Chapter 27: An Act of Heroism
Groggy eyes opened painfully to the darkness, and Gilthan's sensitive, elfin nose detected the faint scent of blood. It wasn't his alone, and it wasn't fresh, the old, stale smell invading his senses until he was sure that a metallic taste lingered on his tongue. His first reaction was to gag, and then he peered into the surrounding gloom as his head spun with the pain of Ruined Cloak's twisted magic. It was dark magic—the kind that left people screaming and writhing, and if Gilthan had been any weaker, he would have already given them exactly what they wanted—what Cassius demanded: the chaos sphere's location and information on Portia.
Gilthan gritted his teeth and ran a dry tongue over his gums, tasting blood and realizing that it wasn't his imagination, but real, and he was indeed tied to a chair in a basement. His jaw ached from a large bruise that blossomed on the left side of his face, and the dull pain radiated across sore muscles as Gilthan recalled a fist connecting with his face. Apparently Cassius wasn't content in allowing his servant to do all the dirty work, and it made Gilthan despise the man even more. No, he's not a man, the elf reminded himself. The arrogant being was none other than Mehrunes Dagon, prince of destruction, as he'd suspected, and for that very reason, Gilthan held little hope of leaving this room alive.
Portia.
His eyes soften into a sad droop as he considered the woman's predicament and what he'd failed to tell her. Mehrunes was getting closer to her as the days passed, and the prince's interest was taking on a nature that Gilthan loathed to witness. Damn that daedra for making innocents suffer, and damn him even more for targeting Portia. The thought of what would happen to the goodhearted woman if she remained ignorant plagued Gilthan's tired mind, his shoulders slouching further with acknowledge of his idiocy in departing from her the previous night. There had to be a way to reach her, even if he never left this prison.
Look what's happened to you, dear Gilthan, he inwardly sighed. Your father was right: you're going to die young because of rashness. After a pause in which he futilely attempted to wiggle out of his bindings, Gilthan decided that he could perhaps accept vindicating his father's word, for how many people could claim to have died helping thwart a daedric prince's will? Such a distinction had a ring to it that fit Gilthan's love of flair, but there was still the pain in his body, and it nauseated him as the ropes securing his hands dug into chafed wrists to absorb more of his blood. Rough fibers against tender flesh, he wanted to empty his stomach, his fresh return from unconsciousness still affecting him, and the feel of soiled pants clinging to his legs degrading. Death would have been more pleasant than suffering another round of questioning, and even managing to annoy his captors couldn't entirely lift Gilthan's spirits from the gutter as his head lulled to the side.
A dark room without laughter or light or friends...it was a terrible way to end, and as the trapdoor above him flew open, he wished that he could see the sun one more time, even just once. He was young with a gloriously free life, and to see it diminished...Gilthan cut the mournful thought short as he listened to footsteps descending a ladder. Perhaps it was better to die doing something of importance, and he knew that he had to believe that if he was going to survive this. He'd fluttered from one activity to the next throughout his entire life, helping the occasional wayward person in the university, or playing pranks to alleviate boredom and stress, even abandoning his homeland because he didn't want the pressure of his parents' expectations.
When was the last time you took responsibility for something so vital? He couldn't remember, and staring at the shifty shadows of the vacant room around him, he realized that for the first time since leaving home, his humor failed him, and he didn't care. There were always more important matters, like protecting someone, and although Gilthan openly accepted the idea, he couldn't help but feel that it sounded a little forced given his circumstances. But he could do this, and maybe even salvage one of his trademark smiles in the process. But no one will ever know. No, she'll know; Arelius will know. Gilthan tried to smile, but the attempt failed when the movement tore open a cut on his chin, blood trickling down his neck to stain a collar already ruined with yesterday's inflictions.
Words of enchantment began flowing from his mouth, the effort sucking dry what little magicka remained in his system, Ruined Cloak having drained his reserves. There was just enough to do this—just enough to make his sacrifice worthwhile. A faint glow of light erupted in his palm, and then he slid a ring free from his index finger. He didn't need to see the ring to know that it displayed his family's insignia, and now it was enchanted to find Portia with his message. Yes, Gilthan, you've done well, you stupid, silly elf. The game had to end eventually. Be glad that it's not for nothing like most of your life has been.
"He's still not breaking, my lord," a hated voice sounded overhead.
"We'll see about that."
"Yes we shall," Gilthan sarcastically agreed as his captors approached. His body was already tense in dreadful anticipation, but he still winked at Mehrunes Dagon, just to piss the man off.
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"Do you know where he is?" Portia asked, concerned as Flora yawned and held a compress to her aching head. The woman shook her head through her hangover, and Portia had the urge to grab the compress and throw it aside. This was no time for perfunctory answers and disinterest. Gilthan needed to see her, and Portia knew that it was important.
"I'm not sure where he went last night," Flora stated. "Damn, but this headache is killing me."
"But didn't he bring you home?" Portia pressed, growing more annoyed by the second.
"No," Flora said, sounding confused. "I thought that he was, but then Horace brought me home. Gilthan needed to do something..." her voice trailed off. "Yes, he needed to do something, and it was decided that Horace would bring me home. I haven't seen either of them since then, but you know how Gilthan is. The boss is always sending him on errands, and he can't sit still for five minutes. I'm sure that he'll be around later."
"Please tell him that I'm looking for him," Portia said, less than convinced by the circumstances, but Gilthan did tend to disappear on various tasks, and sometimes he was merely out harassing some young mage. Still, the seriousness of his mood last night and his parting reluctance were impossible to forget. He hadn't wanted to leave her with Cassius, but she'd insisted, and now she wondered if that hadn't been a mistake. She imagined the elf's bright, playful face and worried about him for reasons that she didn't have time to pinpoint. She tried to calm herself, for after all, there was no evidence of foul play yet, and Gilthan was skilled and knowledgeable despite his behavior.
He's okay, she assured herself.
"I'll come by after work," she told Flora. "He can find me at the palace if he's not busy before then."
"I'll pass the word along," Flora promised, and Portia stepped away into the morning sunlight. If something had happened to Gilthan because of her...The thought was almost unbearable as she stiffly approached the palace, its gleaming walls grating in their misleading beauty. It was not a day for cheer, and until Portia found out what had been troubling Gilthan, there would be no room for ease. She decided that she could definitely use one of his smiles right about now, but all she got was a mild and common greeting from one of the palace guards as he opened a door for her. Some compensation.
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"You're very resistant, Altmer," Mehrunes commented, watching with appreciation as the elf coughed blood onto the floor and glared at Ruined Cloak. He hadn't known that high elves could show such backbone, but here it was, and he would never have expected it from a loose-mouthed dandy like Gilthan.
"I won't give you anything," Gilthan firmly stated. "Not the chaos sphere, not Portia," and his words made Mehrunes chuckle.
"She's already mine," the prince shrugged. "Even if you had succeeded in telling her about me, she still wouldn't escape."
"Arrogance is a nasty vice," Gilthan replied, and with such ease that it made Mehrunes strike the elf across the face. The prince did not take attitude from anyone very well, least of all from a prisoner, and he watched with a sneer as the elf sputtered on his own fluids and let his head hang, breathing heavy.
"My lord?" Ruined Cloak questioned.
"Permission granted." Gilthan screamed when the spell hit him, but the room was silenced, so no one could hear his anguish. His fingernails curled into his palms until they broke the skin, and his clothing was already drenched with a mixture of sweat and blood. Still, he stubbornly lifted his head and forced his jaw shut as Ruined Cloak retracted the spell, and Mehrunes watched as Gilthan's weak form denied the captive a dignified stance and sunk into a pained slouch.
"He can't take much more or he'll die," Ruined Cloak cautioned, but without concern.
"Then finish it," Gilthan suggested, sounding more desperate than intended. Eyes squeezed shut, his mouth hung open, and his heart beat oddly with convulsions of pain and lingering magicka. The call for execution was a plea with which Mehrunes was familiar, but it did not make him smile as he observed the telltale signs of defeat. Instead, he considered the elf's loyalty to Portia and almost admired the tenacity, but he wanted this information, and he would have it.
"You'd like us to finish," the daedra darkly intoned. "But we won't—not until you tell us where Portia has the sphere." Gilthan glanced up into dark eyes and flinched, Mehrunes smiling coldly as he slightly bent to get a closer look at the elf's haggard expression, once perfect white-blond hair obscuring the man's face. "It's tempting to speak and end this, isn't it?" Mehrunes taunted. "Only a handful of words, and the pain can be stopped. Resisting won't get you anywhere in the end, because no one's here to see your valiant death. No one's ever going to know that you sold out your friend."
"I will," Gilthan croaked, but his voice wavered.
"You don't sound very confident," Mehrunes noted, feeling his enemy's resolve cracking. The elf's head drooped, and the prince waited to hear the confession. Any moment now...
"You'll never have her," the elf suddenly spoke, voice stern. "And when she finds out who you really are, you'll never get close enough to touch her again, prince of failure." Black eyes flashed with anger as Mehrunes growled, hand reaching out and gripping Gilthan's throat until the elf was fighting for air.
"How dare you!" he roared. "Disrespectful mortals! That's all anyone on this plane is, but you're all going to eat your words and pride when this is finished." He almost crushed Gilthan's throat before releasing the elf and stepping back to compose himself, not wanting to lose restraint over a mortal's foolish show of bravado. He would not allow the elf to feel any sense of empowerment.
"She'll be revolted that you ever touched her," Gilthan stubbornly continued, sputtering and wheezing in recovery, and the words rubbing against Mehrunes' nerves. "And as for me...you can't have me either." He winked. The damn elf actually winked. "She'll keep the sphere from you, prince, and you'll be sent back to Oblivion to play pattycake with dremora or whatever you do in your free time."
"Kill him," Mehrunes ordered, feeling his patience wearing thin. Gilthan gave a short, forced bark of laughter as Ruined Cloak raised a hand and began chanting.
"Who'd have thought," the elf commented to no one in particular. "Gilthan the hero."
"Heroes don't die in gutters, elf," Mehrunes snorted.
"Oh, some of them do," the elf choked on blood, body beginning to burn from the inside out as a spell ate through his organs. "In fact...I think that...most of them must...since we...never read about them...Ahhhhh!" The scream rent the air as he thrashed so violently that his chair toppled, his head hitting the floor with a sickening thud as Gilthan felt his life breaking apart in the heat of a thousand tiny flames. Finally the body stopped moving, laying limp as Ruined Cloak cut free the ties that bound the elf so that his assistants could remove the body. The elf merely lay sprawled on his back, eyes closed, and chest no longer rising and falling to the visible eye.
"A remarkably strong elf," Ruined Cloak commented.
"Yes," Mehrunes agreed. "But he failed." The prince's lips stretched into a wicked grin as he stared down at the ruined life before him. "What did he say? 'She'll never let us have the sphere?' Poor, brave elf. He told me exactly what I wanted to confirm, and he never even realized it." The prince turned to leave, mind honed with intent as lingering anger and the itch to act propelled him forward. "I'll be back. Dispose of the body."
"May I ask where you are going, my lord?"
"She has it, and if that means on her, I'm going to find out for once and for all." There was no stopping the prince when he was set on doing something, and so Ruined Cloak merely trailed behind his master as the prince stormed out. As a servant, he needed to find Horace and discuss what could be done about their work. Hopefully their lord didn't do anything too rash while his spirits were roused, but Ruined Cloak wouldn't count on it.
Meanwhile, in the basement, Gilthan's head lulled to the side. His pulse barely prolonged his life as his eyes weakling stared across the floor, his vision quickly failing him. He wouldn't last much longer, and he knew it, but until then, he wanted to be sure that...
A gleam of silver—yes, there! He managed to smile one last time as his eyes fell on the loose ring laying some inches away, his family crest staring him right in the face. Portia would find it because nothing else could happen, and that provided him with a sense of solace as his eyelids drooped ever lower, or maybe they weren't drooping and his ability to see was simply waning. He couldn't be sure, and as a fog began to settle over his mind, he wondered how many heroes had actually died in gutters, and whether or not he might count himself as one of them.
The pain's finally gone, he vaguely realized.
Please be careful, Portia.
Gilthan the hero.
Gilthan Lorenlee died wearing one of his best smiles.
