Old Habits Die Hard Part Three, The old dog practices new habits Options

[haute ecole rider]

Here is the first of a third thread for Old Habits Die Hard. I appreciate all of you staying with Julian and I this far, and hope you stick with us to the end!

For those who want to go back to the beginning, here you go:
Old Habits Die Hard Chapters 1 - 7
Old Habits Die Hard Chapters 8 - 13

[haute ecole rider]

@hazmick: Yes, both Julian and I would feel less guilty if those kitties weren’t so nice to us! Especially after that rarebit!

@Olen: I wanted to illustrate the quandary of the ends justifying the means - something soldiers and veterinarians wrestle with quite often.

@treydog: The aggressiveness of so many of the beasts in Oblivion is one of my pet peeves. I’d rather leave the lions, wolves and bears alone, thank you very much. But they won’t leave me (or my horse) alone!

@Sage Rosa: Wow. I guess we don’t call you Sage for nothing. Kud-Ei is one of my favorite of the Mages Guild heads, along with Carahil in Anvil. I think we can all figure who is Julian’s least favorite! Yes, I had noticed that Julian feels comfortable enough with this Argonian lady to confide her insecurities in Kud-Ei. It won’t be the last time . . .

@mALX: You hit the nail on the head about Sheo’s quest. I only do it for the Wabbajack - it’s the one artifact I have the least use for (and there are quite a few useless ones!).

@Acadian: Understated wisdom from behind an everpresent teacup? I’ll have to remember that!

We get to see more of the Legion in Julian as she finishes one more loose end from Bravil.

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Chapter 14.5 Ardaline’s Staff

Replete with Merowald’s generous fare, I took my leave of the old Breton and Paint to head into the City. The Watch directed me to Soris Arenim’s house, within the Talos Plaza District, one of a block of rowhouses facing the exterior City wall.

Knocking on the portal, I heard a tenor voice call “Enter.” The door creaked on opening, and I paused just within to let my eyes adjust to the interior. It was well lit with tall windows at the rear admitting unfiltered sunlight into the main floor. A Dunmer man, thinning hair swept back from a high widow’s peak, turned from his reading desk. “Good day, ma’am,” he said. “How may I help you?”

“Varon Vamori told me to look Soris Arenim up the next time I was in the City,” I answered. “It seems Vamori considers Arenim a good friend.”

The Dunmer’s face lit up in a smile. “Ah, yes, Varon, Varon,” he nodded. “I am Soris Arenim. And you are -?”

“I am Julian of Anvil,” I answered. “Vamori suggested I see you about a -” I hesitated for effect, “sensitive matter.” I regarded him thoughtfully.

“Erissare!” Arenim called. A beautiful Altmer woman appeared from the rear of the house. “Please, some wine for our guest!”

“No, no wine, please,” I looked at Erissare. “I can’t have any drink. If you have water, ma’am, that would be fine, please.”

“Of course,” Erissare disappeared momentarily. Arenim waved me to an easy chair next to a brazier. Unbuckling my sheathed katana and leaning it against the arm, I took the indicated seat. He sat down on the nearby couch as the Altmer returned, bearing a flagon and three silver goblets. She poured water in all three, then seated herself next to Arenim.

“This is my lovely wife, Erissare,” Arenim introduced her. “My dear, this is Julian of Anvil. She is a friend of Varon’s.” After a sip from his goblet, he turned expectantly back to me. “What is this sensitive matter you speak of?”

“This requires the utmost discretion,” I shifted my gaze to Erissare. Arenim patted her knee affectionately.

“My wife is discreet, very much so,” he answered. “She knows all my secrets, and shares them with none.”

As I kept my face as neutral as I could, I regarded the couple for several moments. “It has come to my attention,” I spoke slowly, “that Vamori has committed a grave insult to a member of the Mages Guild.”

Erissare shifted beside Arenim, her eyes not moving from mine. I took a sip of the water, and looked at the Dunmer. His jaw was clenching tightly, his lips a thin line.

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice as taut as his jawline. “What did he do?”

“He stole a Mage’s Staff,” I answered bluntly. The Altmer woman inhaled sharply, shooting a glance at her husband. He did not return her gaze, but held mine locked in an unspoken challenge. “Vamori,” I continued, keeping my voice neutral, “faces charges of theft, harassment, and unlawful profiteering. The City Watch is looking for the man Vamori sold the Staff to.”

“Ah,” Arenim leaned back, his casual air unconvincing to my eye. Too many years of recruits squirming under my gaze made it hard to miss the subtle signs of unease in Arenim’s posture. “Do they know who this man is?”

“Vamori told me.” Arenim scowled at the implied meaning in my answer. If he told me, what did he tell the Watch? “It’s just a matter of time before the Bravil Watch submits a request to the Imperial City Watch,” I continued. Arenim hid his growing unease behind another sip of the water, but I could see Erissare’s hand clenching on his, still resting on her knee.

“And how are you involved?” He’s smooth, this one, I thought. He’s not admitting he has the Staff, yet.

“Vamori wants to make amends,” I answered. “He wants to get the Staff back.”

Arenim took another sip, his red eyes reflective. “As much as I like you, friend, and as much as I like Vamori,” he said slowly, “I’m not willing to part with the Mage’s Staff. It’s my Staff now.” He shrugged. “Nothing personal, you understand.”

“Of course,” I nodded calmly. “And you understand that anyone caught holding a stolen item can be charged with possession, profiting from illegal activities such as theft and interfering with the duties of a mage.” I recalled an incident from my Legion days. “Believe me, the Legion Battlemages frown on these sort of antics. If one were to pay you a visit -” I let my voice trail off. I had heard the chill creeping into my voice, the same chill that had scared Vamori so badly.

Arenim set his goblet down on the low table in front of him, his gaze hardening on me. “Are you threatening me, Julian of Anvil?” his voice slipped through the silence.

“On the contrary,” my own tone remained chilly. “I have personally seen what the Legion Battlemages are capable of when they set their mind to torture.” After a sip of the water, I met Erissare’s frightened gaze. “Exquisite, really,” I continued. “Their methods are very elegant, and very, very cruel.”

Erissare rose suddenly, spilling a few drops from her goblet. “Excuse me, please,” she whispered breathlessly, and bolted from the front room. Arenim turned his head as her footsteps faded away, then he looked back at me, his expression grim.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” he inclined his head at me. “I need a couple of minutes.”

“Of course,” I replied, leaning back in the chair and taking another sip from the silver goblet in my hand. Arenim rose and headed after his wife. A few moments later, I could just barely hear their voices, hers frantic, his tensely calm.

I was eyeing the flagon on the table, my goblet empty, when Arenim returned. His ashen complexion was paler than before, his lips only a thin gash in his tense face. He sat down and gulped the last of the water in his goblet with a grimace as if it was firewater.

“Look,” he said, his voice matching his expression, “I can’t just give it to you. Give me at least a portion of what I paid for it.”

“I have two hundred septims with me,” I placed Vamori’s purse on the table beside the flagon. “That and a clean resolution to this matter that will not involve jail time, fines, or besmirched reputations.”

Arenim reached for the purse. In a smooth motion, I picked up the sheathed katana by the blade and rapped the table with the brass ball in the sword’s hilt, narrowly missing his fingers. “Let me see the Staff, first,” I said quietly. The Dunmer glared at me.

“Wait here, then,” he said tersely, with another glance at the sack on the table.

“I won’t touch it,” I promised him. “You can count it before I leave.” Arenim threw me another glare, then headed to the rear of the house. I waited, my weapon across my lap, my left hand on its sheath, my right resting on the hilt.

Erissare reappeared, her eyes puffy and her face pale. She hesitated when she spotted the katana resting across my knees. “S- Soris d- doesn’t w- want any trouble, ma’am,” she stammered.

“I’m sure he doesn’t, ma’am” I responded smoothly. “But I didn’t survive this long without being ready for the unexpected.” I smiled to warm my tone.

Erissare moved slowly to pick up the flagon. She carried it with her to the rear of the house. Her unspoken message was clear: Finish your business and get out. I wanted nothing more than to do just that.

Arenim returned, passing his wife in the doorway. He carried a two-meter long staff, made of knurled wood with a forked end. I could see the whisper of power along its edges. As I rose to my feet, I clipped my katana at my belt. The Dunmer handed me the Staff with a scowl.

A close examination indicated it matched the description Kud-Ei had given me: “Worn smooth on the handle, it hums with Illusion power. The head is engraved with morning glory vines.” Meeting Arenim’s gaze, I nodded at the table, where Vamori’s pouch still sat. “Thank you, serjo,” I said to him.

The butt of the Staff grounded on the stone floor, I cradled the shaft in my crossed arms and waited. Arenim tossed me an inscrutable look, then moved to the couch and sat down. He reached for the purse, more warily this time, but when I did not move, he opened the flap and emptied its contents onto the table.

“Ah,” he said, his tone more satisfied. “I see you are as good as your word,” he looked up at me, “at least as far as the gold is concerned. Now for the rest -”

“I leave in the morning for Bravil, to wrap things up with Vamori,” I said, picking the Staff up to clear the floor and heading for the front door. My hand on the door handle, I turned to look at Arenim. “On his behalf, thank you for your cooperation.”