However, that was not the time for pondering philosophical or theological implications about the nature of the worlds or how they were made, let alone why we Thedans wound up with such a piss-poor shoddily made one, riddled with lyrium and cursed with a leaky Veil. Farengar had opened up the chests and wardrobe where he kept his stock-in-trade: spell books, robes, scrolls, and oddments of jewelry. It was the books which drew me—Candlelight, Oakflesh, Bound Sword (what might that do?) Conjure Familiar, Ice Spike, Lightning Bolt, Calm, Muffle, Steadfast Ward, so many others…
I wanted all of them, but the ones that interested me the most were those that we didn't have in Thedas. Practically speaking, however, the destruction spells would likely prove to be the most useful. At least my abilities as a healer had carried over and I would not have to start over again from the beginning there. However, my funds would only run to two or three, perhaps four or five if I only bought novice level spells. I had a suspicion that novice level spells would prove to be underpowered while adventuring with Eryka, so I compromised, choosing Candlelight because it was very likely that we would wind up in various crypts, dungeons, tombs, etc. I doubted that the highly flammable Draugr would go to the trouble of keeping up on candles, torches, and sources of light. For one thing, where would they shop for their supplies?
Fireball I had mastered already, so no need to repurchase that spell. Cold-based spells seemed superfluous in a land where it apparently snowed nine months out of the year and hailed the other three—anything that could live here would be toughened against ice and frost already. Lightning Bolt, on the other hand, was a necessity now that I had the right to shoot lighting at fools. Knowing what I knew now, Conjure Flame Atronach was particularly intriguing.
Setting those three spellbooks aside, I looked at the robes, only to discover that I could not afford even a novice set. Never would I have imagined it could cost well over a thousand in gold for a set of novice mage robes. Even being told that such robes were essentially indestructible and were sometimes handed down for generations did not alleviate the shock. I liked the idea of mage families, though, even if, thanks to the Taint, the chances of my ever siring a child were very slim. That did not rule out ever becoming a father, however. If my hopes bore fruit and the mages of Thedas relocated to Skyrim, there would be children among them, the Circle apprentices, who would need homes and families. I would like to watch mage-born children grow up in a world where 'Tranquil' meant nothing more than 'peaceful'. I wanted that very much.
In the meantime. I had spent all but eighteen septims of the five hundred I started with, and I was not the only one with business to transact. Eryka unfurled a jewelry roll of soft suede and began negotiations with Farengar. I excused myself to go off in search of the privies. One of the maids gave me curt but useful directions. After using the room and washing up, I left, only to hear someone crying nearby.
"Please, somebody…Let me out."
The voice was muffled to a hoarse whisper, but it sounded like the same woman who had directed me to the privy in the first place. "Where are you?"
"In here…in the closet in the back of the storeroom. The Jarl's son Nelkir…he's a terrible child. He shoved me in and locked it…Please, sir. I can't stand being trapped, and the air in here—." I had been hesitating at the doorway to the room, but if there was any plea that would move me more than another she could have made, it was that.
"In the back of the storeroom, you say?" I asked, crossing the room.
"Yes..I think he blocked the door with a cupboard," the maid replied. I had overheard snippets of conversation among the Jarl's children in the adjoining main room while visiting Farengar's quarters and I had already written them off as spoiled brats, so the idea that one of the sons was naughty came as no surprise. Except that I would have thought that shoving a cupboard over the doorway would take more strength than a lad of his years possessed. I had to get my back into it to get the cupboard to budge.
Sure enough, there was a door behind it. I tried the knob, but it was well and truly locked. Still, if I had let locks stop me, I would only have escaped the Circle two or three times. Lockpicks? Don't make me laugh. I used a spell, what else? A strand of my hair, a bit of thread, the right words, and the bolt retracted.
"There you are," I began, opening the door to…nothing but an empty room, and I knew I had made a terrible mistake as something like cold vomit seeped into my mind and started filling in all the small spaces. My shadow against the back wall had far too many arms to be my own.
A sultry voice, neither male nor female, whispered "Thank you," in my ear, with no breath to stir the air. "Won't you come into my parlor?" it invited. I did not dare turn my head and look into the face of whatever was behind me.
"Away, foul creature!" Justice surged to the fore, and I had rarely been more glad for him to take over.
However, the speaker, the presence, quieted him, suppressed him with no more than, "Shhh, shhh, shush, little thing. Justice you may be, but Justice is no more than a fragile and imaginary concept in the minds of men, when it exists at all, and I am Mephala. Mephala, the Web-Spinner, Prince of Seduction, of Lies, of Plots and Betrayal." Suppressed was not the half of it. No, Justice had run for cover. Mephala frightened him. I knew his every emotion, such as they were, and he had never, ever been afraid before.
I was left in charge once more, sudden and alone in my head, and I was aware of how badly this could go. "You are…a Daedric Prince?" I guess.
"Oh, yes. Very good. Now, look to that table, there. What do you see?" I had faced demons down, both in the Fade and out of it, I was at Elissa's side when she faced the Baroness, the Architect and the Broodmother, I had battled Abominations and Shades, but all those were ants to the ogre that was Mephala.
"I see…a table with a sword and a book on it." I pushed out, because that was all that was there. It was a curious sword too, with a very narrow blade, slightly curved and darker than black.
"That is correct. The book is tedious. It is the sword which concerns you now. That is the Ebony Blade, and it is a piece of my substance. It is thirsty. Very thirsty."
"I would be more than happy to fetch it a stoup of wine," I offered.
"Hah. Hah hah ha. Very amusing," Mephala did not laugh; it said the words as though reading literally from a page. "The Blade does not thirst for wine or mead or even simply blood. It is betrayal which sates it, betrayal which powers it."
"As interesting as that is, I do not know how it concerns me," I said very carefully. "I've never used anything larger than a belt knife. Now if it were a staff—."
"You grow less amusing. Its form is not mere whim; betrayal cuts very deep indeed. Nothing could represent it but a blade. Slay someone who trusts you with it, and it will grow in power. Take it. Slay the Dragonborn with it, and when her lifeblood stains its blade, I will tell you how to cut a door between the worlds so that you can lead your people here through it. Her life for all of their lives. Is that not fair? What say you to that?"
"What do I say? What do I say?...I say I would be a fool. I say I would be vile and ungrateful and unworthy of the life she saved." I began.
"Oh, yes," It snickered like silk tearing. "You would be. But I don't expect you to accept my offer now. I can wait. Get to know her better. Charm her. Have her. Love her, if your heart so moves you. Go out into the world and hear what my brethren will want for the same service I offer you now, and when you realize there is no other way, and that at least the sword will be quick—I'll be waiting." The presence retreated, and suddenly the storeroom and closet were nothing more than ordinary rooms, my shadow as normal as ever.
I left the sword and the book where they were, relocking the door and moving the cupboard back into place before I staggered back up to the Great Hall feeling wrung out and tossed aside.
Eryka was speaking to a well dressed older man. "—repairing the stonework on my house. Also, my neighbor Olava's roof is falling to pieces, and the weather will only get worse. It needs to be re-thatched entirely. Here is some coin for that—if there is any left over, let it go toward restocking her woodpile. You need not tell her who paid for it, either. Just say it was her friends and neighbors."
Oh, yes. Betray and kill someone who not only saved my life but paid to have her elderly neighbor's roof fixed before the snows hit? If I could do that—if I did that—what would that make me? I wished I had the moral certainty that I would never do such a thing.
Of course, there was also more to Eryka than goodness and kindness. I had barely scratched the surface then, and I am still learning even now.
A/N: It is an unfortunate fact that the longer one goes between updates, the harder it is to get back in the groove. I apologize for any irregularity in tone and may well make some changes, but I wanted to post, damn it!