calm blue eyes had lingered upon each and every face hoping he hadn't confused anyone. His words were gentle and simple as he had explained how these two great curios would provide them a portal which only the Hero may pass through to find Mankar Camoran, retrieve the Amulet of Kings and return it to Cloud Ruler Temple so that Martin may travel to light the dragonfires and become the new emperor. For this was the only way to keep Tamriel from falling into the darkness and becoming the new kingdom of Mehrunes Dagon.
Just as Martin was about to conclude, his brow creased and he glanced around the room with shifty eyes. At last, he turned to Jaufree and questioned lightly in his rich deep voice, "... speaking of our Hero... where is he?"
The old Grandmaster stood befuddled as he shook his head with no helpful reply. The firelight shone upon Martin's back as he turned to the Asquerana family. Now he became only a silhouette of the heir as he directed his attention to them. Daelon had tossed his eyes towards the living quarter's door and he lifted his voice soon answering the question put before them all. He swirled his hand in the air as if he attempted to wave the answer toward himself, "... Last time I had heard from him, he was looking for Elizabeth."
With a head nod, the heir stood up and pivoted his head slightly to the side as he told Jaufree with a very delicate tone of voice, "I'll see if they are still in her bedroom."
Jerald's eyes widened considerably as he heard this. A rather surprised sensation became of him. His head cocked to a side as he sputtered, "... her... bedroom?"
Martin turned to Jerald and with a nod he had affirmed it. His lips parted as he explained to his elder friend, "... I had been up in my room moments before and I heard them talking. I hadn't really paid attention to them—it would have been rude to eavesdrop upon their conversation. When Jaufree came to get me I had thought he had fetched the maiden and her guard," he intertupted his talking with an added explaination, "... I had been reading more of Mankar's works... I get completely engulfed in reading I hardly pay attention to the outside world, you see."
Daelon lifted himself from his wooden stool with a gentle smile coiling across his lips, "I'll fetch them then, that is, if you don't mind, sir."
Martin grinned politely as he took his seat yet again. "Not at all," he replied to the Altmer's proposal. With a distant chuckle and a lowered gaze, the Imperial man spoke lightly as he knew that his kind joke might offend the prudish behavior of the High Elves. "... make sure you knock before you enter, though. I wouldn't want you to... intrude upon their activites."
Just as expected, Jerald had tensed with a certain disgust. Not for the heir, but for his choice of words. Surely his daughter would not dare... she wouldn't... or would she? The elder Altmer turned his gaze away with a furrowed brow as he thought soberly of the thought of his daughter fornicating with a man out of wedlock. He had taught her better then that. Surely the joke was just meant to lighten the spirits of the people in the area.
On the contrary to Jerald's reaction, Daelon had chuckled as well. A bright grin pulled over his lips as he bowed his head in respect and told Martin before turning to leave, "I will make certain I do alert them of my precense."
Daelon pushed himself through the cracked door rather silently. His padded shoes stepped lightly upon the wooden floors as he trudged up the ancient steps and up into the higher living quarters. Leisurely had he walked for he wished to marvel at the woodwork of the walls and the doors that lie ahead of him. His thick raven tresses fell over his shoulders and chest in waves and nearly blended into the dark material of the tunic that was brandished that suspended from his slender frame. His skin glistened in the light as if his flesh was burdened with a gentle oil. As he approached the sliding door to his sister's chamber, his hand hurriedly lifted to the framework and just as he was about to knock considerably, he hindered. His eyes fell upon the shimmering structure of the handle as he thought to himself for a mere moment. Would Elizabeth really be doing anything with the Champion of Cyrodiil? Then those piercing tangerine eyes came to his mind and he grinned. How foolish of me—she has Xilivicus. Why would she want to do anything with the Hero? His mind was innocent for he hadn't known of the passing of the former-Dremora who perished in the lake of fire that he had faced a few days before. He didn't think it essential to knock and for that reason, he hadn't. His hindered fist lowered gradually to the handle and slowly he had placed his fingers under the golden slab and he pulled the door back soon entering the room, "... Martin Septim would like..." his voice broke off into silence as he looked upon Elizabeth's mattress. His eyes were fastened upon the slumbering lifeless figure of his sister whose body was draped across the bare chest of the Hero. The man's head jerked up and his eyes widened dreadfully as he caught glimpse of the man who now spectated the position of Elizabeth and himself. Daelon's façade had been frozen in time as he looked upon the two. Even though he wore a mask of happiness, his voice was comparatively dreary and angered. His grinning lips parted and he demanded softly—in hopes not to wake his sister, "... what are you doing with Elizabeth?"
The Hero glanced down bemused as if he hadn't known that Elizabeth was even in the room with him. His fingertips stroked past one of her bare pasty shoulders for the material of her dress hand slipped and now lay cloaked under the flowing taupe sheets of her bed that had formed over their entwined bodies like a second sheet of skin. The man's lips had finally parted and he explained gently, "... she was crying, Daelon. I... I finally got her to stop crying and... and so I sat us down upon her bed and she rested upon my chest and fell asleep. I didn't plan for her to fall asleep," his eyes slipped back down to the beautiful slumbering crown of the maiden as she slept on, not bothered at all by her brother's abrupt appearance. "... she was healing my wound," the Hero had told him while tossing his eyes back up to the frozen structure of the male Altmer, "... and we got in a fight and then she cried."
Daelon's eyes narrowed sympathetically as he looked upon his sister. Had the divide of Oblivion and Tamriel caused such a saddened emotion to overflow Elizabeth's heart? Could she truly not live without looking upon Xilivicus' face? This, he hadn't known. The Altmer stepped into the room soon sliding the door behind him with his eyes still upon his sister. His footsteps were wary and kind against the floorboards as he moved forward. He could still see the redness lingering in Elizabeth's cheeks. A weakened smile came to his lips as he chuckled and shook his head, "... I guess when you had closed the gate, Xilivicus was still in there. I bet she misses him terribly."
The Hero's face dissolved into a gloom-stricken façade as he looked up at Daelon in disbelief. Elizabeth hadn't told anyone? She hadn't told her family? The Hero lowered his gaze to the innocent form of the maiden as he replied with a lie. The guilt began to form over his shoulders yet again as he knew that once the Asquerana family had found out the dirty truth that he would be only seen as a monster in their eyes—just as he was a monster in his own eyes. "... Yeah... I guess so." His voice was rather bleak for the moment for he basked in the dark memories of shoving Xilivicus into the river of lava. He told me how much he misses youHe recalled himself saying. His eyes winced and he spoke gently to himself; My gods... I've ruined your life, haven't I?
Daelon heaved a profound sigh as he glanced over at the paper sliding door with gentle amber eyes. He glimsped back at the Imperial man and told him, "... Martin is waiting for you downstairs. He has figured out the new step to finally bring down Mankar Camoran."
The Hero shifted his body carefully as he attempted to slide free of Elizabeth without awakening her. The matress had groaned beneath him as he slithered from the Altmer's grasp and sat upon the floorboards with a softened smile. He looked up to Daelon and saw a hand reached out for him. His hand leapt through the air and seized his friend's hand which soon hoisted him up and lifted him to his feet. His bones creaked and finally awoken themselves for he hadn't moved from that position in quite some time. Just as he was about to walk forward to the door, his head had pivoted and his glance fell upon the lifeless slumber of the woman. "... would it be safe to leave her here?"
"... this is Cloud Ruler Temple," Daelon chuckled lightly while striding to the door and sliding it open carefully. He tossed his gaze to the back of the Imperial man and whispered gently to him, "... this is the safest place in all Cyrodiil at the moment."
There is no such thing as safe. Not in these times. Not in Tamriel. A voice had snarled into the Hero's ear as he turned and looked to Daelon. He wanted her to sleep. He wanted her to dream about a happier place and never worry death and the loss of a love that had been murdered by his hands. Resuming his pace, he walked to the door and slide out soon closing the door behind him knowing Elizabeth would be safe from anyone outside of Cloud Ruler Temple's walls.
... but what if someone wanted to harm her inside the walls of this Temple?
-+-
It was that dream.
The dream where she was back in Kvatch.
Every forgotten piece of rubble that collected dust had been lifted and place back in its original form. All the pieces had formed perfectly like a grand puzzle set and the final product would be the enthralling and majestic surroundings of the lively and ever so beautiful Kvatch. Her feet were bare as she meandered leisurely down the cobblestone streets. Her soft heels had hardly kissed the ground as she walked; cautiously. The evening had seemed rather calm compared to the rambunctious ruins that lay beyond the walls of this ideal dream. Her silver tresses twisted in the air like snowy ballerinas waltzing across a midnight blue. Her mind seemed rather empty as she merely took in the scenery that loomed around her. Her heart seem inflated with a happiness that was formed from her imagination. A smile was plastered across her face as she skipped down these streets; innocently. Even though she spectated this marvelous landscape with ample blue eyes, she was blind to precisely what was happening. The buildings that towered above her were not made of limestone or brick like she had remembered so vividly from her past. They were made of paper. The trees that erected from the soft verdant earth were just a compiled structure of memories.
Slowly the blindfold began to fall and Elizabeth could clearly see what was going on. Her mind was tricking her. It all appeared to be just some sort of method to calm her restless mind and her wayward heart. Her head slowly shook back and forth as she told the hushed voices of Kvatch. "… I can see what's going on… you can't fool me." She proclaimed while turning around making certain that everything that might hear her, could.
When the mirage refused to disperse into the dark void of her thoughts, Elizabeth surrendered and continued to trudge through Kvatch's streets. The eerie silence had pulled her nerves so tight they might break. Paranoia invaded her body and her mind began to think irrationally. Could this be a nightmare or possibly a dream? It may seem all beautiful and elegant compared to the scandalous state it once was in. But haven't you learned not to judge things by its appearances, Elizabeth? She whispered to herself making certain she would be alert at any moment.
"…for what reason would I have a nightmare?" She questioned the other side of her which walked through the footsteps of her shadow. "If I may remind you, I'm in the safest place in the world."
That's what you said about Kvatch… or should I refer to it as the former Kvatch. Her other side snarled to her as she examined the emerald ivy that crawled up the sides of wells and old houses, its plush leaves unfurling like flags in the calm breeze.
"… Kvatch will be restored one day. I just know it," Elizabeth proclaimed to herself.
It will never be fully restored. Forever shall it be haunted with the shadows of Daedra. With the shadows of the Oblivion Gates. One day, it shall be torn down yet again… and so the cycle continues.
The Elven maiden scoffed and shook her head. As she listened to these words, the voice was gradually altered into a darker and deeper male voice. She could hear the sinister accent and the harshness that loomed within the tone. However, she could also feel a sense of security when listening to it. Her eyes narrowed as she thought of the owner of the voice. Her mind ran upon a single track as she walked across the gargantuan pale grey limestone of the bridge that led to Kvatch's glorious castle. "… you're beginning to sound like…" her voice trailed off into the night as she couldn't remember that name.
The name which she naturally feared and learned to respect. The same name which used to force her to conform to its every opinion and demand. Just as the name began to flicker back into existence, she saw two piercing rubies. They shimmered like firelight and they drew Elizabeth to them like a moth to a flame. Her bare feet shuffled even faster as those two gems formed into crimson eyes.
From the base of her prolonged shadow came two jagged murky horns which coiled backward like two cuspidated Elven daggers bored of their virgin-like state, thristing for one droplet of blood to taint their peaked edges. From the base of the horns came a dark onyx head which formed from all the misery and dejection that surfaced when she thought of those two bloody eyes. Elizabeth's lengthy shadow undertook the process to come together as four limbs and a mammoth brawny body. With each step that this behemothic being took, Elizabeth had to take three. From the blackness of the face came those two glimmering bloody eyes that focused upon the back of Elizabeth's head. The two corners of the jagged nefarious lips coiled up in a exhilarated smirk.
"… beginning to sound like," Elizabeth began again as the thought began to slip from her clutches.
"Beginning to sound like who…" Broga had purred in his deep accented voice. His head had cocked slightly to a side as he glanced around her to see her scowling and troubled face, "… my darling?"
The maiden continued to walk onward, entirely oblivious to the fact that the demonic and brooding Commander now walked as her shadow as she trudged further into the castle's limits. Her head and lowered and she spoke back to the Dremora who followed her, "… you're beinning to sound like an old," her mind had gone blank and she was in lack of a better term as she described the man, "… friend."
Broga lifted his head and tossed his fiery eyes to the heavens which cradeled all the newborn stars as well as old. A few violet puddles were tossed about the cosmos and prancing silver stars danced across the surface merrily. The old Daedric Commander had never seen such beautiful stars, "Would he have relished the beauty of such a magnificent place as this?"
"… He destroyed it once," Elizabeth informed the voice. She stopped before the grand doors to the castle. Her eyes lingered upon the details that were etched finely into the majestic oak entryway. Her hands had lifted ever so warily as she continued to stare at such a vivid impersonation of the door she used to see on very frequent trips to the castle to visit the Count's daughter, Marissa. "If he had the chance I am certain he would destory it again."
"I'm sure he had better things to do then continue to destroy such a pitiful city," Broga had stalked over to a wall soon running his jagged tenacious nails across the limestone. It broke away at his fingertips and he continued to watch it crumble; unaroused.
Elizabeth had laughed heartily as she listened to his words. Her eyes had been blinded for the mere moment and she bowed her head and continued to watch the door as if she waited for some sort of magic to happen if she stared long enough. "… you do sound like… like," she lost the name yet again.
"Like," the Commander had purred while pushing himself away from the wall. His heavy feet trudged across the cobblestone courtyard and he approached the maiden rapidly. His pace had quickened and just as he had come into range, his hand had lifted and he forced the name into her mind ever so violently, "…Broga?"
At last, the blindfold had been lost and the trance that she had been put into had disolved like a billow of smoke in a rushing breeze. With a prompt jerk of the head, she turned around to see the towering ebony Dremora charging at her. She had no time to react to his attack. She began petrified by those eyes. The Dremora had hunched down as he enveloped his hand around the maiden's scrawny porcelain neck. With a rushed gagging sound, Elizabeth had seized the Commander's hand in hopes to release his tightening grasp; yet, there was no prevail.
"…B-Brog…" Elizabeth had wheezed as her back was forced upon the middle of the castle's doors. Her face nearly pressed against Broga's as he desired to look her straight into the ocean eyes. My gods, this is a nightmare! She screamed into her own ear.
A sinister chuckle came from the depths of his stomach and he closed his eyes as he basked in the ignorance for just merely a moment. His grip had contracted hurriedly as he opened his eyes to watch her writhe in pain then his grip had gradually loosened. To Elizabeth's horror, she had began to feel the pain of his touch seep through her pores and cause her heart to shudder. Her pupils had disappeared in the vast blue as she wondered for a moment: Could this possibly be more then just a nightmare? Could it possibly be another distorted version of reality?
Broga's jagged teeth bit into his pouted lower lip as he tried to contain a strident chuckle. As this amusement had ceased, he snarled to the maiden, "… Would it seem… that it is not only Xilivicus that haunts the dreams of you Cyrodiilic beings?"
"Y-You're just a figment of my imagination, nothing more then… then a figure composed… composed of all my memories and thoughts." The Altmer attempted to rationalize the situation.
Broga disagreed with a head shake and he moved even closer to Elizabeth so it would be his own strapping body that held her against the door. His cruel yet adoring eyes narrowed as he focused upon the misery and sadness that loomed upon the façade of the maiden. His unoccupied hand had lifted from his side and carressed a few lingering strands of silver from her face, so that he may gaze fully upon her face. "… No… that isn't how it works." His lips had smacked together and just as they had parted he had informed her rapidly, "You see, there is a certain way for us to haunt your very dreams. Your very thoughts. Your memories of Daedra are not only a collection of thoughts and past dealings. They may actually summon a part of the Dremora to every dream that we are willing to take part in. Therefore, I may be with you for the rest of your miserable little life—or maybe not." He grinned merrily and rather frightening as well. His eyes had incidentally fallen to her compacted chest which just so happened to press her breasts together showing a rather pleasant amount of fresh snow skin and cleavage that hid behind the gentle silk fabric of a nightgown. Even though his head had not moved an inch, his eyes had shifted back up to the maiden's and he questioned to her, "… do you think if I were to ravage and claim your body right here that you would awaken in a mixture of your sweat and my own?"
Elizabeth's muscles had tensed in defense as she knew that he would clearly not stop if she were to plead. Her eyes had frozen with a lifeless cobalt as she stared into his awaiting eyes. Her lips had pursed and calmly she had avoided the answer at all costs, "… what are you doing here, Broga? Xilivicus had burdened my friend for a reason—now what is your excuse?"
His fingertips had twiddled a few pieces of her fine hair and his eyes had drifted to the wall as he conjured an answer. His lips had pulled to a side and as he returned his gaze to her a deviant grin coiled on his lips, "… would it be enough to say that I merely wanted to gaze into your… glorious and captivating eyes, yet again?"
"… I want the truth," was her reply.
Broga scoffed as he told her with a shake of his head, "I had feared that was what you wanted to hear."
Elizabeth's nostrils flared and she demanded hastily, "The truth, Broga… please."
"As you wish, my sweet." Broga had grinned while lowering Elizabeth back to the ground. The pale nubs of her toes kissed the cement and finally she stood flat footed with her eyes fastened upon Broga. The giant had straightened his back and loomed over her, having to completely tilt his head down to look at her. "Our dear sweet Xilivicus had come to your little Champion with an apology… now I come to you with an omen."
"What sort of omen?" she questioned with a wary soothing voice.
"One of charming butterflies and glorious rays of sunshine," the Dremora grinned while stepping back from Elizabeth. His now playful grin had disappeared into a cyclone of malice and annoyance as he barked, "What do you bloody think, Elizabeth?! You have personally humiliated myself and even my Lord. Upon the battlefield we had expected to defeat your trifling hides and yet it appears you have come out on top! Kudos, my dear, many kudos to you and all of yours. My Lord is not pleased. Not one. Bloody. Bit. This shan't be the last of me or Mehrunes Dagon. Things are beginning to happen. Great things. I do believe we will meet again upon the planes of Cyrodiil."
"… Grandmaster Jaufree and Martin Septim are formulating a plan to end the Oblivion gates so you may never return to Cyrodiil." Elizabeth had snarled while rolling her petite hands into throbbing fists. "Enter onto our land again and we'll send you back begging for mercy."
Broga had rolled his eyes unimpressed soon turning to a side to glance away. Annoyance began to flow through his body each time that this Altmer had opened her mouth to speak. She was so much more charming when she kept quiet. "… do you really believe your feeble attempts to frighten me will keep me away from Tamriel? If so, then you might want to reconsider even entwining yourself with Martin Septim's destiny."
"What could you possibly do, Broga? You have tried many a time to beat us and yet you don't succeed. What makes you think this time will be any different, hmm?" Elizabeth questioned with a sneer.
Broga chuckled and shook his head, "… believe me, pet. This time we've done something we never would have before." Just as the Dremora was to relinquish this neverending fued, his eyes had lit up like a torch upon a winter's night. A grin had creased his lips and he stepped closer to Elizabeth as he snarled, "… must we always fight, Elizabeth? Must it always come down to a nasty exchange of words between us?"
"… yes… I do believe so." She replied warily. With every step he took forward she took back or even to a side to make certain that if he were to charge again that she would have a great chance to escape.
Broga advanced cautiously. The thick pads of his feet were gentle upon the ground as if he were uncertain that it would even be able to hold his weight. A short chuckle did he emit after he had inquired, "… you know, you never did answer my question, my dear. Do you think if I were to desecrate you here, that you could distinguish my aroma in Cyrodiil?"
She didn't like the sound of his voice nor did she like that sparkle of lunacy dangling in the slits of his eyes that became apparent with each step he took closer. Together they had moved across the cobblestone steps of the courtyard like chess pieces. He, the corrupted rook, chasing after Elizabeth, the defenseless pawn. She was only tolerated to move but one space as he was able to move as many as he desired—that was, if it were within the board. Just as the Dremora neared, Elizabeth could see his rough warm grey fingertips trembling by his side. He had just dedicated all his attention to the maiden, she was sure. With one abrupt move, he would charge and force himself upon her and all she could do would be to finally succumb to his immoral desires.
"… this is a dream, isn't it?" Elizabeth questioned in a wavering voice, "… if… if desired enough I can wake myself up. Y-you'll never get the chance to harm me then—you can't win."
Broga giggled at her ignorance and he loosened his shoulders and took a few steps forward while whispering to her in a gentle voice, "Let me explain something to you, Elizabeth Asquerana." He hunched his great bulk soon leaning over to look the maiden in the eyes. He absorbed all her fear and pain and used it as strength and energy to power his own body. His face became emotionless like a wooden mask; therefore, Elizabeth could not detect anything from his voice nor his appearance. Broga had lowered his eyes to Elizabeth's heaving body for merely a moment as he thought of the words. His eyes narrowed to slits and he glanced back up to the Altmer while continuing on, "… this isn't a dream, it's a nightmare. You can't control whether or not you wake up. If you do—then that's perfectly fine. I love a great chase. Makes the prize all that much better in the end. To the contrary, I've got around a hundred more years of trying so I think I will succeed one day. But if you don't wake up—well…" He chuckled and finally the masquerade had ended and the Dremora pulled the mask from his face revealing all sorts of mixed emotions. He grinned out of joy and even hatred. His eyes swirled with adoration, and yet, disgust. His body tensed with anxiety and also with a calming spirit. "Then I suppose you can answer my question the next time we meet."
His body became a graceful black blur as he had lunged forward and tackled Elizabeth back upon the wall. She gasped for air, for the abrupt collision had forced most of the breath from her feeble lungs. Darkness overcame her and she could feel some sort of jagged pins seizing her nightgown and ripping it apart. The shrieking ripping material of her attire cried out to her and the voiced that lingered in her mind tried ever so hard to scream at her. They tried to give her the energy to escape; however, her head became a swirling pit of confusion and fear. So many bustling thoughts burdened her and she could not make out anything whatsoever. Her body became a lifeless frozen statuette as Broga's sick twisted joke did not seem all that fake. Her eyes were wide as she watched as her pale fragile skin began to show even more. With Broga's black hands upon her body, it had made her look even more pale. Or possibly it had made the Dremora look darker then ever before. He moved hurriedly with one hand planted against the frozen limestone wall as and anchor, the other one groping Elizabeth body. Broga's eyes burned ever so brightly upon this night. He now seemed utterly determined—something that hadn't happened to him in a very long time.
Time began to slip away from Elizabeth like a blur and her weakening body was overcome with a forceful pain and ounces of pleasure. Her skin was ripped to shreds and fresh blood poured down the sides of her body causing her exposed nerves to burn like a raging inferno. Her screams echoed out into the dead silence soon piercing the heavens and breaking through the walls of such a horrid nightmare.
-+-
"… No… please, stop! Sto-op… no… plea-ea-ease.. Leave me alone!" Her vibrant voice shattered through the walls of her room as she thrashed wildly across the surface of her mattress. Her fingertips dug harshly into the fabric of the divan as horrid flashes burned scars into her mind. Painful tears escaped through her fluttering eyelids soon staining her cheeks as she sobbed heavily.
Her body became entwined with her sheets which constricted her causing her to roll helpless against the mattress. Her face buried into it as she muffled her screams. Pins were forced through the pores of her flesh and with each throbbing pain that she had felt it had convinced her even more that this was another form of reality and her Hero would not come riding in upon a noble white steed. The shadows of the room had worked against her as they became her hidden chains and bondages that blinded her and kept her away from the true reality that lingered outside the walls of her nightmare.
Abruptly, the sliding door to Elizabeth's room had been forced back. The edge of the frame had knocked harshly against the side of the wall and two figures shifted into the room hurriedly for they had heard her desperate moans from the main temple. Her brother had ushered himself into the room for his heart had pounded like a raging thunderstorm beneath his chest in fear that something awful had happened to his sister. He stood there, petrified, at her threshold with his glistening amber eyes fastened upon her seizing body. His ears ached with each shrill howl she gave off. What was there that he couldn't see? Were the spirits of the deceased Daedra avenging their deaths sevenfold? What was he to do? His mind had emptied of everything as he merely watched her.
When the Hero had entered; however, he had immediately fell by her bedside and unwrapped her from her constricting cocoon. His misty dark eyes shifting across her body as he yelled for her to wake up. Just as he had finished unwrapping such a delicate figure, she had lunged at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Suddenly, the shadows that binded her had drifted away into the darkness like sinful slithering snakes. Elizabeth's eyes had ripped open and she sobbed heavily while clutching onto the Hero. The smell of firewood lingered upon his tunic which had seized the girl's attention and tore her from the dreadul nightmare that had fallen upon her slumbering head. Her nerves were sawed into pieces and her heart was left for dead after the encounter with the demonic onyx monster who haunted her every thought and dream. Her entire body quaked with fear and hatred as she sobbed loudly and demanded through gnashed teeth, "Don't leave—don't leave me here! Please.. d-don't… he'll… he'll come back—I know he will!" She whimpered hurridely while seizing onto the man's back.
He cradeled her in his arms with a furrowed brow as he soothed her with his gentle words, "We won't leave you here alone, I promise. It's going to be ok, Elizabeth. I'm here now." He formed his spread fingers over the back of her head holding her tightly to him hoping this would calm her shattered senses. He hushed her as she cried heavily onto his tunic choking down a few dampened sobs. With a wary glance, the knight had tossed his eyes up to Daelon. His lips had pursed and he looked upon the Altmer with desperation and his look had clearly questioned: What happened to her?
Of course, Daelon hadn't known the origin of such misery; however, he knew that his sister had never waken from her sleep before in such a vivid and frightened manner. What ever happened to her in the nightmare that had overcome her like a fatal illness had seemed to plague her mind with so much fear that it may have killed her. How can I help, Elizabeth? Daelon's hidden voice had echoed out into the room that only he had heard. He watched her feeble pale body embrace the Hero's torso desperately. How can I help you fight an enemy that I cannot see?
The three adults all closed their eyes as their own problems and worries began to pervert their minds to the darkness causing them to fall into the darkest of voids which would not relinquish their forgotten and useless hope until this entire Oblivion crisis was over. Through the floorboards near the bruised mattress a darkened shadow of Elizabeth's nightmare did seep through the thin cracks soon disappearing as if it were never there to begin with. It left the trio sitting in their sorrows as they all questioned themselves:
… why me?
The chapter was going to be even longer with a descriptive rape scene in, but when I looked back at it I really didn't want to let people read it. It seemed really... adult... for this fanfiction so I just saved it in another file so I could write more to it later. By the way, in case you haven't noticed I like Broga and Elizabeth together. Anyways, READ AND REVIEW!