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]

@Acadian: I’m glad that you are enjoying my ongoing development of Martin and Jauffre.

@mALX: That’s what you (and Julian) think! Read on!

@SubRosa: Thanks for the objective criticism. Lerus is one of my blind spots - I will acknowledge that she is a weak point in my plot. I’ve been thinking about going back and rewriting her part. When I figure her out for good, I’ll let you know so you can give me your input. As for the issue of her skooma addiction, I think you are the closest to the mark regarding what happens in my story.

@hazmick: Don’t fall off your seat now. I think it only gets better.

@Olen: I see that you, like SubRosa, don’t see Julian’s past as being a real issue for Jauffre. Again, I will tell you that you’ve hit close to the mark.

@trey: Tell Athynae to cool it - there is no need for her to go rampaging to Cloud Ruler Temple!

@All: I’m just a little taken aback (and tickled) by people’s reaction to Jauffre’s response. I’m a little too close to him - I understand him all too well. I guess it’s my own fault for ending the first segment where I did. But don’t put his head (or that portion opposite) on a pike just yet!

We learn just how ingrained Julian’s new habit has become, and a chance at freedom from old injuries.

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Chapter 15.2 A Hope for Healing

Jauffre’s scowl disappeared into a startled look. “You think your addiction is news to me?” he demanded. “You thought I didn’t look into your background?” He jabbed a finger at Baurus. “I got his report before you returned from Kvatch. I knew why you were in prison.” He shook his head, while I stared thunderstruck at him. “No, I am upset because you returned to Bravil, where you became addicted to skooma in the first place. You can’t pick up a bottle there without smelling skooma in it, even when it contains ale or cheap wine.”

“I can’t avoid Bravil forever, sir,” I said after a moment. “I did get those headaches again, after -” I hesitated. Do I tell them I was gallivanting around after a missing person?

“After what?” Jauffre cocked his head at me. Momentarily I realized how my own tironii felt when I put them under inquiry for infractions.

“An old Breton had gone missing,” I admitted, looking down at my bruised hands in my lap. “His wife asked me to find him.”

“Aye,” Jauffre nodded, smiling at my startled look. His gaze sharpened at me. “I have agents in every city, every town,” he added. “As a matter of fact,” he reached inside his cuirass, drew out a parchment, “I have a report here from Bravil, dated yesterday -” he unfolded it and scanned it. “Ah yes, ‘Julian from Anvil discovered the real source of Kurdan gro-Dragol’s main source of income, a sporting hunt of the worst kind - a hunt of men against men, in an isolated fort located on an island in the Bay. She shut the operation down at great risk to herself.’” He looked at me over the top of the parchment. “Is that true?”

“Um, yes,” I admitted, aware of the steady gazes of Martin, Baurus and Steffan on me, though I would not look at them.

“So, did this gro-Dragol give you those headaches?” Jauffre pressed.

“No, it was one of his clients,” I answered slowly. I didn’t want to talk about that incident anymore.

“Yes, an Orsimer named -” again Jauffre consulted the parchment, “Shadeem gro-Mazur, formerly a munifex in the Legio I, a deserter.” He read a bit more to himself, then met my gaze again. “And the only one there with some Legion training.”

“Fought like it, too,” I muttered.

“So when you had those headaches,” Jauffre continued, “what kept you from going into that skooma den?”

“Marz, and the Nine, healed me,” I answered.

“Hmm,” Jauffre raised the parchment again. “And here, it says you were attacked by a Mythic Dawn agent earlier.”

“Yes, but the City Watch took care of that.” I had forgotten about Ranaline.

“Not before you wore her down,” Jauffre shook his head. “You’ve been busy, Julian.”

“But you did go to the Shrine of Sheogorath, you said?” Martin broke in. Relieved at the change of subject, I nodded. Craning my neck so I could see my gear, I saw Sheogorath’s staff, still wrapped in a wolf pelt, leaning against my pack.

“I got that for you, Sire,” I pointed at it. Jauffre leaned down and flung the pelt back to expose one end of the artifact. Martin rose out of his chair and knelt to uncover it.

“The Wabbajack!” he exclaimed, picking it up in his hands. “Good riddance to this tool of mischief!” He looked at me. “Are you sure you want me to use this? Remember, the ritual will consume the artifact.”

“Like you said, Sire,” I responded, thinking of the Grove of Madness, “good riddance.”

Jauffre regarded me for long moments, while Martin took the Staff and leaned it against the stout supporting post nearest his study table. “So far, I only count two Oblivion Gates,” he commented as Martin returned to the chair beside me.

Gulping the last of the tea down, I looked into the mug. “There were three between the Imperial City and Bruma,” I said quietly.

“The one at the corner of the Silver and Orange Roads,” Jauffre nodded. “But where were the other two?”

“On the Red Ring Road, on either side of Aleswell,” I answered. The Grandmaster’s eyebrows rose at me. “I couldn’t leave them open, in such close proximity to the village,” I added, hearing the defensiveness in my voice.

“Aye, they have enough trouble with a certain mage living in Fort Caractacus,” Jauffre pronounced the name with more ease than I had ever managed. He returned my stare blandly. Right, I thought, he’s got agents everywhere.

“The last one,” I looked down again at the empty mug, “was full of nasty traps, fire towers, and clannfears.” I shook my head. “I had never seen them before, though I had heard about them.” I pointed to the gash on my right knee. “They have claws like scythes, tore through my leathers like they were silk.”

Screeching, the reptilian creature lunged at me. Its shield shaped head deflected my katana, while its hooked beak bit on the edge of the Kvatch Wolf . The force of its momentum bowled me over, while I frantically tried to stab at some soft part of its belly. The long, gleaming claws on its hind feet raked down the outside of my right leg, digging deep into my lower thigh and knee as it ran over me. Screaming from the pain, I grimly hung on to my shield as the creature tried to wrench it out of my grip. It dragged me a few meters before letting go of the Wolf.

Struggling to my knees, I raised the shield in time to deflect its return charge. As I was knocked backwards again, the Wolf split into two around my left arm, the two halves held together by the straps I still gripped. One of the pieces struck me in the face, splitting my lip and breaking my nose for the fourth time. Shock and anger at the loss of my Wolf caused me to drop my katana and fling a fireball at the tumbling clannfear. It shrieked as it kept rolling, off the balcony into the pillar of fire below.

I shook my head, returning to the present when Martin pressed my refilled mug back into my hand. “Clannfears are dreadful creatures,” he commented softly, his face careworn in the firelight. “Believe me when I tell you there are worse daedra than clannfears.”

“Clannfears are bad enough, Sire,” I complained. “Sniping them just makes them pissed off.”

“That’s when you want a good bow with a shock enchantment,” Martin advised. I caught Jauffre’s assessing glance at the Septim prince. “Most daedra are susceptible to shock,” Martin continued, ignoring the Grandmaster. “Did you, by any chance, keep any of the sigil stones?”

“Yes, I did,” I pointed at the pack. “In there.”

“May I?” Martin asked, then opened the pack when I nodded. He found the five sigil stones, each carefully wrapped in red wool, the remnants of the Mythic Dawn robe from my escape from the Prison. He examined each one, studying the Daedric script on each. “Here,” he set one on the cot. “This one will enchant a weapon with shock damage. Put it on a steel bow, and you’ll find those clannfears easier to deal with.”

Jauffre leaned back, crossing his arms on his chest, his gaze on Martin skeptical. He didn’t say anything, though. Martin looked up at me after he returned the other four stones to my pack.

“You’ve got two fire damage stones, one nighteye stone, and a chameleon stone,” he commented. “Quite a nice collection there.” He looked at me again. “I hope you consider them worth the risk to yourself.”

“Eliminating the risk to unarmed travelers and villagers is worth the risk to myself,” I responded quietly. “That’s what being a soldier is about.”

“And you’re proud of it,” Jauffre gripped my ankle through the blanket, nodding in approval. “As you should be,” he added. He looked up at the sound of the great doors opening and closing. “Ah, here’s Cirroc,” he rose to his feet. “And I believe that is Selena Orania with him.”

Martin, Baurus and Steffan withdrew as the pair drew near. Cirroc, the Redguard, gave me an assessing gaze. At his shoulder, Orania paused when she recognized me, then she followed Cirroc to my side. I caught her hesitation and recalled that I had never told her of my association with the Blades.

Jauffre picked up my gear and moved the pile to the other side of the fireplace to give the two more room to work. He retreated in the same direction as the others, leaving the Great Hall ‘s fireplace to Cirroc, Orania and myself.

With spare, economical movements, Cirroc examined me, identifying each of my injuries and murmuring to Orania. She drew out a mortar and pestle and moved to the fire, where she found the pot of tea still simmering.

First Cirroc healed my broken left elbow, restoring the integrity of the joint. The black bruises along my forearm, where the Kvatch Wolf had snapped, faded to yellow on my dark skin. Then he focused on my right knee. He bent close and peered at the wound.

“This is on top of an old injury,” he looked up at me, his fingers gently probing at the deep gashes, causing the blood to flow again.

“Yes,” I answered. “Four, almost five years ago - !” I gasped when he did something to send a sharp shooting pain up my leg.

“Yes, and it healed badly,” Cirroc nodded, peering closer at the wound again. “But these gashes have laid it open, damaged the scar tissue badly.” Covering the wound with a bandaging cloth, he sat back and looked at me thoughtfully. “There’s a chance -”

I struggled to sit up again, but he pressed me back against the cushions. “A chance of what?” I asked.

“A chance to undo some of the old damage,” the Redguard’s tone was neutral, but his gaze was very serious. “I must remove the damaged tissue, but I can work to restore some of the structural integrity of the joint.”

I stared at the Redguard. “You have surgical training?” I asked. He nodded.

“I was immunes in the Fourth Legion,” Cirroc leaned forward again to peer at the shredded tissue around my knee. “Medicus vulnerarius.” Surgeon-healer.

Orania turned from the fire to look at me. “He’s very good, too,” she volunteered. “I remember you said you didn’t want surgery, but -” her gaze drifted toward my damaged joint. “If you’re to continue closing Oblivion Gates, you need what Cirroc can provide.”

“I can’t be laid up for long,” I began. Cirroc shook his head.

“Your knee is at a point now that you’re laid up anyway, whether you like it or not,” he said firmly. “I can close the wounds, but structurally speaking, it’s weaker than it was before. You try walking on it, it will give way permanently.”

“How long will Julian be laid up with the surgery?” Jauffre’s voice sounded from behind me.

“A week, maybe more, sir,” Cirroc answered. “I’ll have to come every day to heal it a little bit more. Selena will have to make enough heavy-duty healing potions to supply Julian for that duration as well.”

“Can’t you do it all at once?” I asked.

“Oh I could, but it would be just as bad as before,” Cirroc answered. “This is a case where slow is better. The tissues need to rest and toughen up in between spurts of healing. That was the problem before. Whoever cast that original healing spell on you tried to do it all at once.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s fine for skin, bone and muscles, but tendons and ligaments need more time.”

“Can you do this right away?” Jauffre asked. Cirroc nodded at him.

“I still have my obsidian blade,” he answered, drawing a small packet from his belt purse. “Never leave home without it.” He showed me the small black scalpel. “Still as sharp as the day it was made.”