Old Habits Die Hard, Can an old dog learn new tricks? Options

[haute ecole rider]

This is the story I have been posting on the Unnamed Forum. I'm in the process of moving it over here for those who have not yet seen it. Enjoy!

Chapter 1.1a Escape

Waking up vomiting nothing but a small amount of bile, I gagged on the burning in the back of my throat. Coughing the last of it from my mouth, I curled on my right side on the foul cot, knees drawn to my chest. The rough wood of the cot’s frame pressed into my cheek. The smith’s hammer pounding on the inside of my skull sent stars shooting across the backs of my eyes. Grinding the heels of my hands into my closed lids in an attempt to drive the lights away only made the damn hammer pound even harder. Groaning, I turned until I lay on my back, opening my eyes.

Ignoring the taste of moldy stones on my tongue, I gulped down deep breaths of the damp air. The stars subsided as I stared at the stone blocks rising into the gloom above my head. The hammering slowed to once every shaky breath. Raising my thin wrists, I looked at the iron shackles encircling their ache. The prominent veins in the backs of my hands disappeared as the blood drained from them. Turning them so their palms faced me, I studied the ghosts of rough calluses, dark skin pale in the dim light of the window above my head.

Shouting. Clashing of steel on steel. A dark room spinning around me. Pitchers breaking, fluid flying everywhere. The helmed face of the Legion rider before me, his gauntleted hand holding my shoulder in an implacable grip, shouting something at me. My empty hands between us, palms facing the rider, my voice drowned by the chaos around us. Then the cold night air, my bare feet cringing from the rough cobblestones. Falling through the paving into darkness.

“Ach, what happened?” I muttered softly to myself. In spite of my whisper, the smith’s hammer pounded hard for a couple of heartbeats before slowing down again. Struggling to a seated position, I ignored the familiar stabbing pain in my left side, the hard throbbing in my right knee. Scooting my rump along the cot, I reached the pitcher sitting on the rickety table at the foot of the cot. Looking into the mug next to it, I grimaced at the dirty fluid inside. Picking up the pitcher, I raised it to my lips. Trying to avoid tasting it, I gulped the stale water hurriedly. Taking another mouthful and setting the pitcher down, I rinsed my furry teeth with it. Rising to my feet and leaning my right hand on the wall, I limped to the privy at the rear of the cell, spitting the foul water out.

“Awake now, are you, pretty Redguard?” the sarcastic, biting voice sounded behind me. Shooting a glare over my shoulder, I took in the barred door, the Dunmer in his cell across the way. “How do you like your cell?” he continued, his voice still mocking. Pretty, am I? Disheveled, filthy, thin and weak - no, pretty would be the last word I’d use to describe myself.

Turning around, I took a limping step through the trickle of faint moonlight falling from a window too small to show stars. Another limp took me past the table, its pathetic candle shedding little additional light. One more step brought me to the cell door.

“Roomy enough for you?” the mocking continued as I studied the Dunmer. He looked as unhealthy as I felt. Turning away from him, I limped around the small room, hunched against the sharp pain in my left side. Nausea roiled in my stomach, and my muscles quivered uncontrollably, their former strength forgotten. “I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you,” the other’s voice followed me on my limited perambulation. “No more sunshine, no more open seas. Just a box and a dirty sunbeam for the rest of your sorry life. Bet you’re glad it won’t last long, eh?”

“What?” I returned to the barred door, squinting at the Dunmer across the way. “I won’t be here long?” my voice cracked, weak in my still-burning throat. My dry lips split as I spoke.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” The Dunmer’s voice turned bitter along with his faded red eyes. “They put you here to forget about you. They don’t care if you die, Redguard.” His sharp-edged voice grated on my already raw nerves. The sound of a bolt being drawn back, a heavy door creaking open somewhere down the passage reached us. “Hear that Redguard?” the Dunmer’s tone became strident. “They’re coming for you!” He drew back into the shadows of his cell as I heard voices.

“Tell me what happened to my sons,” an old man’s voice reached me, heavy with grief.

“Sire, all we know is that they were attacked,” a woman’s voice, clipped with authority and respect, responded as booted steps drew nearer the cells. “We must hurry, Sire, we need to get you to safety.” I heard the slightest undertone of anxiety in her voice.

A tall figure, clad in steel armor with blue enamel and brass trim marking him as one of the Blades, lifted his torch at me. He stopped outside my cell, his Redguard features scowling at me in the guttering light. The woman, a little shorter than I and clad in the same armor, paused at the sight of me. Her blue eyes sparked angrily beneath the helm. “This cell was supposed to be empty!” she exclaimed softly under her breath.

“I don’t know, Captain,” the tall Redguard shrugged, keeping his cold black eyes on me. “Some mix-up with the City Watch.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the captain responded. Beyond her, another armored figure and an old Imperial man in royal purple robes appeared. The third Blade matched my height, and like me, turned out to be Redguard as well.

“Prisoner!” the captain’s voice crackled between the stone walls. My back straightened involuntarily, painfully, at the unmistakable command in the woman’s voice. “Stand back beneath the window!”

Although I had been out of the Legion for four years, old habits die hard. Complying with her order, I limped to the back of the cell, behind the moonbeam. The captain unlocked my cell door while I squinted through the grey light. Opening the door, she stepped back to let the other two Blades enter. The tall one advanced to stand between me and the others. Sensing his dislike of me, thick as molasses in a Skyrim winter, I accepted it, as I accepted the captain’s authority, since I could do nothing else.

“Watch the prisoner, Glenroy,” the captain ordered, moving to the side wall opposite my cot.

The slim sword whickered as Glenroy drew it. “Aye, Captain,” he growled, turning the blade so it shimmered in the moonlight between us. “You stay where you are,” he snarled at me. “Don’t even breathe.” Breathing slowly and shallowly, I stayed put. Looking past him, I regarded the other Redguard. Standing at ease near the door, his impassive expression scared me in its implacability. Years of combat in the Legion had taught me that the most deadly enemies are the ones you can’t read.

The captain started muttering under her breath, and I felt the unmistakable tingle of magicka shimmer over the plain rock face. Catching my breath, I realized the captain was a Breton, with high innate magicka. Probably trained as a battlemage.

The old man, his dark fur-lined robe a shadow in the shadows of the cell, stepped past the impassive soldier and peered at me, his sad eyes puzzled. “Come closer,” his voice smoothing from a grieved coarseness to a commanding tone.

Glancing at Glenroy, I hesitated, but he fell back to stand beside the old man, keeping his blade between me and the other. Acutely aware of the shimmering sword, I stepped forward into the light.

The old man’s eyes widened. “Ah, yes, I’ve seen you before.” His dark gaze held mine, once again becoming sad and resigned. “That means today is the day, and the hour is near.” Suddenly aware that the smith’s hammer had stopped pounding in my head, I stared at the old man.

Licking my dry lips, I remembered how the captain had addressed him. “Pardon me, Sire?” He can’t be - no, not the Emperor, not here, not in my cell! My eye fell on the large red amulet on his brocaded chest. The Amulet of Kings? The Emperor! Stiffly against the pain in my left side, I bowed. “How may I serve you, Sire?” Old habits die hard, very hard, indeed. Looking up, I saw a faint smile touch Uriel Septim’s eyes.

“I have served Tamriel all my life,” he answered. “You too, shall serve Tamriel in your own way. But you have your own path to follow.” His eyes grew even darker. “Be warned, though. There will be blood and death before the end.”

“Blood and death are not new to me, Sire,” I spoke softly, surprised by the weariness I heard in my cracking voice.

The wall of my cell crumbled beneath the captain’s hands, falling away in a cloud of dry, choking dust. A passageway appeared beyond. “Sire,” her voice cut between us. “We must go now, there is little time.” She disappeared into the darkness beyond the jagged stone edges.

Glenroy turned the top of the slender blade toward me as the Emperor started toward the opening. “What of the prisoner, Sire?”

“Leave her be,” the command voice was quietly unmistakable as Uriel Septim stepped through the opening, following the captain. “Her path may yet lie with ours.” Glenroy gave me one last glare, sheathing his sword and following the Emperor. The third Blade turned his back on me and brought up the rear.

Listening to the sound of their booted feet fading away, I glanced around the cell again. Something coiled in my belly, just below the breastbone. On my discharge from the Legion, I had once hoped to find peace and health after decades of blood and death. Peace and health had avoided me, and now a mere hint of blood and death had found me.

[haute ecole rider]

Chapter 1.3a - The Assassination



Slipping through yet another door, I found myself surrounded by familiar architecture - the dressed stone and columns of the buried city. I moved forward, finding the smoother floor easier to navigate.



Voices reached me around a bend in the corridor, voices that I recognized. Glenroy’s tones rang strained, angry. The other Blade sounded as impassive as my memory of his visage. The Emperor’s voice was absent. Is he still with them? My heart beat faster for a moment. Is he dead? Did the Blades fail? But they wouldn’t still be alive, then, I reassured myself unconvincingly.



They moved away from me, compelling me to hurry down the hallway. Rounding the corner, I found myself on a ledge overlooking a large chamber, its interior crisscrossed by shadows and deeper shadows. My night vision remained good enough for me to see the footprints in the fine powder below. Three sets. Good, the Emperor is still alive! My heart sank, however, when the prints diverged to the deep shadows on the opposite sides of the room, where swirled traces in the thick dust indicated skirmishes. 



Carefully letting myself down from the ledge, I kept close to the near wall, the dark blade of my new-found longsword nearly invisible in the shadows. Nearly tripping over a red-robed corpse, I found the body still warm. Good, I’m not far behind them. I paused long enough to search the assassin’s purse, collecting the two drakes I found there, before progressing on. 



Before much longer, I heard again the clash of weapons on armor. Knowing my condition was still weak, even with repeated applications of that old healing spell, I resisted the impulse to run pell mell towards the sounds of combat. Instead, I settled for hobbling a little faster, while scanning the shadows for ambushes.


Reaching the far side of the chamber, their trail entered another narrow corridor. Judging by the sound of the skirmish ahead, they were just around the corner a couple of meters in front of me. Close quarters - no, really close quarters. That means one on one fighting.



Rounding the corner, I nearly bumped into the purple robes of Uriel Septim. He stood well back of the ruckus up ahead, his own shortsword drawn. 



“Excuse me, Sire,” I said quietly to avoid alarm. I didn’t like the way that sword flickered in the guttering torchlight. The last thing I needed was for my own Emperor to stab me just because he was as jumpy as I was. 



Uriel Septim did start a little, but only looked at me over his shoulder. Because of the way the shadows fell, I could not read his expression, but I could feel tension emanating off his form. Without a word, he stepped against the wall so I could move past him. Ahead, the broad shoulders of the impassive Blade blocked my view of the skirmish in front of him. Catching only fragments of the frenzied activity another meter away, I could make out the end of the corridor, the floating dust stirred up by Glenroy and the attacking assassin, and the heavy breathing of the two opponents. 



Glenroy’s better training gained the upper hand, however, and he moved out quickly into the chamber beyond, advancing right on a diagonal from the archway. The implacable Redguard stepped over the slumped assassin and glided to the left. I stopped at the end of the corridor and waited, the Emperor behind me. 



The two Blades scanned the room, then sheathed their katanas. Taking it as a signal that the room was clear, I stepped aside to let the Emperor by, and knelt to search the dead assassin’s purse. 



“Dammit!” Glenroy’s explosion brought my head up in time to see him stalking towards me, his katana drawn. My pathetic attempt to rise to my feet resulted in my tripping over the dead assassin and falling backwards against the wall. “That prisoner’s one of them!”



A swirl of purple robes and an upraised hand stopped Glenroy in his tracks, his black gaze glaring at me. “Stop,” the Emperor’s voice again held that unmistakable authority. “She is helping us.” Standing next to Glenroy, Uriel Septim turned to look at me, where I lay shaking against the wall. “She must continue helping us.”



“As you command, Sire,” Glenroy muttered, still glowering at me. The Emperor moved forward into the room, where the stern Blade waited near another doorway at the far side. Under Glenroy’s hostile stare, I struggled to my feet, my knee complaining, the pain in my left side pulling me off balance. Straightening my back to meet the Blade’s angry look took every ounce of courage I had. “Don’t try anything funny,” he warned me.



“Sir,” I spoke quietly, fighting to keep my voice even, “I’m too old and sick right now. The Emperor could kill me easily if he wanted to.”



Glenroy’s eyes narrowed at me under the ornate helm. Moving his katana to the side, he stepped up until we stood toe to toe, Glenroy stooping slightly so we were nose to nose. “You made it this far, prisoner,” he growled, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “And you’ve managed to arm yourself. If that doesn’t make you one of them -” he spat the word, “then I was born yesterday!”



“Glenroy!” the Emperor’s voice, still smooth as velvet, somehow had the effect of a cracking whip. “Let the prisoner come to me.”



Still glaring at me, the tall Blade stepped aside, gesturing with that fine blade for me to move, and move quickly. Uriel Septim showed more patience as I limped towards him, towards the pool of cold light he stood in. My shoulder blades tensed as Glenroy shadowed me, his katana throwing flickers of light from its blade around the room.



“Baurus,” Glenroy said when I stopped in front of the Emperor, “keep an eye on the prisoner. I’m going to check the room again.” Beyond the Emperor’s shoulder, I saw the impassive Blade nod in acknowledgement. He remained standing at ease, his katana still sheathed. Even so, I found his implacable gaze even more unsettling than Glenroy’s overt hostility.



“Please excuse my Blades,” Uriel Septim’s voice drew me back to him. He smiled, his eyes remaining sad. “It has been an - ah, eventful night for all of us, with many twists and surprises. If I hadn’t seen what I have seen, I would be suspicious of you as well. It can be so hard to tell friend from foe under these circumstances.”



“Sire,” I responded, “These Blades are sworn to you, and it is obvious to me that they take their duty more seriously than their own lives. I understand why they do not trust me.” Seeing the merest flicker in Baurus’s shadowed gaze, I knew I had struck a nerve. “Believe me, were I in their place, I wouldn’t trust me either.”



Glenroy’s booted footsteps returned to my back, and my shoulder blades tensed up again, until I heard the sound of his katana being sheathed. The Emperor was nodding at my words, now his gaze sharpened on me. 



“You’ve served Akatosh for some years, have you not?” This time the smile touched his eyes at what he saw on my face. “Think you that I didn’t notice the Red Dragon on your left arm, back there in the cell?”



Unconsciously, I rubbed the shield straps on my left forearm, covering the place where the old tattoo resided. It had faded almost into invisibility, more a mere bloodstain on my dark skin. How could he have noticed that, as dim as the light was in that cell? A shiver ran up my spine.



“Do you worship the Nine?” Uriel Septim asked. 


Do I? “I never really thought much about it, Sire,” I answered truthfully. 



“Like you, I’ve served the Nine for many, many years,” Uriel Septim observed quietly. “I’ve always listened to them, found my guidance, even during the darkest of times, in them. It seems to me that at least one is now trying to speak to you. Listen to your heart, your gut, and you will hear the Divine Voice.”



I shook my head. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about.” I looked down at the dusty floor between us. “I’m sorry, Sire.”



“You’ve been caught up in the mortal world,” the Emperor responded. “The Voices of the Nine can be very quiet, and hard to hear. You have to learn to listen to the silence that is within you.” 


“How do I do that, Sire?” I asked. 



“You could always go to the priests in the Chapels,” Uriel Septim’s tone lightened slightly. Looking up, I was surprised to see a crooked smile on his face, giving me the impression of irony. “But I think, for you, just finding a quiet place to be will be sufficient.” Now the smile faded. “For me, I’ve listened to them all my life, I have been trained to it from birth. And now, they are telling me I go to my grave this night.”



I inhaled sharply, sensing the Blades’ unease at the Emperor’s statement. “But Sire,” I began, but he raised his hand.



“Ah, but the Blades can not change my fate,” he said sadly. “As much as they will try, as much as you will try, no mortal is able to change what is set in the stars.”



Feeling the blood drain from my face, I considered the old man in front of me. Why is he affecting me like this? Because he is the Emperor?



“Our father is a loser!” Cieran shouted at me. “He is nothing!” he spat at the ground. 



I clenched my fists. “No, our father is like the Emperor!” I matched his tone. “He is wise, kind, and just!”



“If he were like the Emperor,” Cieran snapped back, “he would never have left Mother and me before you were even born! Only freaks abandon their families without a word!”



I leaped into Cieran, knocking his skinny, seven-year-old body off his feet. Landing on him, I started kicking and pummeling him with my fists. “Our father is not a freak!” I was screaming. “He is a hero -!” My words soon became unintelligible.



“Stop it, children!” my mother’s voice cracked between us as she hauled me off my older brother. “What are you two fighting about?” Her black gaze, normally full of love, quelled us with its fierceness. 



“You be quiet, Julian!” Cieran hissed at me. “Don’t you dare say it!”



“Our father is not a freak!” I shouted at my brother, wanting to get the last word. My mother’s gasp brought my attention to her face, gone pale in spite of her dark complexion. Tears sprang in her eyes, then she was pulling me up to my feet with a painful grip on my shoulder. “Julian,” her voice was cold, “go to your bed, immediately. And do not speak of your father ever again.”


“But Mother -!” I protested, for the sun still stood high in the western sky. Her hand cracked across my cheek, hard. Gasping, I stared at my gentle mother, the woman who had never struck either of us in the entire six years of my life.



“While I can see my fate,” the Emperor’s voice brought me back to the present, “yours is not visible to me. But in your face, I behold the Sun’s Companion.” 



I stared at him. What did I just miss? Sun’s Companion?



“The dawn of Akatosh’s bright glory may yet banish the darkness to come,” Uriel Septim continued. “With such hope, and with the promise of your help, I must be content.” He smiled sadly again. “Our paths may run together for a while yet, but soon you must go your own way.” He held up one hand to me. “I must know your name, Sun’s Companion.”



“J- Julian,” I stammered, trying to make sense of his words. 



“Sire, we must go on,” Glenroy broke into the silence that followed the Emperor’s words. The tall Blade passed me and headed for the door at the opposite end of the chamber. Uriel Septim turned and followed him.