Chapter 6:
She was more familiar with the palace this time around. Its black corridors, angular statues, and red curtains no longer grabbed her attention, for she was preoccupied with warily watching out for dremora. Despite the fact that she was fairly confident that they were unaware of her presence, she still found herself ducking into the shadows whenever they approached, and their hulking frames and red eyes made her breathing hitch. She quickly learned that eavesdropping on them was pointless; yet she found herself trying to do so anyway in an attempt to make her snooping profitable. In truth, she was mostly avoiding the one place where she knew that she should be going: his room.
She came to a large room with a throne, and she wondered if this was where Mehrunes Dagon held audiences. The chair was large, with rubies glittering across its blackened, stone frame, and its owner's symbol carved into the backrest. It was the same symbol that marred her flesh, and in a sick fascination, Portia gravitated toward it. She laid a hand against the stone, feeling the rough lines of the carving beneath her palm. It was cold to the touch, and her fingers traced its outline. Apparently Mehrunes liked to mark what was his, and if his goal had been to never let her forget her transgressions, he'd succeeded.
But I'm not his, Portia vehemently thought, and now she was gradually advancing in the direction of his quarters. She soon found herself standing on the threshold of her destination, coldness seeping into her bones from the clammy stone walls. It was night in oblivion, like last time, and so a fire crackled in a golden brazier near Mehrunes' bed at she entered. Perhaps night in her world coincided with night here, and the entire possibility sent chills down her spine. Whereas before she had thought that she was dreaming, now she knew that this was much more—that she was actually somehow moving about within oblivion, seeing what was happening in real time. It was unnerving, much more so than when it had only been an odd dream.
She did not see Mehrunes in the empty room, but she could hear voices beyond the doors on the far side of the room. Taking care to be quiet, she moved toward the table where she had collected Sable and her escape scroll. There were still a myriad of artifacts scattered across it, and she recognized none of them, although she made a detailed mental note of each for later research. Perhaps Gilthan could help her identify them, but she realized that acting upon his knowledge would probably be impossible. She doubted that she could take things from Oblivion in these visions. Most of the time, her hands simply passed through what she meant to touch, only occasionally making contact that felt physical.
Creak.
A door opened, and Portia glanced upward to see Mehrunes marching into the room with fire in his eyes. Before the doors closed, she saw a type of dremora that she did not recognize standing in the doorway. He was larger and more imposing than others that she had seen, but he was quickly lost from view, and her attention went solely to Oblivion's master.
He looked exactly as before, only angrier, as if the news he'd just received was displeasing. His dark mood consumed the room, and Portia could almost feel energy crackling around him. Such power, she marveled. She stepped back to let him pass, still extremely uncomfortable in her supposed safety, and he seemed too preoccupied to notice her presence. He flexed his arms and stretched, again showing off his toned limbs and torso, and then he reached for a dagger that sat upon the table. He expertly twirled it between his fingers with agility that Portia would not have thought he possessed. She'd always pictured him artlessly bludgeoning someone with an mace, but as he stared into space, seemingly mindless of what he was doing, she had to correct herself. To think how accurately he could probably throw that thing...
He can't see you. He can't hear you. He can't hurt you.
She remained where she was—curious, worried, and a tad self-satisfied with her own courage. He most certainly did not own her, even if he'd plague the back of her mind for eternity. As she watched him, she noticed for the first time that his red skin was decorated with slightly lighter patterns that formed swirls and intricate lines across his body. The dagger continued moving between his hands with practiced ease, and for a moment his eyes closed. A dip of his head drew Portia's attention to the chaos sphere that hung from his ear, and she began to wonder whether it glowed like that all the time. Hers only had the faintest aura, and she didn't think that it'd ever been as vibrant in color as his. Then again, he could channel its power, and she couldn't.
"I know you're there...again," Mehrunes stated with a bit of annoyance. Portia nearly fled from the room, but remembered their previous encounter. She could do this, and if she learned to withstand him, perhaps her nightmares would altogether vanish. "No one comes and goes as they please in this part of the palace, so tell me," he turned to look in her direction. "What are you that even the most powerful dremora cannot sense you?" Portia tried not to make eye contact with him, as if doing so would somehow unveil her.
"You try to deny your own presence," Mehrunes growled. "Very well." And he tossed the dagger toward her. It clattered to the floor at her feet, but she did not touch it as Mehrunes found himself another dagger. He advanced on her, dagger raised, and Portia automatically tensed. He wouldn't attack thin air, would he? Should she...? He dove forward with the dagger, and Portia couldn't help herself. She frantically retrieved the weapon at her feet and lifted it, barely deflecting what was no doubt a weak attack for the daedric prince. Her heart was still pounding as she held the dagger to her chest, and Mehrunes stared curiously at the seemingly floating weapon.
"Goblin's gall," Portia cursed, and she dropped the dagger to the floor.
"You can move things," Mehrunes considered, clearly displeased. His eyes momentarily flickered toward his table of treasure, and Portia could guess what he was thinking. He'd just been stolen from, and yet he hadn't locked the items away. Perhaps this would make him reconsider, and Portia didn't understand why he hadn't taken more precautions before this time. Was he really that arrogant to assume that it couldn't happen again?
"You don't belong here," he stated. "And your trespass will not be overlooked." He retrieved the dagger from the floor and stared at it. "You're too quick to be a spirit. Ghosts are about as fast as ogres, the stupid fetchers," he snorted, then cocked his head to the side, and his mouth parted, showing fangs and making him look even more intimidating. He was curious, Portia realized, because he could do nothing to her, and he didn't know what she was.
"Don't be stupid enough to attack me," he ordered. Because it would be so effective, Portia sarcastically thought. Mehrunes could probably snap her in half without much effort. "You seem smarter than that...but you aren't leaving." He stepped back and placed his daggers back on the table. "Perhaps not so intelligent after all." Out of nowhere, he threw a fireball at Portia, nearly giving her a heart attack. The heat as the deadly spell passed through her was uncomfortable, but not damaging, and she was left in a cold sweat as it seared across the wall behind her. Mehrunes growled low in his throat and moved closer with the measured steps of a predator. It was a bold, steady walk—unlike her quick, secretive steps. Seeing him approach on a battlefield must be a terrifying experience.
"Be warned," he threatened in a matter-of-fact tone. "And I do not repeat myself. If you continue to come here, I will find a way to unearth you." And Portia marveled that he went back to his various tasks as if she didn't exist; although she was willing to bet that he was plotting a way to get at her.
"Master Dagon?" a voice called. Of course, Portia only caught 'Dagon'. The rest of the conversation was lost to her since it was in another tongue, and so she mutely listened to the unintelligible speech with interested frustration.
"Enter," Mehrunes ordered, and the doors swung inward to reveal the same imposing dremora that Portia had seen before.
"My lord," and the dremora fell to his knees in a bow. "They will be prepared for your arrival in four days." His head remained lowered as Mehrunes regarded him.
"Very well. You may go." The dremora rose and departed without a backward glance, and Portia considered the strange expression settling over Mehrunes' face. She would almost say that the slight tilt to his lips made him look...satisfied, which naturally made her uneasy. Perhaps he had come up with a plan to capture her, but maybe it had been what the dremora said. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction if it was the former, and so decided to leave before events took a turn for the worst. She moved toward the still open doors, and as she passed through them, she chanced a look over her shoulder. Mehrunes stood still, eyes fixed on her.
"We shall see how foolish or wise you are, being," he said. His eyes narrowed, and he turned away, reaching for something on the table. Portia saw that it was the knife, which he again twirled in thought. She didn't know when she would come to Oblivion again, but she ended up returning the next night, and even the next, during which Mehrunes only acknowledged her presence with a quick flick of his eyes, Portia trailing him like a shadow. He was in the throne room, his bedroom, or perhaps on a balcony overlooking the lava flows of his world. He would tell her that she was annoying him, that he did not like her presence. At least he was blunt and surprisingly honest; Portia would give him that much, and while he might growl and try a new spell on her, it never worked.
She found it uncanny that she could sense him on that third night. The chaos sphere would glow hotly against her skin, and she would intuitively know whether he was giving audiences or wandering in a certain part of the palace. Lesser daedra scattered in fear before him; dremora bowed and uttered respectful phrases, but she stuck to nearby shadows, waiting for...well, she was working on that. If nothing else, she was becoming bolder and stronger as she balanced an act of wary distance and close observation—like she'd once done in her own world, but there was a point to her actions. She did not go to Oblivion or tolerate Mehrunes' often suffocating personality for her health or enjoyment. The man downright startled her when he unexpectedly focused on her, and one more unexpected spell might send her over the edge of paranoia.
What she was trying to accomplish was to garner information from him, but it wasn't working. Sometimes he'd be looking at maps, and Portia recognized locations, but never the language being used to discuss them. Once, she'd climbed a chair and looked directly over his shoulder to get a better view, and on the first night where he'd barely acknowledged her, she'd even reached out to touch his earring. Mehrunes had instantly whipped around to face her with raging eyes that would have scared the fur off of a Khajit. If she'd been physical, no doubt he would have killed her then and there, and she'd fled, not knowing when she'd return. Now it was morning again, and as she awoke, she realized that if she was going to gain anything from her trips into Oblivion, she'd need to understand a new language. It was fortunate that her new job granted her access to the palace libraries, and Gilthan thought that her idea was brilliant.
Portia smiled as she readied herself for another day of schooling. With her dreams mostly under control, and with her new position, she felt as if her life was in order for the first time since her departure from the Blades. She was even enjoying sneaking around again since she was responsible only for herself. She moved alone through hidden corridors to collect information for Arelius, and she was pleased that he approved of her work. He had yet to ask her for special assistance, and for that she was grateful. She was busy enough as it was.
***************
"How is she doing?" Tamil asked. She was laying in one of Arelius' guest chambers, and he sat in a chair beside her reclining form. Her wounds were healing, but the poison was still affecting her with harsh fever. She'd been confined to bed since arriving, bloody and half-dead, on his doorstep three days ago. Arelius visited her every day when he returned from work, and her lack of progress was a matter of personal worry and frustration for him.
"She's as good as she used to be," he stated in reference to Portia.
"Is she still holding back? Only acting if given direct orders?" A good Blade saw opportunities and took the initiative, but she doubted that Portia was comfortable enough with her new position to be doing that at this stage.
"Actually," Arelius smiled, "She just questioned several beggars the other day and found a lead on your missing threesome."
"Thank Vivec, because we need her. If she's ready, you could..."
"No," Arelius bluntly anticipated. "She's too valuable not to use, but I can't have her getting too close to the Dawn. If she draws attention to herself, she could cause disaster, and it would be on our heads. Protecting the artifact is our first and foremost job until the mages decide how to handle it." Tamil nodded in annoyance and eased back further into her stack of pillows.
"And are they making any progress?"
"They're displeased that she is even allowed to leave this house," Arelius smiled. "They don't understand that if she is to know nothing, I can't be overly restrictive or she'll get suspicious. Giving her the job will at least keep her in the city."
"And keep her under your guidance," Tamil grinned. "You're grooming the pretty, little Blade for a future position, aren't you?" Arelius nodded. There was no reason to deny it. He'd never wanted to see Portia go elsewhere with her talent, and given time, she would be ready to lead others again. He was sure of it, and if not, he'd push her in that direction. "So what else are the mages doing, sir? And don't spare any details. Being confined to this room is driving me crazy, and it's a waste of precious time." Arelius smiled ruefully and leaned forward to rest his hands on his knees.
"They're researching the matter, and that's all they would say. Open communication would be preferable, but I'm telling them as little as they tell us. They have no idea that Portia's back in service, and I want to keep it that way. No one except us will know—for her own safety. If the monk hadn't ordered us to cooperate with them, I'd as soon put the chaos sphere in our own possession for safe-keeping, but we have our directives."
"Telling her about the artifact might help matters," Tamil stated. "I would want to know."
"It's not about what we want," Arelius calmly reminded her.
"Of course not, sir, but you must admit that it's tempting." He thought about it before standing to depart.
"Portia always was one to take on her own problems. I fear that if she were to know, she'd try to do something about it without my consent. I'd rather bide my time than risk exposing her, even if she is one of the sneakiest Blades that I've ever seen."
"Sneakier than me?" Tamil teased.
"No, but you weren't originally a Blade either." His reference to the woman's dark past had no effect on either, for they'd long grown comfortable with her open secrets. "And our directives are for silence, operative," Arelius stressed. "Don't say a word to Portia about what we've discussed."
"Yes, sir," Tamil conceded, but unsure if what they were doing was for the best or not. "If I don't recover soon, you might consider expanding her role in our operation. From what you've said, I'd trust her to take over my job."
"Get some rest," Arelius ordered. "If the need arises, I'll use my own discretion."
"As always. Good day, sir."
