Slipping into Shadow, Portia had stolen from Mehrunes Dagon, and he wasn't about to let Options

[Ornamental Nonsense]

Chapter 1: The Job

The room was dark but for the faint glow of the fire that burned atop a central column. The unearthly, red flames danced without fuel, and the light that they cast lent a menacing quality to the room’s angular design. Shadows arched and curved in every direction, and it was in their paths that a lone thief crouched and hid. Her soft leather boots made no noise on the black marble floors, and a chameleon spell overlaid her dark clothing. Everything here seemed unnaturally black, from the walls to the statues, to the occasional dremora that roamed the halls in daedric armor. There was, of course, also some red. If she looked closely, the thief noticed that red runes covered the polished walls from floor to ceiling, but she could not read the ancient symbols. Nor could she understand how Oblivion had come into possession of the silky, crimson curtains that draped over the impossibly tall windows, but it hardly mattered.

However Mehrunes Dagon wanted to decorate his home was his own business. She just had to find that one artifact, and then she could leave. Unsure of herself, the thief placed a hand to her belt and made sure that the spell scroll was still there. Without it, she had no way out of this god-forsaken land, and she couldn’t imagine what would happen to her if she were caught. Damn them all—the daedra and the Imperials. In the disturbing silence of this dark manor, she rained curses down upon anyone and everyone who might have had a hand in sending her here, yet she continued on.

Her hands gently pushed against an ebony door, the wood surprisingly cool in the warm, stifling air of this place, and it mutely swung inward. Where was she now? There was a four-post bed, and a massive one at that, which dominated the room. Its dark frame was lavished in blood-red blankets and curtains that almost appeared to shimmer purple depending on the angle from which one looked at them. The floor was so smooth and polished that it reflected the ceiling like a mirror, and the braziers lining the edge of the circular room sent light flickering across the stones. It was a beautifully regal sight in its own way, and the thief was hesitant to enter, but then her eyes landed on the table.

There was a large table at the foot of the bed, and its surface was strewn with artifacts. Some of them glittered with enchantment, but others appeared as ordinary as rocks, and those were probably the most powerful ones. She stepped closer while scanning the collection for a simple, black necklace. It would look like a plain piece of onyx on a gold chain, but it was also very small. Where…? The thief’s breath caught as she located the prize where it lay half-hidden behind a skull. Now she could go home.

“What do you think you’re doing, human?” Pure panic—that’s what her reaction to that low, rumbling voice could be called. The verbal threat had appeared from nowhere, and she froze in fear as a dark presence descended upon the room. When instincts finally kicked in and told her to grab the necklace and run, it was too late. Pain erupted in her body—a searing sensation that made concentration impossible. She was being burned alive. Akatosh’s mercy, but this was the end, and she wanted it to end as her nerves were consumed by scorching heat. She closed her eyes in preparation for death, not wanting to see the victorious face of her opponent.

“I won’t make it so fast, mortal,” the same voice as before stated, and then the pain lessened.”You’ve intruded where you don’t belong.” Breathing heavily, the thief felt a hand grip her tunic and hoist her up from the ground where she had fallen in anguish. The lingering effects of the destruction spell still had her head reeling, but she was quite aware of being suspended in the air. “Open your eyes!” her captor harshly ordered.

Don’t, but a claw ran down the side of her face, breaking the skin and causing her to gasp. Eyelids flew open, and she suddenly found herself face-to-face with the last being that she wanted to see: Mehrunes Dagon. She didn’t even have time to take in his appearance, for his black eyes were sucking her into their depths. Gods above, but how could eyes be so black and bottomless? For a moment, she forgot how to breathe, and her gaping, terrified expression made Mehrunes Dagon laugh. The deep, throaty sound filled the room, and then she was falling, his mocking laughter the only sound chasing her into unconsciousness. And the pain—gods, but the pain was unbearable.

Portia Augustine woke up screaming, the sheets beneath her damp with sweat and blood, and the lone candle on the bedside table flickering with the breeze coming through her opened window. She lurched forward into a sitting position, head clutched in her hands, and chest heaving. It had felt so damn real, like she was there again, like a normal dream shouldn’t have been able to accomplish. Four weeks and she was still having these nightmares, and no mage or priest had been able to do anything to stop them.

“Damn it!” she yelled, not caring if anyone heard. The pain in her right hip had returned, as she’d known it would, and the nightmare lingered with the tenacity of Mehrunes’ malicious spirit. His eyes…she shuddered and stood, one hand gingerly touching the wound on her side. Blood had soaked through her nightgown, and she slowly rolled up the white fabric to reveal a strange, angular symbol carved into her flesh. The priests had warned that it might not ever fully heal, and she believed them. The wound was unnatural in the utmost, and bleeding almost always accompanied her troubled dreams. She never lost enough blood to be endangered, but it still hurt, and it was a reminder of who was after her.

Was he after her?

Hell, she didn’t think that he’d actually leave her alone, not after what she had done.

You’ll always carry this reminder, human. You are mine! The memory of Mehrunes’ parting words made her face pale, and she rushed into the washing room to clean herself of the bloodshed that he visited upon her. His angry visage had promised revenge when she’d escaped his grasp, but he could not touch her here in the capital. There were warding spells on the house, and the daedra lord was currently busy trying to conquer Tamriel. So she might feel trapped by his threats, but at least she was safe for now, perhaps forever.

Really?

Portia ran a shaky hand through her long, brown hair and prayed to Akatosh for protection. With a flask of brandy in hand, she sat on the edge of her bed, the smell of the alcohol comforting her as memories played before her eyes…

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

Four Weeks Previously:

The curtains gently billowed as wind swept up over the fortress walls and along the parapets, carrying with it the familiar scent of lilac and the muffled chatter of the market. It was a calming sensation, and one which was sorely needed at the moment, for Portia Augustine had just received what promised to be the toughest assignment of her life. She stood with hands braced against the windowsill, palms pressed hard against the cold stone, and eyes mindlessly roaming across the shoppers below. For such a seemingly normal day, her world was being flipped on its head.

“You’re sure that you can’t find someone else?” she asked, voice flat. She heard the man behind her shift, but she knew that it wasn’t in discomfort. This man had no remorse for what he was doing to her.

“The job is too delicate to be assigned to someone else,” he stated in a voice that left no room for argument.

“Assigned?” Portia nearly spat. “I am no longer under your watch, sir. In case you forgot, I left the guard two years ago.” And I left for a reason, she mentally added.

“Be that as it may, someone has to do this.” They lapsed into silence, and Portia finally turned away from the window. The burgundy curtains grazed her thighs as she stood there, framed in the sunlight. She was facing a man in his late forties, perfectly polished armor encasing his tall frame, and short brown hair tucked behind his ears. His face was beginning to show the lines of age and stress, but he held himself like a man in control. Hell, he was a man in control. Arelius was captain of the guard, held a near perfect record, and was known for being entrusted with delicate matters. Portia had once been privy to his privileged, inside information, for she had been a fellow member of the Blades, but not anymore, and so when he had shown up at the foot of her bedroll yesterday, she had known that it didn’t bode well. She had been enjoying her little sojourn into the wilderness…

“Portia,” he said. “I have my orders to see this task finished, and you’re the only one who even has a shot at success.”

“It’s suicide,” she sharply replied.

“Not if it’s done properly,” came the immediate response. “You always handled your assignments with a stealth more suited to the Thieves’ Guild than the guard. That’s why I recruited you to the Blades, and that’s why you’ll succeed.” Portia smiled and shook her head in wonder.

“You’ve always had a talent for this,” she mused. “Whenever I wanted to back out, you always convinced me that I could get the job done…but not this time, captain. I left my duties behind, and I don’t want to come back. I doubt that I’m welcomed anyway.”

“You’ll be working alone,” Arelius assured. “You don’t need to see the others, and they’ll keep their hands to themselves if I tell them to.” Portia focused on the hilt of his sword, the familiar eagle carved along its edge conjuring memories of being a new recruit. Back then she had envied him his sword and the respect that its sight commanded. He had been the model, and she had been the newbie earning her way up the ladder before accidently murdering a fellow Blade. She could still imagine the blood running through her fingers and the look of disbelief on the man’s face. Damn, but she had mistaken him for an assassin. What had he been doing lurking behind her in the shadows?

Arelius noted the sudden intensity of Portia’s face and his expression softened.

“Let it go,” he ordered. “No one blames you.”

“Are we through here?” she demanded. She was not discussing this with him.

“No.”

“And why not?”

“You will be doing this job, whether you like it or not.” He grimly passed her a slip of paper. “I didn’t want to resort to this, but my hand isn’t the only one behind this mission. The Elder Council won’t accept ‘no’ for an answer.” Portia examined the piece of paper, and her eyes suddenly widened in comprehension. They couldn’t press charges against her for involvement with the Grey Fox. She had…she would never…the nerve of those men!

“If I’m found guilty?” she probed.

“When you’re found guilty, you’ll be executed.”

“That's BS, and you know it.”

“Like I said: not my choice.” But his eyes showed no remorse; they never did. This man lived for the empire and the Septim line, which was why there would be no reasoning with him. He expected her to do this, even if she failed to see how she could survive an encounter with Oblivion. She had heard the rumors of Kvatch, for news of an entire city’s destruction spread quickly, and according to Arelius, that wasn’t the only incident of concern. She believed him when he said that Oblivion was preparing for total war, and it scared her like nothing had in a long time. The emperor and heirs assassinated, daedra roaming the roads, people disappearing in the wild…the empire was going to hell.

“What exactly am I supposed to do?” she warily asked, accepting her fate.

“Go into Oblivion,” Arelius answered, and his cool tone annoyed Portia.

“I know that. What I mean is: what am I expected to do there? What the hell can I do that will make the slightest bit of difference?” Arelius stared her down in a nonverbal reprimand for raising her voice toward him, and she slowly relaxed her glare. Antagonizing this man might not be the best idea given her predicament.

“Dagon and his followers are responsible for the assassinations and the attack on Kvatch. Gates to Oblivion are appearing throughout the countryside and giving his armies access to our world. If it can’t be stopped, he may well finally accomplish his dreams of ruling mankind, and so far, all we can do is wait for a gate to open and fight whatever comes out. It’s damn frustrating, and this recent attack on Kvatch…well, he got more out of the attack than we bargained for, and that’s where you come in.” Portia nodded, showing that she was listening, every dreadful sentence filling her ears and mind.

“General Achires was at Kvatch and was killed in the fighting. As you know from being in the Blades, he was entrusted with the protection of a powerful artifact.”

“Sable,” Portia sighed, now realizing the extent of their problems.

“Yes, Sable,” Arelius grunted. “The pendant of vision. Achires used it to locate wanted criminals, but imagine what Dagon could do with it. He could hunt down the last heir. All he needs is a name, and he can pinpoint a location and send every dremora and beast at his command to end our hope. We need to reclaim that pendant, Portia. If Dagon finds the last heir before we do, we’ll have lost before the real fighting even begins.”

“So you’re asking me to sneak into the Deadlands and steal from right beneath Mehrunes Dagon’s nose? You’re giving me too much credit. As soon as I step foot in his realm, he’ll know there’s an intruder. His eyes and ears will be everywhere.”

“He would know if you entered through one of the major gates, but you’ll travel through a small dimensional loophole courtesy of the Mages’ Guild. The master has assured us that he’s found a way to do it, so no one could possibly be monitoring your arrival.”

“So that means that I’m leaving…what? Now?” The captain smiled, and Portia’s frown deepened.

“How very astute of you,” he joked. “Gather what you need, and meet me at the Arcane University in thirty minutes. Time is even shorter now that it took over a day to find you.”

“I didn’t want to be found,” Portia grumbled, but there was no slinking back to her small campsite now. Either she went to Oblivion and helped protect the citizens whom she’d once served, or she’d be executed as a common criminal and disgrace her name and family. She would take the former over the latter, and who knew, maybe luck was on her side. She was born under the Thief after all, and she had been extraordinarily sneaky for a guard. That was why she’d been chosen for this impossible task, for she could remain undetected until the last moment, yet she had the combat skills of a soldier. She could just imagine some of her former comrades trying to secretly move about Oblivion, and it was laughable. Yes, she was a good choice compared to the other options, and she had never regretted it more. Her life expectancy had just plummeted.

This post has been edited by Ornamental Nonsense: Aug 3 2010, 05:59 PM

[Ornamental Nonsense]

Chapter 6:

She was more familiar with the palace this time around. Its black corridors, angular statues, and red curtains no longer stole her attention, for she was preoccupied with warily watching out for dremora. Despite the fact that she was fairly confident that they were unaware of her presence, she still found herself ducking into the shadows whenever they approached, and their hulking frames and red eyes made her breathing hitch. She had learned that eavesdropping on them was pointless, for their garbled language was lost on her. Yet she found herself trying to listen anyway, in an attempt to make her snooping profitable. In truth, she was avoiding the one place where she knew that she should be going: his room.

She came to a massive chamber, and stared down a central runway of red tiles that were so deep in color that they almost appeared black. Muted red like old blood. Maybe that was how she'd describe them, and gazing into their glassy surface, she wondered it they weren't polished lava rocks. The pathway cut down the center of the long room, joining the door through which she'd entered with a raised platform where a throne sat, and as she began walking toward that seat, her eyes flickered to the tall pillars that flanked her on either side, their incredible height making her feel like a speck of dirt. She couldn't even tell how high the ceiling was, but from the blackness above dangled blazing cages of fire, and then her feet reached the throne.

She wondered if this was where Mehrunes Dagon held audiences. The chair was large, with rubies glittering across its blackened, stone frame, and its owner's symbol carved into the backrest. It was the same symbol that marred her flesh, and in sick fascination, Portia gravitated toward it. She laid a hand against the stone, feeling the rough lines of the carving beneath her palm. It was cold to the touch, and her fingers traced its outline. Apparently Mehrunes liked to mark what was his, and if his goal had been to never let her forget her transgressions, he'd succeeded.

But I'm not his, Portia vehemently thought, and now she was advancing in the direction of his quarters. She soon found herself standing on the threshold of her destination, and coldness seeped into her bones from the clammy, stone walls, the chill clashing with Oblivion's warm air in a strange contradiction of sensations. It was night in the Deadlands, as on her previous visit, and so a fire crackled in a golden brazier near Mehrunes' bed at she entered. Perhaps night in her world coincided with night here, and the possibility sent unease down her spine. Whereas before she had thought that she was dreaming, now she knew that this was much more—that she was actually somehow moving about within Oblivion, and seeing what was happening in real time. It was unnerving, much more so than when it had only been an odd dream.

She did not see Mehrunes in the empty room, but she could hear voices beyond the doors on the far side of the room. Taking care to be quiet, she moved toward the table where she had collected Sable and her spell scroll. There were still a myriad of artifacts scattered across it, and she recognized none of them, although she made a detailed note of each for later research. Perhaps Gilthan could help her identify them, but she realized that acting upon his knowledge would probably be impossible. She doubted that she could take things from Oblivion in these visions. Most of the time her hands simply passed through what she meant to touch, only occasionally making contact that felt physical.

Creak.

A door opened, and Portia glanced upward to see Mehrunes marching into the room with fire in his eyes. Before the doors closed, she saw a type of dremora that she did not recognize standing in the doorway. He was larger and more imposing than others that she had seen, but he was quickly lost from view, and her attention went solely to Oblivion's master.

He looked exactly as before, only angrier, as if the news that he'd just received was displeasing. His dark mood consumed the room, and Portia could almost feel energy crackling around him. Such power, she marveled. She stepped backward to let him pass, still extremely uncomfortable in her supposed safety, and he seemed too preoccupied to notice her presence. He flexed his arms and stretched, again showing off his toned limbs and torso, and then he reached for a dagger that sat upon the table. He twirled it between his fingers with an ease and agility that Portia would not have thought a being of his bulk possessed. She'd always pictured him artlessly bludgeoning someone with a mace, but as the prince stared into space, perhaps mindless of what he was doing, she had to correct herself. To think how accurately he could probably throw that thing...

He can't see you. He can't hear you. He can't hurt you.

She remained where she was, curious, worried, and a bit proud of her own courage. Mehrunes most certainly did not own her, even if he'd plague the back of her mind for eternity. As she watched him, she noticed for the first time that his red skin was decorated with lighter patterns that formed swirls and intricate lines across his body. The dagger continued moving between his hands with practiced ease, and for a moment his eyes closed. A dip of his head drew Portia's attention to the chaos sphere that hung from his ear, and she began to wonder whether it glowed like that all of the time. Hers only carried the faintest aura, and she didn't think that it'd ever been as vibrant in color as his was. Then again, he could channel its power, and she couldn't.

"I know you're there...again," Mehrunes stated with a hint of annoyance. Portia nearly fled from the room, but then remembered their previous encounter. She could do this, and if she learned to withstand him, perhaps her nightmares would altogether vanish. "No one comes and goes as they please in this part of the palace, so tell me," he turned to look in her direction. "What are you that even the most powerful dremora cannot sense you?" Portia tried not to make eye contact with him, as if doing so would somehow unveil her.

"You try to deny your own existence," Mehrunes growled. "Very well." And he tossed the dagger toward her. It clattered to the floor at her feet, but she didn't move to touch it as Mehrunes found himself another dagger. He advanced on her with his weapon at the ready, and Portia tensed with each methodical step that he took. He wouldn't attack thin air, would he? Should she...? He dove forward with the dagger, and Portia couldn't help herself. She frantically retrieved the weapon at her feet and lifted it, barely deflecting what was no doubt a weak attack for the daedric prince. Her heart was still pounding as she held the dagger to her chest, and Mehrunes stared at the seemingly floating weapon with a curious expression.

"Goblin's gall," Portia cursed, and she dropped the dagger to the floor.

"You can move things," Mehrunes considered, sounding displeased. His eyes momentarily flickered toward his table of treasure, and Portia could guess what he was thinking. He'd just been stolen from, and yet he hadn't locked the items away. Perhaps this incident would make him reconsider, and Portia didn't understand why he hadn't taken more precautions before this time. Was he really that arrogant to assume that it couldn't happen again?

"You don't belong here," he growled. "And your trespass will not be overlooked." He retrieved the dagger from the floor and stared at it. "You're too quick to be a spirit. Ghosts are about as fast as ogres, the stupid fetchers." He then cocked his head to the side, and his mouth parted to reveal sharp incisors that made him look even more intimidating. He was curious, Portia realized, for he couldn't touch her, and he didn't know what she was.

"Don't be stupid enough to attack me," he ordered. Because it would be so effective, Portia sarcastically thought. Mehrunes could probably snap her in half without much effort. "You seem smarter than that, but you're not leaving..." He stepped away from her, and placed his daggers back on the table. "Perhaps not so intelligent after all." Out of nowhere he threw a fireball at Portia, making her heart leap with such force that she was surprised that it hadn't left her chest. The heat of the deadly spell as it passed through her was uncomfortable, but not damaging, and she was left in a cold sweat as it seared across the wall behind her. Mehrunes growled low in his throat and moved closer with the measured steps of a predator. It was a bold, steady walk unlike her quick, furtive steps.

Seeing him approach on a battlefield must be a terrifying experience.

"Be warned," he threatened in a matter-of-fact tone. "If you continue to come here, I will find a way to unearth you." And Portia marveled that he then returned to his various tasks as if she didn't exist; although she was willing to bet that he was plotting a way to get at her.

"Master Dagon?" a voice called. Of course, Portia only caught 'Dagon'.

"Enter," Mehrunes ordered, and the doors swung inward to reveal the same imposing dremora that Portia had seen before.

"My lord," and the dremora fell to his knees in a bow. His head remained lowered as words fell from his lips, but the guttural language was gibberish as far as Portia was concerned.

"Very well. You may go," Mehrunes stated. The dremora rose and departed without a backward glance, and Portia considered the strange expression settling over Mehrunes' face. She would almost say that the slight tilt to his lips made him look...satisfied? Which naturally made her uneasy. Perhaps he had come up with a plan to capture her, but maybe it was something else entirely. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of victory if it was the former, and so decided to leave before events took a turn for the worst. She moved toward the still opened doors, and as she passed through them, she chanced a look over her shoulder. Mehrunes stood still, his eyes fixed on her.

"We shall see how foolish or wise you are, being." His eyes narrowed, and he turned away, reaching for something on the table. Portia saw that it was the knife, which he again twirled in thought. She didn't know when she would return to Oblivion as she retreated toward the doors closest to her, but the parting stare that Mehrunes sent in her direction would remain stamped on her mind for a long time.

She ended up returning the next night, and even the next, during which Mehrunes only acknowledged her presence with a quick flick of his eyes as she trailed him like a shadow. He was in the throne room, his bedroom, or perhaps on a balcony overlooking the lava flows of his world. He would tell her that she was annoying him--that he did not like her presence, and that he would rip out her heart and feed it to his dogs. At least he was blunt. Portia would give him that much, and while he might growl and try a new spell on her, it never worked.

She found it uncanny that she could sense him on that third night. The chaos sphere would glow hotly against her skin, and she would intuitively know whether he was giving audiences or wandering in a certain part of the palace. Lesser daedra scattered in fear before him. Dremora bowed and uttered respectful phrases, but she stuck to nearby shadows, waiting for...well, she was working on that. If nothing else, she was becoming bolder and stronger as she balanced an act of wary distance and close observation, as she'd once done in her own world, but there was a point to her actions. She did not go into Oblivion or tolerate Mehrunes' often suffocating personality for her health or enjoyment. The prince downright startled her when he unexpectedly focused on her, and one more unexpected spell might send her over the edge of paranoia.

What she was trying to accomplish was to garner information from him, but it wasn't working. Sometimes he'd be looking at maps, and Portia recognized locations, but never the language being used to discuss them. Once she'd climbed onto a chair and looked directly over his shoulder to get a better view, and on the first night when he'd barely acknowledged her, she'd even reached out to touch his earring. Mehrunes had instantly whipped around to face her with raging eyes that would have scared the fur off of a Khajit. If she'd been physical, no doubt he would have killed her then and there, and she'd fled, not knowing when she'd return. Now it was morning again, and as she awoke, she realized that if she was going to gain anything from her trips into Oblivion, she'd need to understand a new language. It was fortunate that her new job granted her access to the palace libraries, and Gilthan thought that her idea was brilliant.

Portia smiled as she readied herself for another day of schooling. With her dreams mostly under control, and with her new position, she felt as if her life was in order for the first time since her departure from the Blades. She was even enjoying sneaking around again since she was responsible only for herself. She moved alone through hidden corridors to collect information for Arelius, and she was pleased that he approved of her work. He had yet to ask her for special assistance, and for that she was grateful. She was busy enough as it was.

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

"How is she doing?" Tamil asked. She was laying in one of Arelius' guest chambers, and he sat in a chair beside her reclining form. Her wounds were healing, but the poison was still ravaging her system with fever, which meant that she'd been confined to bed since arriving bloody and half-dead on his doorstep five days ago. Arelius visited her every day when he returned from work, and her lack of progress was a matter of personal worry and frustration for him.

"She's as good as she used to be," he stated in reference to Portia.

"Is she still holding back? Only acting if given direct orders?"

"Actually," Arelius smiled, "She just questioned several beggars the other day and found a lead on your missing threesome."

"Thank Vivec, because we need her. If she's ready, you could..."

"No," Arelius bluntly anticipated. "She's too valuable not to use, but I can't have her getting too close to the Dawn. If she draws attention to herself, she could cause disaster, and it would be on our heads. Protecting the artifact is our first and foremost concern until those damn mages decide how to handle it." Tamil nodded with an annoyance that was quite clear to Arelius' trained eye, and she eased back further into her mountain of pillows.

"And are they making any progress?"

"They're displeased that she is even allowed to leave this house," Arelius smiled. "They don't understand that if she is to know nothing, I can't be overly restrictive or she'll get suspicious. Giving her the job will at least keep her in the city."

"And keep her under your guidance," Tamil grinned. "You're grooming the pretty, little Blade for a future position, aren't you?" Arelius nodded. There was no reason to deny it. He'd never wanted to see Portia go elsewhere with her talent, and given time, she would be ready to lead others again. He was sure of it, and if not, he'd push her in that direction. "So what else are the mages doing, sir? And don't spare any details. Being confined to this room is driving me crazy. I'm going to scream one of these mornings...or kill something." Arelius smiled and leaned forward to rest his hands on his knees.

"They're researching the matter, and that's all they would say. Open communication would be preferable, but I'm telling them as little as they tell us. They have no idea that Portia's back in service, and I want to keep it that way. No one except us will know—for her own safety. If the monk hadn't ordered us to cooperate with them, I'd as soon put the chaos sphere in our own possession for safe-keeping, but we have our directives."

"Telling her about the artifact might help matters," Tamil stated. "I would want to know."

"It's not about what we want," Arelius reminded her.

"Of course not, sir, but you must admit that it's tempting." He thought about it before standing to depart.

"Portia always was one to take on her own problems. I fear that if she were to know, she'd try to do something about it without my consent. I'd rather bide my time than risk exposing her, even if she is one of the sneakiest Blades that I've ever seen."

"Sneakier than me?" Tamil teased.

"No, but you weren't originally a Blade either." His reference to the woman's dark past had no effect on either, for they'd long grown comfortable with her open secrets. "And our directives are for silence, operative," Arelius stressed. "Don't say a word to Portia about what we've discussed."

"Yes, sir," Tamil conceded, but unsure if what they were doing was for the best or not. "If I don't recover soon, you might consider expanding her role in our operation. From what you've said, I'd trust her to take over my job."

"Get some rest," Arelius ordered. "If the need arises, I'll use my own discretion."

"As always. Good day, sir."

This post has been edited by Ornamental Nonsense: Aug 7 2010, 04:57 PM