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]

Thanks, Destri, Winter Wolf, and Olen for your comments.

And Olen, I hope Old Habits continue to keep your interest!

Here is Chapter 2, the first of four parts:

Chapter 2.1 A New Purpose

Damn, it’s freezing! My teeth started chattering almost immediately Still, the water was clean, the late afternoon sun warm, and the shore of Lake Rumare quiet. Relishing the feeling of weightlessness, I swam from one side of the dock, around its far end, to the other. Finally, I could stand myself no longer. Picking up handfuls of sand from the lake bottom, I started scrubbing the accumulated dirt, sweat and blood off my skin. My long hair went from grey to white as I rubbed at it until my scalp squeaked.

Unable to tolerate the cold water any longer, I clambered out to perch on the edge of the dock near the shore, using the edge of my palms to scrape the water from my skin. Reaching for the stack of gear and clothes I had piled on the dock, I reached within the folds of the red robe, now tattered, to check that the Amulet still lay hidden.

Leaning over the water, I twisted the last of the moisture out of my hair. As the surface below rippled slowly, I studied my wavering reflection. My white hair cascaded around my gaunt face from a widow’s peak above a high forehead. I haven’t cut it in four years! I realized. Well, I’ve had other things on my mind. Studying my careworn features in the water, I tried to see what the Emperor saw in my face to trust me with something so precious as the Amulet. Grey-green eyes, deep-set, complete with crows-feet. Thin lips with fine lines bracketing them. A slightly bumpy nose. A naturally dark complexion with the grey cast of illness. Not exactly confidence-inspiring.

The soft breeze felt chill on my damp skin as I picked up the Amulet, cupping it in my hands. Its warmth was surprising, as were the aubergine swirling depths within the large red gem. This is supposed to contain the heart’s blood of Akatosh Himself. Something about a Covenant. Straightening up against the pain in my side, I considered the jewel. How best to carry it to Jauffre? It had slipped around underneath my cuirass since I left Baurus, constantly feeding my worry of losing it.

Do I dare wear it? Taking a deep breath, I took the golden chain and put it around my neck. The Amulet slipped into my lap, the clasp failing to hold. What was it Baurus had said about it? “Only the heir of the true Septim blood can wear it.” The full meaning of his statement hit me. This is how we find the true heir? The one who can wear it? In that case, it isn’t me. For some reason, I felt relieved. The weight of the entire Empire was not a burden I wished to carry.

Slipping the robe on, I picked up the shortsword and used its blade to slice the skirts to just below my hips. Then I tore the severed skirt into smaller strips, and wrapped the Amulet in one. Knotting the fabric over it, I twisted the free ends into a cord, then tied it around my neck, beneath the robe. Doing the same with another narrow piece gave me a way to tie my long hair back into a ponytail.

The white arches of the Ayleid ruin across the water made me shiver. Those places were never my favorite - musty, ancient places with strange light-crystals, creaky traps that remained deadly after years of disuse, spots of decomposition and old bones on the floors and walls, and echoing architecture of odd proportions. Shivering from the sensation of being watched by that place - don’t be silly, Julian, stone arches don’t watch you, it’s the creatures inhabiting them that do - I dressed quickly in my leathers, gathering up my gear. The shortsword went to my back, next to the quiver of arrows and the bow stave.

Picking up the longsword, I tested its edge - still keen. My memory compared the dark blade to the captain’s katana, its almost musical balance and silent song. Sadly, I regretted returning it to Baurus. But that was the right thing to do, I told myself. It was not mine to keep. Returning my attention to the serviceable blade in my hand, I started moving through the rhythms of the Sunbird Dance. My body felt awkward, the movements clumsy. It’s been a long time. I’m not sure I’m even doing this correctly.

“Let the energy flow through you,” Jelin’s voice reached me. “Let one position flow into the next. Only when you let the flow free will you develop grace with the blade.”

As I persisted, the movements became a little easier, but the pain in my knee and left side held me back. Sighing, I sheathed the sword and picked up the pack I had found along the way. Leaving the dock, I turned my face west, with the walls of the City Prison, and beyond it, of Imperial City itself, on my left, and started marching.

It was more of a limp than a march, but I didn’t mind. It was good to be outside again, with the breeze drying my hair. I needed a place to stop, to rest, to eat, to think things over, but not here. Not with that ruin across the way and the Prison above me.

After walking for a couple of hours, I came upon another weathered dock ahead. Slowing down, I looked around, for docks were usually associated with something else. Spotting a few tents up the slope from the shore, partially obscured by clustered boulders, I decided to check it out. Looking at the sun, I found it already touching the top of the mountains to the west.

Walking up the slope as carefully and quietly as I could in the oversized boots, I kept my eyes open for life. A dog alerted on me, his tail stiff behind him, and started barking. From the other side of the now-visible campfire, a Redguard appeared, unshouldering his bow and stringing it in a smooth motion. “I’m going to kill you!” he shouted, nocking an arrow to the bowstring. Raising my shield towards him, I drew my sword.

“I want no trouble!” I shouted back as the dog charged me. Damn! I was in no condition to battle two enemies at once, especially with one of them out of blade-range. Keeping the shield towards the bowman, I swung the sword at the dog. The tip of the blade bit deep into its side, and I felt the weight of the animal momentarily snag the weapon before it was flung away. Ignoring the momentary twinge - I hate killing dogs, but this one is loyal to the wrong man - I turned back to the Redguard, moving towards him.

“Too bad, trouble’s found you!” the Redguard let his arrow fly, the barb sinking home in my shield and staggering me. Thank Akatosh, a broadhead tip. A bodkin could easily pierce the leather shield and keep going. Looking up in time to see him set another missile to his bowstring, I grabbed my balance in time to brace for the second arrow. It smacked into my shield, its tip just poking through and nicking the edge of my forearm.

Feeling the heat rise in my face, I stifled the string of curses bubbling up in my throat. Don’t give in to anger. That’s what got you into trouble the last time, I tried to remind myself, but my sword hand came up, fire flickering around my fingers. Unthinkingly, I switched the sword to my left hand, and flung the ball of fire - fire? - at the other’s face. Dropping his bow, the Redguard clapped his hands to his face in pain, his actions effectively putting out the flames.

As he screamed in agony and rage, I hobbled up the slope as rapidly as I could. Not pausing to think about it, I flung another fireball at him to keep him off balance. Taking the sword back in my right hand, I slammed it into his ribs. The wind knocked out of him, the Redguard dropped his hands and grabbed at my shield, wrenching hard at the round leather. Momentarily resisting his attack, I suddenly let him have the shield and raised my right arm.

As he staggered at the sudden abatement of resistance, I brought the edge of the blade down as hard as I could into his left shoulder, the weapon cutting through his fur cuirass. He shouted again from the pain, and reeled back, his burned eyes on me.

“You’re one of them,” he hissed, and reached for his dagger. My anger suddenly gone, I stabbed the sword into his throat, ending the fight.

“You’re one of those,” I countered softly, lowering the tip of my sword to the ground and leaning briefly on it. Panting hard, I looked around at the campsite. Yup. Bandits. At the moment, there was no sign of more, and judging by the clutter around the fire, it was just the Redguard and the dog at present.

Crying and whining drew my attention over my shoulder to the dog, still laying at the edge of the campsite where I had left him. Noting his paralyzed hind limbs, I limped over to him and shushed him with a soft voice. When he closed his eyes and became quiet, I drove the tip of my blade into his heart, ending his agony. “If only you hadn’t attacked me,” I whispered to his lifeless eyes.

Returning to the campfire, I found a cooking pot full of boiling water. Picking up a nearby clay tumbler, I dipped it into the boiling water, then set it aside to cool. Dropping my gear near one of the tents, I searched the sacks scattered around the campsite, gathering carrots, an onion, and a shank of smoked mutton.

Using the Redguard’s dagger, I chopped up the vegetables and some of the meat, and dropped them into another pot to cook. Now to think. The smith’s hammer was quiet, had been since the Emperor had shoved the Amulet into my hands. A constant companion for four years, its absence was a welcome relief.

Maybe that old healing spell did more than I realized, I thought to myself. But no, it started easing up when the Emperor first spoke to me. I felt the Amulet, warm against my skin, under my cuirass. I have to do this. I have to carry out the task the Emperor entrusted me with. I must take this to Jauffre. What then?

In the years since my discharge from the Legion, I had been wandering aimlessly. I had sought refuge from the pain, the lack of purpose in my life, the memories of long-dead comrades and battle scenes, in anything that would make me forget, if only for a little while. Cheap wine, mead, ale, beer had helped only for a short while, but the pounding in my head had become worse each time I regained some resemblance of coherence.

In Bravil two years ago, I had discovered the limbo of skooma. Addiction had been swift and complete, when I found it was the only way I could still that incessant smith’s hammer. It has only caused me more grief. I had found myself needing more and more skooma, reduced to begging to obtain the means of paying for it.

Yet it had been never enough, and the relief it had provided became fleeting. By the time I had reached the Imperial City, I was drinking wine and ale along with the skooma. My stay in the City had been blurred with impressions of being rolled, pushed, and kicked. Seeking shelter in taverns had only caused more trouble. Probably how I ended up in the prison. It bothered me that I couldn’t quite remember what had happened to put me there.

Oddly, with the headaches gone, I could bear the pain from my old wounds more easily. The limbo of skooma and drink no longer held any appeal for me. Wondering if the cravings would recur once the smith’s hammer returned, I sighed to myself. Only one way to find out.

But now I had a purpose, a mission, and I intended to complete it. Did the Emperor know how low I had gone, when he spoke to me back in that cell, spoke to me like I was a person again? Did he know I needed saving? Maybe there is purpose for someone like me outside the Legion.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Aug 17 2010, 04:46 PM