Chapter 32: The Force of Change

Portia didn't know how she was able to grab Mehrunes, but it was quite an easy task, for within moments of her anger being set to boil, she felt his curiosity, his presence drawing ever closer, which was when she struck. She lashed out and coiled around him, and in his startled state, she pulled him closer, invisible tethers tightening with each second. He didn't fight the pull either, but she could feel his surprise and indecision, which made her job easier. One moment he seemed miles away, and the next she was looking at him, or rather, a less physically substantial duplicate of him as his spirit materialized.

"Mehrunes," she coldly greeted through clenched teeth, right hand still closed around Gilthan's ring as a reminder of what had happened. She was certain that the daedric prince was responsible for ordering the elf's death, and while she could never apologize to Gilthan, seeking retribution on his behalf was the best that she could do.

"Mortal, what is the meaning of this?" Mehrunes demanded, black eyes narrowed, and head tilted to the side as he studied her. The tethers were loose now, and Portia could feel her hold over the prince evaporating, for maintaining the high energy necessary to bind him was taxing. He could leave at any moment, but he didn't. He probably found her current state too interesting to ignore.

"You killed him," she accused, face hard—much harder than when she'd seen Arelius.

"You need to be more specific," Mehrunes replied with a snort, clearly unimpressed with her reason for calling him.

"Gilthan, my friend," Portia clarified. "You killed him, didn't you?" There was a pause, and then Mehrunes subtly smiled, leaning his back against a pillar while arms folded across his chest. He wore a thin, white tunic that contrasted sharply with his red skin, and tan pants, his boots gone to reveal feet with slightly clawed nails.

"I didn't kill him," Mehrunes taunted.

"You ordered it!" Portia burst. "Don't act like you're innocent." Mehrunes' smile didn't falter as he shook his head as if exasperated, and Portia's frustration only mounted as she realized how entertained he was. She had never thought him more of a monster than at that moment.

"Why so angry?" the prince asked, still mocking. "The elf chose his side in this conflict, and became my enemy as a result. It is no fault of mine that he paid the price for his meddling. You should not have expected otherwise." There was truth in his words, and Portia recognized that, but it was hard to swallow. She could almost hear Gilthan's laughter as he offered her wine or joked about some pretty, passing woman. "You have no right to be angry with me for this," Mehrunes continued.

"I have every right," Portia retorted. "He was only a friend who told me about the sphere. He wasn't directly involved in this conflict of ours. There was no reason that he had to die."

"How many people die for a reason, mortal? Death is everywhere." Dead eyes asked 'why', and Portia had never given an answer. The other guards had told the man's parents that their son died performing his duty, for everyone had been too ashamed to admit that it was an accident. Accidents didn't have a reason, which made them all the worse. Gilthan died for no reason. The idea churned Portia's stomach and rekindled the guilt that she'd tried to minimize. Perhaps it would be better if...

"And did Gilthan die for nothing, or was there a reason?" she asked, voice hollow.

"I already told you that he was my enemy," Mehrunes scoffed, finding her emotions absurd.

"No, what you told me was that he sided with me. You never said what he did to deserve death, and if you killed him out of boredom, you'd better not tell me, because I'll rip your eyes out." Mehrunes looked tempted to broaden his smile, but he settled for a thin smirk as he stared at her.

"He found out where I was." Portia froze, disbelieving what she'd just heard. Gilthan had known where Mehrunes was, and he hadn't told her? Suddenly she remembered his attempts to talk to her the night of the dinner, and now she couldn't stop the regret that flowed through her veins. He had been killed for a reason, but that hardly made the situation tolerable, for Portia didn't think that she could ever forgive herself for not accompanying Gilthan after the meal. Had he felt equally regretful, being unable to tell her of his most important find? In the end, maybe he hadn't forgiven her for failing him.

"Feeling guilty?" Mehrunes asked, and Portia realized that she'd openly been betraying her emotions. "I think that I've told you this before, but you are oh so lovely when you're furious, and having blood on your hands adds to the image." He was only trying to bait her, and Portia did her best to resist. Gilthan's death still isn't your fault. You couldn't have known. But he would have known, right before he died, and if he'd regretted his decision to help her in any way...it was impossible to know what a person might think under pain of torture and death. Torture was, after all, very effective.

"Gilthan knew what he was getting involved in," Portia affirmed, more for herself than Mehrunes, but the prince didn't need to know that. In fact, exposing any weakness to him seemed suicidal.

"Your spirit is troubled, my lady" Mehrunes countered. "You don't sound very convincing. What was he anyway? Your friend? Lover? Companion?"

"It's enough that you killed someone I cared about," Portia spat, glaring. "Don't mock me, daedra." Mehrunes' smile fell, and he regarded her with a more serious expression. She desperately wanted him to leave, yet he remained where he was, seemingly content to allow silence to stretch onward as she considered her options. She could start a fight, order or ask him to leave (as if either would be effective), or wait for a new development. Really, she wasn't certain that she cared what happened as the ring pressed harder against her skin.

"He died well," Mehrunes stated, and Portia snapped to attention, her grip on the ring loosening ever so slightly. The prince was waiting for her response, and she wondered what impression she was making as she stared at his relaxed form.

"Why would you tell me that?" she probed, expecting another barb to follow his unexpected, serious comment.

"Because I respect you, Sherkyn," Mehrunes replied. "Your elf mocked me, and normally that would have prolonged and doubled the pain of his death. I would have handed him to experts in torture, who would have done things to him that mortals have yet to invent...but he proved determined and brave, and I decided to give him a quicker end as a worthy warrior would receive. I tend not to hand over more skilled and tenacious enemies to the dremora."

"You must have thought little of me then, to allow your dremora to play with me." The words were sharp and flew from Portia's mouth before she could stop them, for her mind was elsewhere, relieved to know that Gilthan had not suffered greatly.

"You were nothing to me when you first came to Oblivion," Mehrunes agreed. "Just a lost soul for the devouring. You would have ended as another nameless corpse in the bottom of some pit. If only I'd known..." And now he's interested in kissing me, Portia dryly thought. "Ah, Sherkyn," Mehrunes smirked. "I would never hand you over to anyone now—never. You're all mine, and I don't share. Ask Hircine what happened when he tried 'borrowing' a few items of mine."

"Good luck claiming me," Portia shot back, and Mehrunes laughed while Cassius's words on ownership taunted her from somewhere behind tortured scenes of a beaten, bloodied Gilthan.

"Get some sleep," Mehrunes advised. "And don't hide too long. The game is far less interesting this way. I miss seeing you." He stepped forward and watched her lips, but when she glared, he settled on lifting her hand and kissing her knuckles. She did not pull away from him either, acknowledging that somehow the prince had given her more reassurance concerning Gilthan's death than Arelius had, for Mehrunes had revealed that the elf hadn't broken. If Gilthan hadn't betrayed her, then he hadn't blamed or been angry with her. Instead, he had defied a daedric prince and apparently mocked the man in protecting friendship.

Oh, Gilthan why did you have to pay this price?

"You can exact revenge for your friend later," Mehrunes continued, the thought comforting Portia. "Goodnight, Sherkyn." He vanished, and Portia was left standing with a blank expression, his words sinking in only after she finally found the nerve to set the ring aside.

Sherkyn. He had called her Sherkyn, but how could...? Kisses, respect, Sherkyn, touching, mocking, cornering—Portia swallowed hard. It couldn't be. It just couldn't.

****************

"She can't be found, sir," the man apologized with a curt bow, and Traven nodded with a stony frown. This was unacceptable, but he knew that it wasn't incompetency that hindered his search for Portia, but the very real threat of the government and her growing magic. He'd felt a powerful discharge during the night, but its source had almost immediately vanished, meaning that either she had become far more adept at controlling the chaos sphere, or someone had cut off her power supply. Whichever explanation held, he needed to find the woman and put her in custody, or at least confiscate the sphere.

"We will continue to look for her, sir."

"I know," Traven answered, sounding his seventy years. "And I realize that you've been doing all that you can, Delmar."

"It's not easy with our hands tied," the enchanter commented, and Traven appreciated the man's honesty. The redguard was a sturdy assistant and advisor when it came to magical artifacts, for the balding mage was the leading expert in enchantment, and despite his lengthening age, he was quite energetic when it came to this sort of work.

"Arelius is not our only problem," Traven stated. "This arrived from the Elder Council this morning," and he held up a scroll as if it were mort flesh. "You must continue your work without drawing attention to yourself, Delmar. Any powerful magic that might be traced back to us must not be used." Delmar stared at the paper, eyes lingering on the broken red ribbon and wax seal that hung from the scroll. Anyone would have recognized the dragon seal.

"So Ocato is threatening us," he assumed.

"The Imperials want to keep the chaos sphere under their supervision," Traven huffed. "As if they understand what they're dealing with, and we would certainly cooperate with them in holding the sphere if they weren't making this so difficult!" The time for cooperation was over, but Traven still didn't like making overt statements about defying the Elder Council. Many of the mages held negative sentiments toward the government's meddling, but there were also rumors that he, the Arch-mage, was stirring a conflict for his own gain. It didn't bear credibility, but these walls had ears, and his reputation had to be solid enough to hold the University's confidence, for even Arch-mages could not ignore those beneath them. There had been treachery in the guild before.

"What about Gilthan?" Delmar asked. "You haven't mentioned him in some time, and he might prove more useful than myself in these circumstances. If I can't trace the artifact now, I doubt there will be a breakthrough in the near future."

"Gilthan hasn't been seen in days," Traven admitted. "He went to a dinner party and never came home, and while he's irresponsible and has disappeared for several days before, it's unlike him to not tell anyone of his plans."

"Foul play?" Delmar asked, concerned. "Has anyone looked for him?"

"Yes, and he's gone." Traven wasn't nearly as concerned. In fact, he was borderline angry. "He wasn't very keen on betraying his friend, so I wouldn't be surprised if he'd gone on 'vacation' to avoid helping us."

"Perhaps, sir," Delmar allowed, although he sounded extremely doubtful.

"Whatever has happened, we can't rely on him, so I'd like to put someone on following Portia Augustine. With this new order to leave her alone, she might come out of hiding, and when she does, I want to know where she is at all times."

"In defiance of the Elder Council?" Delmar pressed. "We have been friends a long time, Traven, and I'm telling you as someone who cares about the University as much as you do, that this is a bad idea." Traven's eyes hardened, although he understood his friend's concerns. This had not been an easy decision, but to see that chit running around with such power at her command, and no training whatsoever! That artifact belonged in the hands of those who truly appreciated and understood it.

"I realize that it's risky, Delmar, but I haven't said anything about touching the woman. I merely wish to know whether or not the sphere is affecting her and how. She could be very dangerous, and should something happen, our intervention might be necessary. The government is not prepared to deal with the forces that she could unleash."

"That does seem wise," Delmar relented.

"Of course it is," Traven dismissed. "Now, the reason that I called you was because I want to know why Portia Augustine isn't dead. She has no appreciable magical powers, and from what I've gathered, she was such a failure at the most basic of spells that she completely gave up on magic as a child. How is it possible then that she can channel using one of the chaos spheres?" Delmar motioned toward a chair, and Traven nodded as the two men sat to continue their discussion, the redguard propping his staff against the wall with a thoughtful sigh.

"That's a difficult question to answer without having personally examined the artifact," he began. "But there are several possible answers, and none of which you're going to like."

"I'm not surprised," Traven waved a hand. "Continue."

"Since Portia is lacking in magic, it's possible that she bungled the spell scroll that returned her to our world. Just because she found her way here doesn't mean that the trip was smooth, especially if she was under stress when reading the scroll. Because she was holding the sphere while she transported, some of its power might have been imbedded in her; however, that doesn't explain why the power hasn't killed her. All accounts of the sphere show that mortals cannot wield it without dying or going insane. Chaos and the power of Oblivion are not meant for mortal bodies."

"But enchanted artifacts sometimes have a mind of their own," Traven mused.

"Yes," Delmar nodded. "They do, but the chaos spheres are not independent of their master. Like all enchanted artifacts, they are linked to the source of their power, and Mehrunes Dagon is part and parcel of his world and its energy. Hence, the chaos spheres are inadvertently linked to him, and since he's been wearing them for centuries, their power has synced with his persona. They are an extension of his body in a sense, just like a mage's staff becomes like a third arm, and only after death is the staff truly free to be bent to another's will. This is no different, but the bond is much stronger.

I'm sure that you remember the case of the girl who took Umbra. The sword took over her mind and body, but it wasn't just the artifact that did that; it was Clavicus Vile, because it was his wrath and desires that Umbra reflected."

"Then why did the prince need a mortal to retrieve the sword?" Traven questioned. "If the artifacts are part of the daedra, shouldn't Mehrunes Dagon be able to force Portia to come to him?" If that was true, they were in more danger than he'd previously thought.

"Not necessarily," Delmar corrected him. "If someone stole your staff, would you be able to summon it? Of course not, but neither would it recognize its new owner as the rightful one. The spheres are part of Mehrunes, but chaos has a will of its own, and if Portia is willful, the magic will now be connected to her as well as Mehrunes. An enchanted object can be owned, but not fully controlled if it falls into another user's hands. Magic always bends to a force strong enough to control it."

"But she has no skill," Traven argued.

"Like I said, the transportation might have affected her, or..." and Delmar looked a bit uncomfortable. "Or, her lack of skill might be saving her by limiting her channeling."

"It's not," Traven countered. "Every day she seems to be developing a hold over the sphere."

"That's what I feared," the other mage sighed. "In that case, the sphere might intentionally be integrating into her system." Traven's eyebrows arched, disbelief written across his face. "I know," Delmar swallowed. "But magical artifacts are difficult to predict, and since they are so strongly linked to Mehrunes Dagon..."

"That would mean that he's allowing it to happen," Traven finished.

"Umbra lost her mind to the sword, because she wasn't its proper master. Clavicus would never have allowed that to happen, and because he was hostile toward her, the sword reflected his malice, but in this case, it's almost like the sphere has gradually been warming to Portia. She hasn't lost her mind or changed personality. She's simply able to use the sphere, even if we don't know the details."

"Gilthan said that the sphere would make her bleed," Traven stated. "But then he said that she was doing fine. So what does that mean?"

"The sphere stopped hurting her?" Delmar asked, voice dry and worried.

"Apparently, that or the elf was lying to protect her."

...

"Traven, this is serious. I don't think that anything like this has ever happened. Even the Gray Cowl of Nocturnal, which was stolen from a daedric prince, is rumored to instill its wearer with a desire to steal, and to alter identity. These artifacts aren't meant for mortals, and the daedra have always enforced that. Their artifacts cannot peacefully sync with another person unless the original owner relinquishes or loses some control."

"We both know that Mehrunes would never do such a thing," Traven dismissed. "There has to be another explanation."

"Well, the artifacts have always had negative effects," Delmar reasoned, "But it's not only because of the incredible, unearthly power that they contain, but more a result of the will of the daedra. It's not something that anyone has ever proven, but imagine this: all of the artifacts that have been taken from the daedra against their will have taken over the users, and it's been theorized that this happens because the princes are angry and spiteful toward loss. What if a prince wasn't wrathful toward the thief, but felt something else? Might the artifact not be less malignant? They are, after all, reflections of their source."

"You're saying that the prince's lack of hate toward Portia might break the barriers that kept the sphere closed to her?" Traven asked.

"It's possible," Delmar shrugged. "And with the barrier down, the chaos that's been seeping into her has become less of an invading enemy and more of an infusion of power. The fact that she has little control of it right now shows that the process is slow, but after centuries of being worn by someone else, that should be expected."

"But why isn't Mehrunes Dagon stopping it? Traven asked, puzzled. He would never release control over such a prized source of power if he were in the prince's position.

"I don't know," Delmar admitted. "Who knows what a daedric prince thinks? But Mehrunes isn't renowned for understanding intricacies like this. He's supposedly blunt and brutal." Traven absently ran fingers along the curved wood of his beloved staff, eyes fixed on the far wall as he thought.

"So the artifact might split its allegiances," he considered.

"I wouldn't go that far," Delmar clarified. "The only successful time that I searched for the spheres, I didn't sense two distinct powers, but one. Whatever is happening, it's beyond our complete understanding. The spheres aren't splitting per say, and maybe they're not changing at all. Artifacts don't change. It's the wielders that change, and the artifact responds, causing further change in the wielder. It's a cycle."

Traven dismissed Delmar and remained seated for hours, ideas running through his head at an amazing pace. Yes, someone definitely needed to shadow Portia, and when the opportunity appeared, the University would strike. There was no other option, but he would need to pick his shadow well. He needed someone who lacked scruples about his tactics and defiance of the Elder Council, and no one could know of his plans to forcefully take the woman. After some thought, he decided on the perfect candidate, and with a wave of his hand, the person was summoned.