Chapter 46: Oblivion's Lady
"Can I see it?" Pyrus asked, eyes wide in wonder as Portia dangled a golden medal over his palms. She smiled at the child who had been so amiable and energetic since her return, telling her about how he'd stayed in the house to defend everyone when the dremora came, and how everyone had been worried about her. He was a dear boy, and now that Lucretia's sons were home, the three were as thick as thieves.
"Be careful with it," Portia joked.
"I promise," Pyrus beamed, handling the medal with care. "High Chancellor Ocato really gave this to you in person?" Portia nodded, memories of the ceremony playing through her mind, and pleased that Gilthan had been awarded a posthumous award, which she'd lain on his gravestone. Few knew of that had transpired earlier in the city with Mehrunes Dagon and the Mythic Dawn, so the medal was a bit of a mystery to locals, but let them wonder. The truth could remain hidden for all Portia cared at this point, and now that the threat had passed, everyone was anxious to move on with life. As a Blade, that had always meant doing the work without the public praise.
"Yes, I met the chancellor," Portia told Pyrus.
"What's he like?"
"He'll make a strong leader," Portia voiced with some reserve. "He cares about the empire, and he's already working hard to rebuild the city." Pyrus simply nodded, completely taking for granted all that had transpired in order to achieve what in his mind must have been a happy ending. For a child, it was easy to overlook the long-term suffering that accompanied winning, but Portia couldn't begrudge him that. Not everyone needed to carry scars, and the city deserved to celebrate its victory, even if she knew that it was partly an illusion.
"I have to go to lessons now," Pyrus huffed. "But can I look at it again later?"
"Of course." And Portia watched Pyrus run off, leaving her alone in the sitting room with nothing to do for the afternoon. What did a Blade do when the empire was safe? She knew that there would always be more threats and missions, but she prayed that they didn't arrive too soon as she lived at this new, slower pace, her main task being to help an injured Lucretia around the house. Gods bless that woman, for Lucretia did an admirable job in conducting the house despite the poison had ravaged her system. Seeing her quick recovery had been one of the highlights in coming home, but not everything was as Portia had hoped.
She carelessly tossed her medal onto a nearby table and slouched in her seat, her position giving her a clear view out the window and of the city streets beyond. For all intents and purposes, life was working in her favor, for it was a sunny winter morning; she'd been given an unspoken and indefinite invitation to stay at Arelius's home, and she'd been promoted. Arelius, that lovable bastard, was still working on molding her, and his familiar efforts were almost a welcomed comfort in helping her return to a fairly normal life, but Portia doubted whether she'd ever feel normal again.
"I was wondering where you were."
Speak of a daedra, she inwardly smiled.
"Well, you've found me," she stated, studying Arelius as he strode into the room and sat down beside her. The man was no worse for wear considering the heavy combat that he'd seen during Mehrunes' final assault, but Portia knew that he was hardly at ease despite his calm demeanor. For all his loyalty to the empire, the man had more than proven himself equally loyal to his flock of Blades, and when one was unaccounted for, it undoubtedly weighed on his mind. "Any luck in finding Tamil?" Portia asked, also concerned.
"No," Arelius replied, cool and reserved as usual. "But she's alive. At least I know that I'm not looking for a body anymore."
"What do you mean?" Portia immediately asked. "If she was alive, wouldn't she come back?"
"I don't have an explanation," Arelius confessed, leaning forward to rest his elbows across his knees. "But when I went into my study this morning, her knives were gone, and there was an unsigned message." He passed a small piece of parchment to Portia, and she carefully read its contents aloud, her voice trailing in confusion.
"'Don't miss me too much while I'm away. If you need me, leave a message with the hawk. Until then, an old friend came to call.'...so she is alive, but an old friend? Do you have any idea what she's talking about?" Arelius gently shook his head. "That's Tamil for you, I guess." Portia handed the note back, unsure as to what the last sentence meant, but certain that Arelius knew more than he was sharing, or so she assumed from experience. The man was now wearing a faint smile as the paper was returned to him, and he shook his head in amusement, one hand running over his short, brown hair and smoothing a few stubborn strands.
"Every time I have a truly promising Blade, they disappear on me," he complained, making Portia smile. "Tamil was always a bit of a mystery, and she likes it that way. I'm tempted to look for her incase she's in trouble, but she would find that insulting, and she's extremely unpleasant when she's offended. No, for once I'm going to have to sit on my hands. She's more than earned my respect, and I must honor her wishes. Besides, I may be sorry to lose her, but I can't complain. We've all been very fortunate in this mess." Thinking of her own trials, Portia had to agree, for many had come close to death only to walk away from it, including herself, but still...
"We've paid for our victory, if you can even call it that," she sighed. "What cruel games the daedric princes play with mortals." Her thoughts drifted toward Mehrunes, and her eyes grew distant, Arelius sitting quietly at her side, looking equally pensive.
"I haven't asked you about what happened in Oblivion," he finally spoke. "I haven't asked about what happened with Mehrunes either, and I won't, but whatever it was, Portia, you've changed. I don't know if you appreciate how far you've come, but when I found you several months ago, you were sleeping in a sack by the water like a beggar. Now you're an officer, and I won't apologize for getting you involved with Mehrunes. I deemed it the best course of action at the time, and the results are something that I'm quite proud of."
"Remorselessly devoted to your cause until the end," Portia joked. "Trust me, Arelius; I wouldn't undo what's happened, and I'm glad to not be sleeping by the river anymore."
"But you've been distant lately," Arelius added, eyes searching for hers. "In time, I hope that you can put all of this behind you—turn this into another trial for the history books and not a permanent scar."
"Scars are history," Portia argued, thinking about how empty the world still felt. The stones here were mere stone without warmth or power, and her spirit felt isolated and anchored to her physical form, no longer free to roam the paths of magic and chaos that had once suffused her being. "I told you about the chaos sphere and how it affected me," she stated. "It's gone now, but I can still almost sense it sometimes. Maybe this recovery would be easier if I was completely severed from it, but once in a while, I hear a whisper or sense unseen movement, as if it isn't really gone. I can't explain it properly, Arelius, but it's not my experiences that are now haunting me, but the remnants of a power that I never fully understood. In some ways, Mehrunes was right."
"About what?"
"I'm not really free," Portia breathed, and the conversation lapsed into silence. She regarded Arelius as he sat there looking handsome in a green tunic and brown breeches, and admired his listening skills with appreciation, but she knew that he couldn't fully understand what she'd just shared, and she couldn't expect that of anyone. Perhaps Gilthan would have understood, but he was gone, and that only left Mehrunes Dagon.
Mehrunes...Portia closed her eyes, almost expecting to feel his heartbeat, but it was nowhere to be found. Adjusting to this silence was the greatest difficulty for her, for it gnawed at her mind, but was also promising in that it showed that physically at least, her body had recovered from being torn apart. But was the chaos really gone? Sometimes she dreamt of Oblivion and Mehrunes, and sometimes she turned in a crowd, expecting to see him. At one point, she had actually called out to him, trying to make contact by screaming into her own mind, and for a second, she had sensed his surprise, but then it was gone, whisked away to leave her isolated once more.
"It's strange for everything to be over, isn't it?" she asked. "You've been completely missions likes this your entire life, but the sensation is new to me."
"It's never really over," Arelius mused, sitting back and staring at her with soft eyes that offered comfort. "Sometimes my life feels like one unending job, but even after all these years, the end of a mission this large has an impact. I'm glad it's over." Portia snorted in a manner that reminded her of Mehrunes, and Arelius smiled. "I know that you think I live only for work, but I treasure these peaceful moments. I'd gladly retire, Portia, but I don't think that I could keep my hands out of this line of work even if I tried."
"Like I was thinking," Portia grinned. "You live for work. Did you hear about Horace?"
"He was released for lack of evidence," Arelius dismissively stated. "Bastard was hard to try with Mehrunes gone, Tamil's enemy dead, and my Blades missing. Other members of the Dawn might have implicated him, but Mehrunes had some of them killed. Others mysteriously died right before the trials, and the rest apparently know nothing about Horace."
"And the justice hound in you isn't chafing at the bit?" Portia asked, stunned by his indifference.
"No," Arelius slowly smiled. "Horace might not be in chains, but polite society is shunning him, and he's sold his house—claims he wants to move to another city to escape bad memories, but I bet that he sold the place to pay off massive debts, especially if he had some people disposed of. He's poor as a pauper, and cowardly sneaks like him tend to meet violent ends anyway. Here's to hoping that selling the house didn't pay off all of his debts."
"And in the meantime we get back to work," Portia assumed.
"Only when you're ready," Arelius assured.
"You mean only when you think I'm ready," she testily corrected. "Goblin's gall, but some people don't change." Portia tried to smile but failed as she wondered about what had become of her daedric armor. Arelius must have held his tongue when she'd popped out of the sky wearing nothing but an overly large tunic of the finest caliber. To his credit, he'd been very proper and respectful in not pressing her for answers, but then again, he was here now, offering her an ear, and silently encouraging her. No, she thought with a genuine smile now growing, some people survive everything intact.
"Dinner is ready," a servant called from the doorway, and Arelius rose.
"You'd best bring the medal, Portia. The boys will want to look at it again." Portia began to follow him out of the sitting room, but was distracted by a gentle stirring of the air that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Warmth unexpectedly flooded her veins, but then it was gone, disappointing her as she again questioned the extent of her recovery. The lurking doubts that plagued her would only grow over the next few years as such incidents increased in frequency, her dreams eventually becoming so vivid that she seemed to actually entered Oblivion on a nightly basis. Sometimes she stood in the throne room and listened to Mehrunes delegate, and sometimes she actually spoke to him, but she always awoke in the morning questioning the validity of these exchanges. The prince mocked her as usual, but was it real or only her imagination? When she once again began to feel his presence during the day, she began to think the former.
Months turned into years, and her scar might bleed, but Mehrunes and Portia had little direct interaction. She sometimes spoke aloud, as if he were present, but she rarely received an answer to confirm his presence or not, and being an officer among the Blades kept her from devoting too much time to chasing the tatters of chaos that seemed to persist within her. The new position actually turned out quite well for her—although it took adjustment since she had subordinates now—and the work was not as threatening as anything she'd already survived, so she learned not to fear directing other Blades to handle minor issues. Plus Arelius was always there, guiding her even if she sometimes wanted to slap the man. It was impossible to ignore him since she never really moved out of her room in his manor, even if she did earn enough to afford her own house. His family simply felt like her family now, and everyone seemed happy and to have brushed the subject of Mehrunes aside as new challenges appeared, but never her. Never.
It was a spring afternoon, five years after the events that had so affected her, that the High Chancellor dedicated a statue near the White Gold Tower to the defeat of Mehrunes Dagon, and Portia had almost smiled at the sight of it, thinking about how much the gesture would annoy the prince of destruction. Or maybe he would be amused, but either way, she mentally searched for that barest trace of him, conveying the information across the planes, and willing him to hear her.
"Please answer," she muttered aloud, suddenly desperate to feel something more concrete than a brief brushing of spirits. Goblin's gall, but years separated her from him, and she still couldn't just let Oblivion go, for which she sometimes wanted to slap herself. It wasn't that she was unhappy in life, but she had to admit that she'd never gotten over the feeling of being trapped alone within her body, even after years, and now this statue stood as proof that Tamriel was delegating what had happened to the past. The conflict was gone, dead, and commemorated, but it would never be over for her, and Portia was certain of that as she felt a trickle of blood slide down her hip. In that moment, when she so desperately yearned for the undercurrent of energy that was Oblivion, she felt a spark of fiery orange and heard a chuckle that came from deep within her consciousness.
"Mehrunes...?"
"Sherkyn. Tell them that they're idiots." Then he vanished, but from that moment onward, with effort, Portia could pop into his mind and vice versa, and they did so until exchanges become commonplace. The contact was oddly welcomed on Portia's part, and she liked to think that the feeling was mutual, for even when she and Mehrunes had been at each other's throats, she admitted that their wills were locked together in an eternal roll. The world could move on and forget Mehrunes and the struggle to stop him, but she could not forget, and didn't want to. There was a strong draw between them, and that was how she thought that it would remain, but the years were not kind to Portia Augustine...
...
...
"You've been restless, Portia," Arelius commented, finding her standing in her room with a bag at her feet. "I see that you've made your decision." Portia lifted her head and stared at Arelius. His posture was still impeccable, but his hair was quickly graying, although somehow it only added to his dignified handsomeness, and truly, he was still a very handsome man. Portia would still not want to meet him on the battlefield either—not when he continued to train and whoop new recruits into shape.
"I'm taking a break," she told him. "I can't stay here, and you know why."
"It's only been ten years," Arelius reasoned. "How can you be so sure that you're right?" Portia turned to look in the mirror, finding her physical form unchanged. True, that was not unusual in and of itself since she was still fairly young (mid-thirties), but she noticed what no one else did. If she stared into her eyes, she saw flashes of orange, and when she became angry or emotional, she felt her blood stir with more than adrenaline. It had been a slow development at first, but the more she'd interacted with Oblivion, the more she'd noticed minor changes and sought chaos, which she now realized had been reckless on her part. What had seemed a small remnant of Oblivion had grown into something much more powerful, as if the chaos inside of her had not been wholly removed, but only dormant.
"Dormant, Sherkyn? Or something small that I missed, and you've fed?"
Did I ask for your opinion?
"I'm certain, sir," she told Arelius. "I can feel it inside of me, and eventually other people will notice. How can I continue to live and work like this when I'm not...," she swallowed, "not aging?" She hated to say something that sounded so ridiculous, but she knew that her body should be showing changes as she grew older. Instead, she looked like she was no older than twenty-five, youthful and beautiful, which Lucretia sometimes commented on. Mehrunes might also have implied something, the son of a bitch.
"So you'll leave for how long?" Arelius asked.
"I don't know, and I don't really need to tell you, do I?" she ruefully smiled. "Somehow you always know anyway." She lifted her bag and strode downstairs with Arelius at her side, the house mostly unchanged since their initial reunion but for seasonal decor as they passed the familiar halls and rooms. "I'll continue working abroad, under your orders, and I'll return to check on assignments and visit. It's not really a demotion. I'm just doing more fieldwork now."
"You make a fine officer," Arelius sternly commented, making Portia smile. "The position will always be open for you when you return." They were at the door, and Portia stepped outside into the early night air, intent on getting an immediate start on her journey north. She had messages to deliver, and Arelius would not take kindly to her wasting time.
"Will you be terribly disappointed if I don't succeed you?" she asked, perfectly serious as she stared at the man now leaning against the doorframe. He wore one of his secretive smiles that still had the power to annoy or make her suspicious, but this time she merely waited for his response, patiently gauging his carefully neutral face.
"There isn't much in life that I regret, Portia," he stated, the city cradled in silence and darkness around them, but the lantern hanging above the manor's door encasing the two friends in light. "You only disappointed me once, because you ran, but I don't foresee you ever doing that again. I'll admit that I'm pleased you still care so much about my opinion. Don't stay away too long, Blade. You'll be missed."
"You're haven't tried to dissuade me from leaving very much," Portia warily observed. "Either you're very confident that you'll reel me back in, or you've found another protege. Oh well. I'll see you later, sir. Tell Pyrus that he can keep my medal, and don't push him too hard in his training. You were once a green recruit too."
"I make no promises," Arelius said with a smile. "You turned out alright despite my demands, didn't you?" Portia rolled her eyes, and he laughed. "So long, Blade. It's always an honor to work with you." He embraced her like a daughter, and then watched her walk away, and somewhere in the nearby shadows, a sleek, feminine figure leaned against the wall to play witness. "That one might stop coming back one day," Arelius quietly commented. "She would make a fine replacement, but she's right: it might not be her choice. I'm merely glad to have served with her for so long, and to have set her on this path."
"Life has a way of working itself out, even if it's a bitch sometimes," came a familiar dark elf's voice from the shadows. Arelius glanced toward the figure and smiled despite the faint red of glowing eyes that greeted his gaze.
"You got my message then?" he asked. "I trust that you can handle it, and when you get back, stop by for the evening or I'll hit you this time. I'm an old man now, Tamil, and it makes me happy to hear about the exploits of my former pupils."
"Yes, sir," the woman answered in amusement before disappearing, and Arelius went back inside to the waiting arms of his wife. He might not like how certain things had turned out, but if it widened his range of contacts in the darker half of the city, he'd deal with it. A man with fewer regrets than might be expected, but more hardships than his share, he settled into his bed and closed his eyes for a decent night's sleep, quite content to let those whom he'd worked so tirelessly to shape continue his work into the dead of night. Yes, he would sleep well and let others worry about what they couldn't control. He was proud and satisfied with his work, and a man could ask for nothing more in life.
**************
Portia stood on a boulder perched carefully atop a sloping hill, and stared at the Imperial City as the moonlight shone off of its white walls. It was beautiful, and it was home, which caused a dull ache in her heart as she considered the friends that she was leaving behind. It wasn't like she was leaving permanently, for she was only doing fieldwork and would periodically return to her rooms at Arelius's manor, but she felt like she was turning a page in the book of her life, and so she stared with nostalgia as she thought of grabbing beers with Arelius or helping Lucretia in kitchen, training Pyrus to hold his sword more firmly, and sitting on her balcony to watch the stars. There were memories there that could not be replaced, and she knew that she would return here in a matter of weeks, perhaps to give up fieldwork like this all together.
And if that's not always an option?
Portia was reminded of why she had taken this assignment in the first place, and it had everything to do with the chaos that had never been completely separated from her body. She had been changed from wearing the sphere, and she wasn't sure if she wanted the results to manifest themselves while she was around other people. Friends would be a comfort if difficulties set in, but she wouldn't lie to herself. She wasn't in pain or in need of aid, but she did doubt whether any of them would truly understand. When she'd told Arelius that she thought she'd been somewhat physically changed in the way of aging, he'd listened and reasoned through the matter, although she was certain that he trusted her judgement.
"He just wanted to keep me as his officer," Portia softly smiled to herself, missing the man already. "But he'll also miss me," she reflected, having long accepted that Arelius was not as pragmatic and coldly meddlesome as she'd once believed. He'd even adopted Pyrus, making the boy a third upcoming Blade along with his two biological sons—a development which had been a great source of amusement to Portia, but she was also genuinely pleased with the decision. If she would change as much as she anticipated, going back to Arelius and his family would not always be an option, and letting her leave the Blades would be easier for Arelius if he had a project to keep him busy. In the end, she suspected that the man cared far more about people than the empire, and what a revelation that had been.
What if they grow old and I don't...? She fought back the sadness of such a thought since there was no such surety, although Tamil had once commented that she had the timeless quality of one of the undead, and this despite the fact that Portia was most certainly alive. Thinking on this, she remained staring at the city, knowing what had happened to Tamil and why, for the woman had told her a very long story years ago, when the dunmer had finally returned to handle nighttime jobs. She wondered if Tamil also thought about her future with uncertainty, but if the woman did, she kept her reservations to herself, preferring to maintain her sarcastic, acerbic manner and disappear for long periods of time. But that was Tamil.
"I won't make the future any better by dreading it," Portia told herself, jumping from the boulder and continuing on her course.
"You'll be forced to return eventually," Mehrunes smugly asserted. "You will always be mine."
"Why?" Portia asked, pulling her cloak closer about her as the winter wind swept down the hill and across her face. Instincts and habit made her draw from the energy within her to warm her cold limbs, but she did so sparingly. "Why is the chaos still inside of me?"
"Removing all of it would have killed you," Mehrunes explained. "So I left a small amount, but I didn't think that you'd actually be able to harness it. I should have known better. You are the lady of Oblivion, Sherkyn. It only rains in my realm when you're sad, and that never changed, even after you left. You belong here and will return when you tire of counting the mortal years go by. You have no choice. Life for one of us amongst mortals is not possible."
"You know more about what's happening than I do," Portia commented, thinking of Arelius's graying hair. She knew that he would grow old and die before her if they both met natural ends, but what if she had to watch Pyrus grow old? She frowned as a shiver ran through her body. I should have never accepted Arelius's blackmail.
"You don't meant that."
"No, but I can say it anyway." Mehrunes chuckled, and Portia felt an unseen hand brush through her hair.
"You'll come back," he darkly promised her.
"But not today," Portia contemplatively asserted. "Not today.
"One day."
"Perhaps," but she knew that the prince was right, for the world would change without her, but right now, it wasn't so bad. She was just a Blade climbing a mountain to deliver a message and do some spying. Then she'd be back in the Imperial City, helping train young Blades, and she'd feel like an average citizen going about her life. That was enough for her, and the rest she could worry about when it happened. Until then, she merely had to tolerate Mehrunes on a daily basis, although the thought of seeing him again was hardly troubling, for she knew that it was inevitable anyway. One way or another, she would stand before the daedric prince again.
"All I wanted when I agreed to steal from you was to get an old boss off my back," she smiled, amazed by how events had unfolded. She laughed with Mehrunes as they both shared the memory of him nearly going to a fit when they met at the palace ball, for now she could appreciate just how frustrated and testy he'd been in letting her walk away. With the laughter softening, Portia almost reached for the prince, but whether to slap him or run a hand across his face, she wasn't sure. She settled for remaining distant, her feet climbing ever higher.
"Not today," she whispered into the night wind, the first evidence of dawn creeping over the far hilltops. "Not today, but one day."
*************
The Daedric Princes and Their Domains,
Exert, page 80
No one is entirely certain where the popular Imperial song comes from, but the origin of 'Oblivion's Lady' has been traced to central Cyrodiil, where people hold that if one prays at the shrine of Mehrunes Dagon, a woman sometimes appears. This phenomena has been reported elsewhere as well, and scholars have studied the few sources available with interest. I myself discounted the rumors until I recently traveled to the Imperial City, where I was told that a mysterious woman in royal garb appears every Queen Mother's Night to light candles at the grave of a mysterious Altmer mage named Gilthan Lorenlee. The superstition has grown to such enormous proportions that hundreds of people light candles at the grave in hopes of winning the lady's favor, but no one really knows who she is, although I've met some who I suspect know more than they share.
But I digress. As I was saying, I saw the lady myself, and I asked her who she is, telling her that I was writing a book on the daedra. She said that she is nothing but a Blade, and that she was meeting some friends for drinks. I was stunned, but before I could question her further, she was gone, and I would have believed her an impostor except that her eyes had glowed with a strange, orange light. Is this woman a servant of Lord Dagon or something else entirely? Our only hints come from the popular poem that is sung throughout the empire:
Lady of Ember, a flame on the wind,
Dance with the darkness, the chaos within.
Blood of the ancients, tears of a mortal
Touch of a god, defender of portals,
One of us truly, temper the fires
that roll and bellow and consume with desire.
From the city of white to black palace of night,
you bested your enemy but withheld your spite.
We'll see you again, of this we are sure,
On the wings of the 'morrow or Oblivion's shore.
I can't believe that it's over! I always feel this hole when I finish a story, especially when I really love writing about the characters, but alas, all good things must come to an end. Thank you to everyone who has been reading, and I'd dearly appreciate it if you left ending comments/reviews. As a writer, feedback is most treasured, and I'd love to hear from everyone who's been reading. What did you like or dislike? Favorite characters? Are there any questions that the story left you with, or do you have suggestions concerning content or grammar? That sort of thing. Thanks, and I hope that you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
