Author's Note: So, the Gray Fox sighting was actually entirely unplanned, just something I wrote up on a whim. It always bothered me that "the Gray Fox watches over the beggars" and never once comments on you snacking on them.

OMNOMNOMNOM.

Disclaimer: Please, tell the lawyers to stop calling. I already told them I didn't do it.

I mean, uh. Do not own Oblivion, except for a single copy of it which I keep under my pillow, when it isn't burning a hole in my DVD Drive.

Nobody Important

Chapter Eight: Wandering Healer

In which Lyssi finds time to level her Restoration skill.

By: N3k0

Lyssi left the abandoned building the way she'd come in. She knew, of course, that she should probably avoid becoming predictable, avoid following a pattern, but just once wasn't anything terrible.

She still wore the light leather from her escape, though she'd wisely rid herself of the wrist shackles. As much as she wanted to wear her Void-black armor, she knew that would draw more attention to her than simply remaining a nondescript Bosmer who may or may not live in Cheydinhal.

One of the guards threw her a dirty look, and another mentioned something about her being a shifty sort. She looked up at them with guileless green eyes, and they seemed surprised she'd heard them.

That was what the enormous pointy ears were for, wasn't it?

One of them muttered an apology, the other glared in a nonspecific direction and said nothing. Either way, they let her pass, the massive gate swinging open before her. It was a long trip, straight west on the road, but she could probably make it in at least two days. That meant … she'd be four days out, probably at least two later than the Blades expected her to have gone to Chorrol.

Baurus, she thought his name was – he'd probably be kicking himself for trusting a monster like her. Poor guy. She couldn't help it though. She wasn't able to travel during the day, and she had to visit the Sanctuary first.

As she saw the magnificent White-Gold Tower – the high walls, the protected Imperial City – creeping over the horizon, she felt the first tearing pain of hunger. It looked like she'd be spending the rest of the night in the City. She hoped the guards wouldn't recognize her as the escapee, but she'd probably have to step lightly either way. She was only going to be in and out in a short while – that was what she thought. She'd just find a bum, they slept outside and would be easy marks.

Slipping into the city, she entered the Market District, keeping her head low. Maybe it was actually her intent to avoid attention that drew it on the empty street – there was a gloved hand on her arm, and she was turned around, bodily. She looked up with wide, innocent eyes, catching his easily. "... Something wrong?"

She knew she had him when he blinked, owlishly, confused. He let her go, shaking his head. "Sorry, miss. No, nothing's wrong. I thought … for a moment … nevermind."

That was one of the benefits of vampirism. There were so few.

And she'd just come to one of the drawbacks: behind the weapon store, A Fighting Chance, she found the sleeping, old woman. She could smell the poisoned blood, knew disease ran in the woman's veins. She could feast, risk spreading the illness, even though she couldn't catch it, or …

She held one hand over the beggar's sleeping form. It was a matter of moments, and a few, softly spoken words, and the woman was purged of illness. She knelt, gently lifting the her prey from her bedroll, and sank her fangs gently into the pale, slender neck. Careful – mustn't take too much, especially in someone as old and malnourished as the beggar. Her task complete, the warmth of life spreading through her veins, she forced herself to let go, to take not even another sip, since that one would just lead into another, and another.

She cast one, final spell, making sure no trace of her curse had spread to the woman, and healing the damage she'd done. The beggar would wake none the wiser. Maybe she'd be a little tired, but she'd be alive.

Standing, Lyssi made to leave – there was a figure between her and the only reasonable escape route. She hadn't felt his eyes upon her, but they were there now, along with the rest of him. He was a large, imposing sort of man, at least to her eyes, and he wore a gray, leather mask over his features. Something about him seemed wrong … she didn't know how to describe it, other than a sense of powerful magic in the air.

"You did a good thing, with your magic." His voice was quiet, and … indistinct, somehow. She couldn't tell, really, if it were deep and masculine, or higher, feminine. She couldn't tell if it were young or old, healthy or rasping. It seemed to be ever-shifting, to her ears, and her memory could only hold on to his actual words, not their sound. "Healing that woman. Such a simple matter, but one even the priests of the Nine would not take up."

"Know this: My name is the Gray Fox, little one. I watch over these beggars … as once, I watched over you." He'd been a legend, a myth, certainly not a flesh and blood person, and he certainly had not been watching over her when she'd been turned into the thing she now was. "You may feed here, if you must – but should a single beggar die in this manner, I will hold you personally responsible."

She shuddered slightly, taking a step back. Her heel bumped into the woman's side, and the beggar stirred. She looked down, to make sure the woman hadn't woken up, and when she looked up again, the Gray Fox was gone. There was a nondescript man walking by, and she considered asking him if he'd seen the legendary thief. She decided not to, though. He'd probably look at her like she was crazy, then tell her, in small words, that the Gray Fox did not exist. Everyone knew that.

Except now, she didn't.

That morning, as she slept in the Merchant's Inn, a series of fragmented nightmares claimed her. She only clearly remembered one of them - it was the one that shook her awake.

The sun was shining, and at first it was just a light breeze tickling her face. She reached to rub her nose, only to find that her arms were held rigidly at her sides, and her whole body was covered in … or made from … a fine, green glass.

She was standing on the edge of a high cliff, her toes just over the edge. The wind began to buffet her, harshly, demanding she move, take even one step. And then the ground beneath her feet began to crumble away.

As she fell, she felt tiny shards of herself break away, shatter, glass in the wind, until she was little more than a fine, green powder, her ashes spread all across Tamriel.

She jerked violently, eyes opening wide. She had only a second to comprehend two very important facts - she was now awake, and something had awakened her - before she was rolling sideways out of bed. Her timing was impeccable; the pillow she'd been sleeping on had quite abruptly become two separate half-pillows. She lunged for the red-robed Dawn-worshiper, using the only weapon readily at her disposal - her fangs.

The woman slashed her stomach, a cut that threatened to expose Lyssi's entrails, if it had been any deeper. She hadn't thought she'd need to sleep in full armor! The Bosmer recoiled for only a moment, to hiss and clutch her stomach with one hand. She held her left hand out, chanting quickly and hoping the lyrical intonation was completely correct. A fireball began to build against her palm, making her shudder. She hated fire - any fire made her terribly edgy - but it was remarkably effective against humans and the like, as well as her vampiric brethren. The woman screamed when the fireball hit her and blackened her skin.

Of course, like many insane fanatics, what she chose to scream made very little sense: "My soul goes to PARADISE!"

And then her body at least became little more than a pile of charred flesh on the ground at Lyssi's feet. The vampire muttered a quiet healing incantation, feeling the cut become just a little more shallow, the likelihood diminishing that she would yet get to see just how long her own intestines could be.

After the crazy cultist decided to be far too dead to do much but leave Lyssi alone, the girl grabbed her pack, and the long katana she had 'found' when one of the Emperor's guards died. It was stupid of her to forget the thing when she was in need.

It was evening again when she finally set out – hours after the attack – and she found her trip to Weynon Priory to be entirely uneventful, even boring. Almost, anyway.

A large, gray wolf approached. He looked young, inexperienced. He should still be with his pack, not roaming alone like he was. A nasty cut over his left eye still oozed blood. Lyssi held one hand under the beast's nose, making soothing noises so that it would understand she meant no harm. In return, he hesitantly, butted his head against her leg. She held her hand an inch or two away from the maimed eye, calling on the same healing magic that made her own stomach wound more bearable.

The wolf's eye became rapidly good as new, though Lyssi felt her belly twinge as though someone had filled the cut with molten silver. She really needed to bandage the injury properly or at least finish healing it. She smiled at the wolf, patting him on the head. He licked her injury a couple of times and whined softly. She shook her head, shooing him.

A mounted guard behind her had noticed the spectacle, and, over the sound of the horse's hooves clattering, she heard him mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Tree-hugger" before continuing his patrol. He seemed to decide that it wasn't worth the effort to stalk and kill the beast, which quickly vanished into the wood.

It was, however, worth the effort to strike up a conversation with her.

Apparently.

"You goin' to Chorrol?" She was on the main road to it - she hadn't the faintest idea where else she would be going if she hadn't been headed for Chorrol. Lyssi nodded. "Not much there fer a wily adventuring type like yourself. They've got lots of sheep, and lots of cheese." Lyssi shrugged. Not that she particularly minded either sheep or cheese. She wondered if the guardsman would be any less friendly if he knew her profession.

Or her nature.

"You don't talk much, do ya, missy?" He looked down at her - not a particularly difficult feat. She was short, as elves went, and he sat atop a horse. She shrugged. He gave a rather awkward-sounding chuckle. She was used to it.

"Jauffre?" She directed the question at the guard.

He seemed to take a second to understand what she meant. "No, that ain't my name. I do know of 'im though. Runs a little place called Weynon Priory, just up the road there. Nice enough fellow, 'e is." Another pause. "You lookin' to speak with him, then? It's awful late for a visit, like, ya know?" At Lyssi's nod, he shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

"I mean, its yer business, but if he ain't awake, it just ain't proper, and ... " He sighed. "So ye're goin' no matter what I say, aren't ya?" At Lyssi's nod, he took his helmet off to scratch the back of his head. "What's yer name at leas'?"

She could give him that, at least. "Lyssi."

He was waiting for something further, but she wasn't particularly interested in offering more than that. "So ... I'm Joe. How're you? You want I just go away? Leave ya to yer ... walkin' quietly thing?"

Lyssi shrugged again. She didn't have any real preference either way.

"Right ... I'll ... do that, then." He urged his horse to go that little bit faster, so he could distance himself from his traveling companion of all of three minutes.

It was a strange thing, to be feared.

((Author's note:

And now it's time for something I figured would be a bit of fun. Let's read some of the notes from Lyssi's backpack!

That'll end well. ))

Princess:

You're one of my favorite mortals, did I ever tell you that? You're so interesting, and you do things even though your little brain's all knotted up with fear. I'd been meaning to give you this fun toy, along with the pile of vanishing gold. Did you spend it all yet?

Have some fun with it! Smack a guard, that'll be exciting. Won't it, Haskill?

Love,

Sheogorath

Lord of Flaming Dogs

P.S. Thanks again for all the laughs at Border Watch! I knew an assassin had the sneaks for something like that. Haskill bet you'd end up as cat food. Or was it rat food? Haskill, was it rat food?

Cat food, my Lord.