At My Feet-an Oblivion Fanfic Options

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Hey y'all, I've been working on this for a few months, and just finished it. KoB and I have been roleplaying a it, and I developed a character I really, really liked, and want to flesh her out more. i'll still be doing Kayla's story, but alternating between the two. I hope y'all enjoy it!



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The night was chilly in the Imperial City. Breath puffed into excited clouds as the residents of the city walked quickly towards their homes. Stores closed for the night, the locks clicking shut as the shop owners turned and pocketed their keys.

The night grew darker as the sun set, finally slipping over the horizon in a sigh of relief as it crawled to warm other parts of Nirn. Mothers laid their infants and toddlers to rest as father stoked the fire. Beggers crawled into alleys and abandoned houses in the Waterfront. Guards downed warming potions as they continued their shift into the night, onfident that the cold would deter thieves and would-be murderers.

Above their heads as Masser and Secunda rose slowly, a lithe form leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Crouching when a guard turned their head or scanned the roofs, the figure ducked and dove until it came to its destination. It braced itself for the jump, and fell nearly soundlessly onto the white-stoned balcony. A faint glow of a candle illuminated the room inside two-story building in the Temple District.

The man inside was hunched over a bunch of papers, parchment rolled and tossed aside in messy piles. He glanced up when a breeze hit him, and he saw his balcony door had blown open. He sighed wearily as he stood up, old bones popping as he made his way to the door. He latched it shut, but not before a pile of papers had gotten blown onto the ground. He meticulously picked them up, a loud crack in his back making him groan. When he stood up, he placed the papers on his desk and sat down.

He groaned when the candle went out. He looked wearily at the door, and stood up again to latch it back. The cold breeze from the outside had chilled him to the bone, and he set a chair in front of the balony door and went downstairs. His dog wagged her tail when she heard his footsteps approach, and nuzzled his hand when he leaned down to pet her. She followed him to the kitchen, and her bushy tail continued to wag as he poured himself a cup of wine. Using a simple spell, he warmed the wine until steam rose off of it. He walked back upstairs, hissing when the hot liquid spilled onto his hand.

He sat back down in his chair and stoked the fire, adding more wood. He sat down at his desk and scooted closer, picking up the warmed wine. He took a long drink and let out a sound of satisfaction before searching for his quill. One he found it under a pile of papers, he began to search for his diary. He searched under the desk, the chairs, even his bed. He frowned as he searched drawers, on top of cabinets, teetering precariously on a wobbly chair threatening to break under his weight. His wife, a woman of his age with brown hair and silver streaks, caught him.

"Amantius!" she scolded, helping him down from the chair. "What in the name of the Nine are you doing?!"

"My diary is gone!"

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The black figure flitted between shadows, dodging swaying guards and smelly drunks. Once it reached the Waterfront, it looked around beforerunning to a small shack near the water. It disappeared inside the house, and the night was quiet.

Shivering, the form lit fire in its hands and lit the logs in the fireplace. They crackled, and soon became a roaring fire. Within minutes, the shack was nearly stuffy with heat, and the figure shed its black clothing. A short, thick cape was hung by the door, and a mask was stuff in a drawer. Bright hazel eyes inspected the book in one hand as the other golden one unlaced boots. She set the book down and continued to shed her garments, the illusion magick on the clothing replacing the lithe, thin form for a muscular, curvaceous one.

Her instincts perked a half second before the door blew open, a young woman seething in the doorway. She fixed her eyes on the nude redhead before her.

"Samara! I'm going to kill you!"

"Closed the damned door, it's freezing!"

"Good!" The raven-haired girl shut the door anyways, in spite of her anger. "Maybe you'll freeze to death and stop messing up my progress!" She lunged at Samara, catching her thick red hair at the base of her skull before she could run off.

"Ow! Alda! Too rough! TOO ROUGH!" Samara squeaked. The larger Nord girl easily tossed a shorter, lighter Samara onto the bed they shared. She pinned her to the scratchy sheets, rage in her eyes.

"Ow! You're as heavy as a horse! What have you been eating?!"

"Fetchers like you for breakfast!"

"How are you doing that? We share grocer-OW!" Samara bucked her hips and tried to knock her roommate off of her once she pinched the sensitive mound of her breast.

"GET OFF ME, YOU COW!"

"YOU TOOK MY STEAL, YOU WHORE!"

"WELL YOU'RE SLOW!"

"AM NOT!"

"ARE TOO!" Samara wriggled an arm free and yanked hard on Alda's hair, then shrieked when milky white fingers tickled her ribs. She flailed and screamed with laughter, trying to knock her assailant off. Alda's blue eyes gleamed with playfully malicious intent.

"You're going to wet yourself!" she cackled.

"WE SHARE THE SAME BED, STUPID!"

"YOU can sleep in it, I can afford to go to the Bloated-AUGH!" She fell off the bed onto the cold stone floor, and Samara panted, trying to catch her breath. She reached down and handed Alda the diary.

"Here. I don't even want it. You can take it."

"Fine!" Alda snatched the worn diary away. "Dunno what that old man wants with this, anyways. Its just a bunch of plants."

"It's actually really interesting. He's made a plant that feeds off of blood."

Alda rolled her eyes as she rolled off the floor. "Bookworm."

"What? It's fascinating!"

"See, I can't take you seriously."

"You can sod off, then."

"Oooh, Imperial cursing!" Alda's thick northern accent rolled the 'r' in 'Imperial' almost like a purr. Samara felt her face flush as she looked in the cupboards after pulling thick woolen pants and shirt over her head.

"What do you want to eat?" She looked at the pot over the fire. "Stew again?"

"I can cook, if you'd let me."

"You put too much salt in your food." Samara pulled out a few small potatoes and two carrots. She tossed Alda the potatoes. Alda brandished a silver dagger and began peeling them.

"No, leave the peeling on, I like it!"

"Well, I don't!" Alda kept peeling. Samara huffed and grabbed the bucket by the door.

"I'll be right back. I'll get some water."

"Snatch some salt, we're almost out!" Alda called after her. Samara ignored her and walked to the edge of the water. Her breath came out in white puffs in the night air, the moons reflecting off the water. She dipped the bucket in the water, careful to not get any dirt in it. She walked back and losed the door behind her, sighing in relief. She saw that Alda had changed out of her dark leather armor and into a light dressing gown.

"How can you dress so light?" Samara asked, a tinge of incredulity in her voice. "Help me out."

Alda grabbed the bucket while Samara pulled the strainer off the wall, held up by twine. "Because I'm not a milk-drinker." She said as she poured the bucket on the strainer and into the cauldron. The cloth caught bits of dirt and a small piece of wood. Alda shook it clean outside the door as Samara began cooking.

"I like milk." Samara said lightly. Alda ignored her.

After about an hour, the food was ready. Samara spooned two bowlfuls and handed one to Alda, who was perched on the bed, feet tucked underneath her. Samara handed her the salt.

"So, if you're giving me the book, what are you gonna about getting into the Thieves Guild?" Alda took a bite of the stew, then added more salt.

Samara shrugged. "I dunno. I don't really want to be in it, actually."

"What? But it's every thief's dream!"

"I wanna be like Springheel Jak. He wasn't in the Thieves Guild, and he did really good."

"Sammy," Alda's voice carried a bit of condescending sympathy. "Springheel Jak was a man who liked to break into the homes of rich woman and seduce them. That's what he was noteable for. Not for thieving."

"But he wasn't with the Thieves Guild. And he was a thief! There are stories of him leaping across buildings-"

"Ravaging noblewomen."

"-Scaling down the Palace!"

"To ravage the Empress."

"Gross. But he DID steal. So what if he had fun while he did it?" Samara set her empty bowl down after draining it of broth. Alda shrugged and set hers down inside of it and got beneath the covers. Samara put a few more logs onto the fire and crawled into bed with Alda. The smaller women turned onto her side and allowed her friend to slip her hands beneath her woolen shirt and warm her hands on her stomach.

"Sammy?" Alda murmured.

"Hmm?"

"You know I love you, right? Even though I'm mean to you, and you irritate me?"

"I love you too."

There was a pause. Alda pulled Samara closer and sighed.

"I know." There was a hint of something in her voice, but Samara didn't catch it. The two thieves drifted off to sleep, with one dreaming of becoming the Gray Fox and the other of scaling the Palace.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Thanks for your comments, everyone :]

@ Grits: Yeah, Alda is not cut out to be a thief. She wanted it more, though.




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Samara sat on her cold floor for an hour, staring at her birth certificate. Her tears had stopped long before she got up. Her achy legs groaned in protest as the static in her legs dissipated slightly at the movement. She wasn't going to take this sitting down. Or sober. Right as she reached for a bottle of wine, a knock startled her, making her let out an involuntary gasp.

'He's back for more,' she thought angrily. 'That bastard is gonna die.' She flung the door open, her mouth poised to deliver an angry retort that never came. A timid-looking Breton girl with large green eyes and white-blonde hair blinked up at her. She looked even more frightened when she saw Samara's face.

"I, uhm, I'm here to look at your arm."

Samara frowned. "I can't afford a healer. Go away." She slammed the door in the girl's face. She sat down and yanked the cork off the bottle and guzzled half its contents before hearing another timid knock. She threw the door open again to see the same girl.

"I've already been paid. If I don't heal you, I'll have to give the money back."

"Who paid for you?"

"I don't know. Some rich-looking man came into the temple and demanded the most skilled healer. They pushed me forward, and he paid me a lot of money. More than the standard amount for a healing. That makes me worry. What's wrong wit your arm?" Her timid look was replaced by one of concern, and she reached for Samara's arm. Samara rolled her eyes and let the girl undress her arm after taking out out of the splint.

"It's broken. Someone broke into my house and broke my wrist when I tried to get them to leave. Come inside."

The healer looked up at Samara as she walked in. She was a small thing, a whole head shorter than Samara, who was unusually tall for a Breton, but not as tall as a Nord. If it weren't for her keeping her blonde locks in a messy bun, Samara would've thought her a Bosmer.

"I hate to ask, but it's necessary. Did the thief, uh..." She hesitated for a moment. Samara raised her brow.

"Did he take something from you besides, uh, worldly possessions?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, uh, did he touch you, and you did not like it?"

"Are you asking if he raped me?"

The healer turned red. "Yes, I'm so sorry! I just graduated from the University and I'm not really trained in asking these sorts of questions!"

"You better learn. Wait, JUST graduated? How old are you?!"

"Twenty-seven."

"You're older than me!"

"Bretons age well. I still look young, don't I? How old did you think I was?"

"Not twenty-seven! Maybe sixteen?"

The healer laughed. "No!" She stuck out her right hand. "I'm Blanche deLion. And you are?"

Samara awkwardly shook Blanche's hand with her left hand, earning an embarrassed look from the healer.

"Samara Sage. So, is this going to hurt?"

"A little. Just sit on the bed. You'll feel itching, aching, twinges, stabs, and shooting pains, but that's a part of the healing process. I feel it's best to hold a conversation whilst healing. Helps distract you." She inspected Samara's bruised and swollen arm, frowning.

"Take a deep breath, and let it out slowly." Blanche instructed, and when Samara obeyed, a stabbing pain made her flinch when she exhaled. Blanche's warm hand gently held her elbow.

"I know. Tell me about yourself. Did you grow up here?"

Samara winced. "Yeah. Grew up in the orphanage."

"You don't say. Did you like it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I had sticky fingers."

Blanche shot Samara an amused look. "I see. I suppose that's how you ended up on the Waterfront?"

Samara shot her a hard look. "Not everyone here is a thief, you know."

Blanche looked up and saw the angry look on Samara's face. "I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean-"

"No, you did mean. But I don't blame you. I'm sure everyone thinks that. How many people on the Waterfront went to your University?"

"Uhhh..."

"Thought so. Did you ever wonder why?"

"Lack of skill, I'd assume."

"How much did your tuition cost you?" Samara asked coolly.

Blanche shrugged. "My mother paid for it. And when she passed, I inherited her business and her savings."

"So you don't even know?"

Blanche shook her head. Samara gave her a wry smile.

"Let's just say I wasn't able to pay the tuition that was in the thousands. So they told me I had to go to each Guild hall in Cyrodiil, pass a test, and receive recommendations. Me. Even though my skills lie in Illusion and Destruction, they wanted me to travel everywhere, with no money for a carriage, no money to buy spells, no money for lessons, nothing." She scoffed. "You rich people have everything handed to you."

Blanche turned a little red in the face, but said nothing. The edges of her small pink lips turned white as she pursed them angrily. Samara remained oblivious and stared at her arm. The bruising was lightening up, and she sighed.

"I thought you said this was going to hurt?"

"Usually it does. Usually they start crying right about now."

"I have a high pain tolerance, I guess." She sighed. "Look, I didn't mean to get mad at you. It's not your fault you're rich. I'm sorry about your mom, too."

"Don't be. She was a horrid woman." Blanche smiled up at her, the gesture just barely reaching her eyes. The flash of sadness wasn't lost on Samara, who looked away. She wanted to say something comforting, but all that came out was, "So you're a healer, huh?"

Blanche gave her an amused look and snorted. "Nah. I'm part of the Fighter's Guild as a porter. I just do this in secret. The Guilds get jealous of each other."

Samara laughed. "I'm really not as stupid as that question made me sound."

Blanche laughed. "I hope not. That would be a bit sad." She pulled her hands away and wiped her brow. Samara noticed for the first time that there was perspiration on her face.

"Do you need some water?" She asked. Blanche shook her head.

"No, I'll be fine. It's just more difficult to heal bones than it is to heal flesh wounds. I won't be ale to heal all of it tonight. I can come back in the morning and check on it."

"How much is left?"

Blanche held Samara's arm tenderly in her hands, turning her wrist gently over. "See that right there?" She pointed to a swollen lump on the pulse of her wrist. "There's a small hairline fracture right there. I'm going to give you a potion that will heal the rest of it. Go ahead and let it air out for a few hours, then wrap it up again." She yawned, covering her mouth with a petite hand.

"Oh, excuse me! I better get back to my house. I've got to get up early." She stood up and smiled down at Samara. "It was nice meeting you. I'm sorry if I offended you."

"You're fine. You sure you want to head out now? It's awfully late."

Blanche looked around, her lips pursed in disdain. "I'm sure."

"If you're drunk, it's not so bad." Samara shook the bottle, a playful grin on her face. Blanche shook her head.

"I'd much rather take my chances outside. Besides, I have to be at the Temple in the morning with a clear head. I appreciate the offer, though." She gave Samara a quick nod before closing the door behind her. Samara sighed and set the bottle down and re-corked it.

"So much for company." She mumbled.