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: You’ve nailed it! Jauffre plays his cards very close to his vest.

@mALX: Funny, Foxy wasn’t on my mind when I wrote that chapter. Jauffre was growling at me and complaining that I wasn’t giving him enough meat! This whole dialogue was my compromise! Okay, Foxy, go ahead with the Dhertee Inn Uendos!

@Acadian: Yes, Martin is a veritable fount of Daedra lore. And yes, the clannfears are a hint at Julian’s level of gameplay, though I’m not following the leveling up process faithfully at all (I find it rather artificial). I knew you would be glad to see Cirroc offering to heal that bum knee for once and for all!

@SubRosa: I am so NOT going to describe every Gate Julian and I slogged through! They all kind of blur together, you know? Except for a couple of gates where she actually has company, and of course the last one. The damage to Julian’s knee is actually to the tendons and ligaments, not the bones. The knee is one of those things where it’s useless without the ligaments, yet those ligaments are the weak points in the entire thing. A torn cruciate ligament is the most common limb injury we see in dogs. And yes, fractures will heal no matter what, and they will often heal crooked. Of course it hurts while the bone is healing, and every time it’s going to rain . . . As for losing the Kvatch Wolf, well, the shield is gone, but the wolf isn’t.

@treydog: I’m glad you liked everything about that last segment. Julian still doesn’t understand what compelled her to save every one of those damn stones, but Martin just told her why they are so gosh darn valuable! Once I learned what the Blades did in TES III, I wondered why they were less than useless in TES IV. So I made them into the US Secret Service, which consists of so much more than the bodyguards with the sunglasses and earpieces we see around the President (those guys are just the tip of the iceberg, IMHO).

@Olen: I’m glad you enjoyed this chapter so far. I hope to let you see more of Cloud Ruler Temple over the next couple of installments.

@Remko: My vet knowledge tells me that while dogs and horses can recover from fractures and go on to have active lives, those who injure tendons and ligaments are pretty much crippled (in varying degrees) forever. Ugh.

The healing process turns out to be more involved than Julian suspected.

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Chapter 15.3 A Dream of Home

The sight of the tiny black knife, ominous in the way it caught the firelight, made me shudder.”I’m used to pain, but -”

“Selena will make a potion to render you unconscious for the time I need to clean this up,” Cirroc assured me. “All I need is your permission, and -” he glanced past me at Jauffre, “plenty of hot water.”

I felt Jauffre’s hand land heavily on my right shoulder, as he leaned down to my right ear. “Emperor Uriel laid a heavy burden on you, Julian,” he whispered. My gaze slid past his hand to where Martin sat at his study table, head propped up on his fist, eyes on one of a growing pile of books. “You need to be strong to bear it.” Jauffre finished, withdrawing his hand and stepping back.

He’s right. I have to last long enough to see Martin made Emperor, and the Jaws of Oblivion closed forever. If I can’t walk, can’t fight - With a deep breath, I felt something coil in my gut. But can’t someone else do it? Can’t Jauffre assign someone else? My eyes slid over to Baurus, standing in his accustomed place behind Martin. As if I had spoken his name aloud, Baurus’s impassive head turned and he returned my gaze, his expression inscrutable in the torch light. Baurus is Martin’s bodyguard, he can’t leave Martin, ever. And didn’t Martin say there were several parts to the Xarxes ritual? He would need more ingredients.

The exhaustion heavy in my bones, I closed my eyes. Akatosh, I’ve served you for twenty-five years. Aren’t I finished? Can’t I find peace? Again that coiling in my belly stirred in response. I realized that it was the same coiling I had felt when I prayed to Akatosh for healing, back in Bravil. Is it you, Akatosh, that I feel down deep inside me? Nothing stirred in response to my question. With a sigh, I opened my eyes and looked at Cirroc, still waiting patiently.

“Orania, what’s in that potion he was talking about?” I asked, keeping my gaze on the healer.

“It’s a basic paralysis potion with the added effect of sleep and pain relief,” Orania told me. I shook my head.

“But what’s in it?” I pressed.

“Fly amanita cap, lavender sprig, willow bark, and lophophora, from the Alik’r Desert,” Orania frowned at my insistence, puzzled.

“I’m an addict,” I explained. “I can’t have any drink or skooma.”

“There is nothing addictive about my potions,” Orania drew herself up angrily. “No good alchemist would use anything so vile!”

For a second there, I recognized my mother in her stance. Like Orania, she had been proud of her alchemy skills, her ability to mix potions that had powerful effects without causing harm. Swallowing back the twinge Mother’s memory had stirred, I looked back at Cirroc.

“Let’s do it, then,” I said quietly.

“It will take about thirty minutes to prepare the potion,” Orania knelt beside her pack, taking out and inspecting ingredient packets, setting aside the ones she needed “Perhaps Cirroc can heal that broken nose of yours.”

Cirroc smiled at her gentle nudging and nodded agreement. “I can certainly do that,” he laid gentle fingertips on my smashed nose and gently manipulated the fragments back into place, the warmth from his fingers reaching deep into my nasal bones. My eyes closed, and I inhaled deeply through my nose for the first time since the Wolf broke it. As the bones fused, Cirroc’s fingers trailed over the gash left by the broken shield in my lip and chin. In spite of myself, I flinched back from his intimate touch. I opened my eyes, but Cirroc’s neutral gaze calmed me.

“Tell me, what is your favorite memory?” he said quietly. I considered his request thoughtfully.

“Playing with my brother in the hills outside Anvil,” I answered. “We had a small farm on a bluff overlooking the Strid River and the Abecean Sea.” I closed my eyes. “My brother was a year older than I, and a little bossy at times. But he shared what he learned with me, from bow hunting, to sneaking up on deer.” I paused, lost in long-forgotten memories. “He apprenticed to Varel Morvayn, the smith, in Anvil, when he was older. Mother would send me into town with lunch for him. Sometimes I would go to the Mages Guild and buy alchemical ingredients for her, whatever we didn’t grow on our own.”

I fell silent, as Cirroc worked to heal my minor injuries, all my cuts and scrapes, the swelling over my left knuckles, the ache in my spine. Orania worked at the fireplace, where Captain Steffan kept her well supplied with hot water. Finally, she took the final product and poured it into a clean mug.

I took the proffered mug and swirled the clear fluid thoughtfully. The odor was strong, reminding me of dust and dry mold. I looked suspiciously up at Orania.

“I’m sorry, if I had more time, I’d take the smell and the taste away,” she said. “But that refining process takes days.”

Taking a deep breath and holding it, I took the full amount into my mouth. I managed to gag the vile taste down before my stomach could reject it. Gods, that was as bad as Maulhand’s stew! Bile rose in my throat, and I coughed, fighting to keep it down. The first thing I noticed was a growing numbness in my stomach, which moved rapidly up my throat into my mouth. It spread out from my belly through my body at a slower pace. My limbs grew heavy, my breathing slowed down, and my vision dimmed.

Cirroc laid a hand on my forehead. “Sleep, Julian,” he said softly, “sleep.”

“Sleep, sleep,” that soothing voice faded away. My sight cleared, and I found myself standing in tall grass, sere and amber in the late afternoon sun. Soft salty air moved against my face, stirring golden waves around me that mirrored the blue and silver waves on the ocean below. The breeze caused my white hair to whip around my face as I turned slowly around to look back at my home, the small farmstead. In the little field in front of the cottage, a slight figure hoed among the profusion of blooms and foliage. I could feel the heat of the sun on my shoulders, see the beautiful colors of the flowers, taste the brine off the ocean, and smell the scent of aloe vera and bergamot. The chiming of the Chapel bells struck the hour. Four bells in the afternoon.

My eyes on the slight figure, I waded through the tall grass toward the farmstead. The woman straightened up, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked towards the ocean. My heart skipped. Mother always looked towards Anvil Harbor every day, when the Chapel bells rang four times. She never said why she did this, but I always felt the disappointment that renewed each afternoon.

I held my breath as I drew closer. Yes, there was that familiar supple back, the thick, wiry, black hair held back in a heavy knot at the nape of the woman’s neck with a turquoise ribbon, the thin silver band that encircled her right wrist, the bracelet Mother never took off, even when she bathed.

The door to the cottage opened, and a tall youth stepped out, his gaze on the woman. My hands went to my mouth as I stared at my handsome brother. He looked just as he had the last time I saw him, when he was seventeen going on eighteen, beginning to fill out from his apprenticeship with Morvayn. Unaware of my presence, he walked to the slim woman, laying his right arm affectionately across her shoulders and leaning down to kiss her cheek. As he straightened up, his gaze moved northward, towards me.

My feet moved me towards the garden, compelled by some strange hope. “Cieran?” I whispered, brushing the strands of white hair back from my face. My hand stopped its motion at my temple. No, it can’t be. My hair should be black, as black as Mother’s -

The woman turned around, and I found myself running forward, into her outstretched arms. “Mother!” As we hugged each other, I felt Cieran’s arms enfold both of us in his bear hug. I found myself laughing, carefree for the first time in so many years. Years? Catching my breath, I leaned back to look at Mother.

Her slim hands reached up to cup my face, gently brushing my hair away, her eyes lingering on its startling white color. She looked as she did when I last saw her alive, as did Cieran, but I - I had changed. I now stood taller than Mother, eye to eye with my brother. My smooth hair shone white in the afternoon sun, no longer blue-black like the raven’s wing.

Again my heart skipped, as I realized that this wasn’t real. “It’s been so long,” I said to Mother. “I’ve wanted to tell you -” my voice faltered. Tell her what? There were so much to tell her, yet I didn’t know what to say. I looked helplessly at my brother. Both of them smiled at me, love in their dark eyes. “I love you both,” I looked from one to the other, still enfolded in their embraces. “I never stopped loving you both,” I was sobbing now, all the pent-up grief at their loss running like the incoming tide over me.

Mother wiped the tears from my cheeks, then brought my face down to her shoulder, her arms holding me close, her hand cupping the back of my head, as she used to do when I was small and woke up with nightmares. We stood together for long moments, until something coiled within my belly. As if she felt it too, Mother’s embrace loosened, and she stepped back from me, sadness in her eyes. My arms fell away as she backed to the cottage, never taking her gaze from mine. I moved to follow her, but my brother’s strong hand on my shoulder stopped me.

“Mother!” I cried, but she turned and stepped through the doorway into the cottage, disappearing from my sight. I saw as much heartache in Cieran’s gaze as I felt in my throat. He gripped my shoulder one last time, then stepped away, turning his back to me as he did so. He followed the path leading to the cottage door.

I tried to follow, but the hand remained on my shoulder, pinning me to the spot. I reached up to seize the hand, felt talons digging into my shoulder, the scales covering the fingers, the fiery breath on the back of my neck. Something about that immense presence gave me courage as I watched the cottage door close behind my brother, and the taloned hand on my shoulder turned to clasp my fingers. A raspy voice sounded behind me -