Edward an Imperial's Story, Coward, bounder, thief, murderer...and hero? Options

[haute ecole rider]

Antoine reminds me of some people I know (or once knew). Honestly, there are people just like that IRL! Sigh!

And Norvayne refused Maric's offer? I can't decide if his loyalty to someone of Edward's caliber (what caliber?? a .22?? More like a BB!) is admirable or just plain stupid. I guess I'll have to wait and see!

[mALX]

SPEW !!! (CHOKE ... GASP ... ) BWAAAHAAAA!!!! ANTOINE !!!! Oogah, my stomach hurts from laughing so hard !!!!

Antoine was hilarious - he stole the show from Edward !!!! OMG, he has to travel with them, ROFL !!!

[Rachel the Breton]

haute ecole rider: lol, I'm not sure myself (re Norvayne's loyalty/stupidity). As far as Maric is concerned, he knows that he's untrustworthy and goes back on his word. Though it's likely -- out of necessity -- that Maric wouldn't cheat him (he needs someone to babysit him on his missions ), it would only be because there's no advantage in doing so. Of course, one could say the same about Edward...but the valet will never be able to see that through his loyalty/stupidity, lol. Thanks for posting!
mALX: Glad you enjoyed Antoine! I'm pretty sure even the valet's good humor would get worn down after awhile with that great conversationalist. However, I'm pretty sure that Antoine will make a comeback, if not in this story, then in Edward: an Imperial's Second Story (yes, I know, it's pretty sad that I've already thought up a part two when I am nowhere near done. ).

Nothing like a smile,
When hearts are laid low,
To cheer the weary of spirit
And raise the depressed of soul.
-- An excerpt from a piece translated in the scholarly work “Writings of Old, Dead People”

Chapter Eighty-Two

Edward stomped into the shabby wooden hut, slamming the old place's rickety door behind him as he entered.

“Hullo there!” a cheery female voice assailed the Imperial's ears.

Searching for the source of such an infuriatingly happy noise, Edward glared at a rather plain Breton woman. She was dressed shabbily, as the man outside had been, but seemed a little younger than he.

“This is the Bay Roan Stables,” she continued. “Are you interested in a horse?”

“Of course I'm not interested in a horse, you damned foolish wench!” Edward snapped.

The woman blinked at him. “Then...what are you doing here, sir?”

“I'm just trying to escape that blithering idiot you have out there, the one who calls himself Anthony or something.”

“Antoine, you mean?”

“Whatever.”

The woman glared at him. “It's a significant 'whatever', sir.” This last part was said with measured distaste. “One is the man's name, and the other is something else entirely.”

Edward stared daggers at her. “Listen, lady,” he responded. “I don't care what his name is – Anthony, Antonio, Antonietta...whatever. I just want to escape from him! And if that means coming in here...” He broke off tho shiver at the sight of the green moss that covered the moist wooden walls. “Even if that means coming into this unsanitary little shack,” he amended his statement, “I will gladly do it.”

Her eyes flashing fire, the woman spoke in a crisp, unflinching way, “This is the Bay Roan Stables.”

Edward groaned. “Ye gods...it must be some sort of Breton ailment of the brain or something...”

“And unless you're interested in a horse -”

“I already told you I'm not!”

“I'm going to have to ask you to leave!”

Edward blinked at her. “Leave?” he demanded. “When there's that drooling lunatic outside, waiting to assail me with his babble, the minute I step foot outside this door?”

“Now!” she demanded. “Or I'll call the Guard!”

“The guards? Look here, wench, don't you threaten me! I'm liable to have the Guard on you, for keeping a dangerous animal outside without -”

Her face contorting with fury, the Breton screamed, “Guard! Guard, help!”

Edward blinked. “Hey!” he called. “Stop that!” The last thing he needed was another prison record – and he had no doubt that, in a little backwater town like this, they would unhesitatingly take the flawed testimony of one of their own inbred primitives over the honest word of a cultured stranger.

“Guard!” she persisted. “Come quickly! This man will not leave!”

“Stop!” Edward protested, glancing about helplessly as the woman continued to yell. On the one hand, he couldn't force himself to go out there, where that blabbering Breton was; but, on the other, he couldn't allow this other Breton to continue...well, blabbering. “Stop it I say!” he repeated.

“Guards!”

“Stop, or I'll be forced to stop you!” he warned.

An even more fixed expression crossed the woman's face, and, in tones louder yet, she called out, “Guards! This man is threatening me!”

This was too much for Edward, who lunged for her. Pressing his hand against her mouth, he insisted, “Shut up, will you? All I want to do is wait until-AHHH!” He broke off in wailing at this point as the Breton's knee impacted sharply with his lower body, and, at the same time, her teeth sank into his hand. “Stop that! Owwww! Help! Help!” Edward called.

At that moment, the door burst open, and the Breton Edward had met earlier, Antoine Branck, entered. For a moment he glanced about dully, but, his gaze lighting upon the pair, a savage gleam lit them. “Sister!” he called. “I'm coming!”

The next thing Edward knew, a very broad fist had collided with great force and speed with the side of his head; and then the world went dark.

[Rachel the Breton]

Verily, I say unto you, my children of Dawn....ahhh, the Dawn – it's acomin' as sure as the sun rises in the west. Wait, east. But'cha'll know what I mean! Light is breaking, breakin' like molten lead on this sinful hellhole of a world we call home!

-- Partial transcription of a sermon by Mankar Camoran

Chapter Eighty-Three

When Edward came to, he was outside the Bay Roan Stables. His hands were bound, and Antoine Branck was standing guard, glaring all the while at him.

The Imperial groaned to himself. This was too much being bound and held captive in a short period of time. “Look here,” he demanded in tones as civil as he could manage. “You've no business holding me!”

“Quiet, you!” the Breton returned. “No one treats my sister like that without paying the consequences.”

“Sister?” Edward repeated. Then, light dawning on marble as it were, he understood. “Ohh, you mean that horse-faced Breton you work for?”

A large fist hovered threateningly over the Imperial's head, and he hastened to apologize, amongst ample whimpering. “I meant that lovely lady who sells the horses,” he corrected himself.

“Yes,” Antoine answered. “Isabeau. She's my sister. She owns this place. I work for her. I tend the horses here.”

“I know!” Edward snapped. “You told me. A dozen times already, at least!”

Antoine's glare returned. “You wait, Mister. The Guard'll be here soon, and you'll get what's coming to you then.”

“The Guard?” Edward repeated, his cheeks going pale.

“That's right. Isabeau is gone to get them. And when she gets back from getting the Guard, you'll get what you should have got the instant you got the idea of laying hands on my sister!”

Edward stared at the other man, an eyebrow raised. “Yes, I think I get that...” he declared superciliously, “however, I was not the one at fault. Your sister assaulted me.”

“She did not!” the Breton protested. “Isabeau wouldn't harm a fly.”

“She most certainly did, you dolt!” Edward fumed. “Look! Here, see the teeth marks on my hand? And she kneed me in my...manly parts.”

The Breton stared at Edward, an eyebrow raised in disgust. “There is no way I'm looking at your...manly parts,” he declared with a sniff.

The Imperial flushed. “I wasn't asking you to look at them!” he hastened to assure the other man. “In fact, you had better not think of it! I was talking about my hand!”

Antoine stared suspiciously at him. “That's not what you said...”

“Yes it was!” Edward snapped. “Yes it was!”

“Hmm...”

“Excuse me,” a voice sounded behind the two men. “But...what exactly is going on here?”

The Imperial started at the sound, his eyes darting for the speaker, who was none other than his manservant. “This lout and his sister attacked me!” he explained. “And now they're trying to have me arrested on trumped up charges.”

“This knave attacked my sister,” the Breton countered. “And I'm holding him here until the Guard arrives. You're not the Guard, are you?”

“No,” the valet answered slowly. “I'm not the guard...but...sir, surely this must be a mistake! My friend would never harm a lady!”

“He did so, sir. I saw it with my own eyes!”

“I did not!” Edward protested. “This idiot broke in as his sister was savaging me, and he assumed that I was the one attacking her – even though I was the only one who took any injury during the conflict!”

“That's a bold-faced lie!” the Breton roared, smacking Edward upside the head. “Don't you talk about my sister like that!”

The valet cleared his throat. “Sir, please!” he protested.

“What? No one gets to lie about my sister!”

“No, of course not...but...well, first of all, who are you? And who is your sister?”

Edward groaned as Antoine explained, “My name is Antoine. Antoine Branck. I tend the horses. That's my job. This place is the Bay Roan Stables. My sister owns it. They're her horses. I work here with the horses, for my sister. She's the one who sells horses. I would tell you to go inside and talk to her, if you're interested in buying a horse, but you can't do that now. Because she's not inside. She's getting a guard to arrest this lout. But she'll be back. Then you can go in and talk to her. If you're interested in a horse, of course.”

“I see,” the valet nodded. “And how did this...misunderstanding...with my friend happen?”

“He went inside to buy a horse; and the next thing I know, I hear Isabeau screaming. I comes running, and there is he, with his hand on her mouth. So I set upon him – and he's lucky he's still drawing breath, I tell you that!”

“Oh, yes, quite,” the valet hastened to agree.

“No one treats a lady like that – especially not my sister!”

“No, no indeed. It was very...caddish behavior.”

“Hey!” Edward protested. “I was just trying to stop the stupid woman from screaming at me. I wasn't trying to hurt her!”

“Still,” the valet was continuing, “I'm not sure that it's worth bringing the Guard into...”

“It certainly is!” Antoine insisted.

“Really?” the valet asked. “I mean, no one was hurt....”

“I was!” Edward protested. “I was bit and kneed and pounded about!”

“Well, no one but Edward,” the valet continued. “Right?”

“Yes,” the other man nodded slowly. “But he deserved it!”

Edward began to protest heartily, but he was ignored by the others. “Oh, absolutely...still, hard to convince a judge that he was the villain when you and your sister – the two of you – teamed up to beat him senseless, I would think.”

The Breton shifted his weight nervously. “Well, I...that is...”

“Look here, Antoine,” the valet continued, “we're both intelligent men. We can both agree that what you and your sister did was perfectly reasonable under the circumstances. We both know that, even if the Guard does arrest him, he'll probably have to pay some measly fine and get off with hardly a delay or a dent in his pocket.” Antoine nodded glumly while Edward continued his protestations. “Surely we can think of a better solution than that.”

The Breton's forehead pursed in thought for a moment, but then his eyes lit up. “You want to kill him?” he suggested.

“No!” came the hurried response. A short, calmer laugh, and a congenial brush of the hand followed. “No, no, my good chap, nothing so drastic. What good would it do you – or your sister – if he ended up dead? And, I know this guy...he's faced death so many times that he's not even fazed by it anymore.” Edward's chalk white face rather put the lie to that assertion, but his servant bravely ventured on. “But you know what does bother him?”

The Breton shook his head.

“Money.”

“Money?”

“That's right...he's a greedy one, is Master Edward. I think if we were to agree to a settlement outside of the law...that would be the best way to punish him.”

Antoine nodded slowly. “That makes sense,” he said. “What sort of settlement?”

“Oh, I don't know,” the valet hesitated. “How about...one thousand gold septims?”

Edward's eyes bulged at the figure, before he found himself falling into a dead faint at the prospect of – broke as he was – owing this savage a fortune's worth of gold.

[haute ecole rider]

Assaulting our dear Isabeau? Edward certainly asked for it! You go, girl!

And good on Antoine for not wasting time blabbering when he burst in the shack!

Yet Norvayne shows his smooth talkin' that just leaves me shaking my head. It's amazing how he can smooth things over on Edward's behalf and yet let the circumstances pound Edward into petulant submission! Getting out of impending arrest by settling for an exorbitant sum of one thousand septims!

And Rachel, where do you find the inspiration for the little tidbits you always lead each chapter off with? I got a really huge kick out of this one:

Verily, I say unto you, my children of Dawn....ahhh, the Dawn – it's acomin' as sure as the sun rises in the west. Wait, east. But'cha'll know what I mean! Light is breaking, breakin' like molten lead on this sinful hellhole of a world we call home!

-- Partial transcription of a sermon by Mankar Camoran

Typical Southern Baptist preachin' style! Genius! Not that there's anything wrong with Southern Baptists.

[mALX]

And she kneed me in my...manly parts.”

ROFL !!! Edward...has...manly parts? SPEW !!!!

Her face contorting with fury, the Breton screamed, “Guard! Guard, help!”

All this lacked was Isabeau tearing her blouse (accidentally or otherwise) - ROFL !!! I am loving these new chapters !!! Awesome Write !!!

[Rachel the Breton]

haute ecole rider: haha, glad you enjoyed it! As for the price the valet paid, that will be explained soon. As for the inspiration...when I was a teenager, I had the * ahem * good fortune of my family attending a southern baptist church for a few years. When I started writing Mankar's lines, I drew off of that experience...I actually wondered at first if I was overdoing it...and then I attended the baptism ceremony for one of my brothers (he's still a southern baptist, and is marrying into the church this June)...nope, not a bit of it, LOL. Don't get me wrong, nothing against southern baptists as people...the whole fire-and-brimstone and "merciful father in heaven who wants his beloved children who don't obey his every dictate according to the pastor tortured for all eternity" thing just isn't my cup of tea, lol. Neither is being told that my non-southern baptist ancestors/family/friends are all going to/currently in hell (with the implied threat that, unless I tow the line and convert, I am as well). But I digress. Anyhow, that was the source of inspiration...the very bored "yeah, yeah, yeah" chanting in the game when you enter the Mythic Dawn lair just seemed so anti-climatic, I figured Cameron needed some real "fire" in his speech.
mALX: LOL! Now Edward finally gets a taste of his constant assumptions about people's interest in him.

Good bye, good bye,
Parting is such sweet sorrow...
-- From The Gentleman's Lament of Gold Spent

Chapter Eighty-Four

Edward awoke from his faint to find himself precariously propped up in a saddle and traveling at a fair speed. “Wha-?!” he demanded, starting to consciousness so suddenly that he nearly lost his balance.

“Ahh, sir!” he heard his valet greet. “Glad to see you're awake!”

Edward glared in the direction of that voice. He could vaguely remember his companion's insults and affronts, but he was keenly aware of some wrong the other man had done him...though the exact nature of it slipped his mind at the moment.

“Sorry to set out like that, sir,” his companion continued. “With you unconscious, and everything, I mean. But I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible – in case that Branck fellow changed his mind, or his sister returned with a guard.”

The Imperial blinked as his memories began to fall into place. “Wait...that stupid Breton...you mean...”

“Antoine, sir? That's right. He agreed to let you go – once I paid him, of course, and I-”

Edward loosed a yelp. That was it – the fool of a servant had promised one thousand septims for his freedom, hadn't he? “A...thousand...septims!” he managed to choke out.

“Yes sir,” the valet nodded. “It was a steep price, but we were just lucky he accepted it. He was pretty convinced that your intentions were...well, less than honorable toward his sister.”

Edward recoiled in disgust. “That hideous Breton horse?!” he gasped.

“I think,” the other man continued, ignoring his statement altogether, “that it was only the fact that he wasn't convinced that they'd be able to get a conviction. And then, when you passed out like that at the mention of the septims...I think you sealed the deal, sir.” He frowned. “Speaking of which...why did you pass out, sir?”

Edward gaped at him. “One...thousand...gold...septims!” he managed in way of reply.

His companion frowned. “You mean...it really was the money that caused you to go out like that?”

“Of course!”

“Oh...I assumed you must have been woozy from your fight, or something.”

Edward glared at him. “You fool! You've just laid an enormous debt on my head! How do you think I'll ever be able to pay all that off?!”

“Sir?”

“Not that I'd pay that repulsive reprobate anyway,” the Imperial continued. “But he's probably expecting me to...and if I don't, he might file a grievance...for that sum, he may well take it all the way to the Imperial City!”

“What, you mean the thousand septims, sir?”

“Of course, idiot! What else?”

“Oh, no worries about that,” the valet shook his head. “I took care of it already.”

“You...?!” Edward demanded, both furious that his valet could carry – much less part with – that much pocket change at any given time, and relieved beyond words that the price would not be exacted of him.

“That's right, sir,” the other man nodded, “with the thousand septims Maric returned.”

The Imperial's jaw dropped again. “You...don't...mean...”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that, didn't I sir?”

A strangled laugh escaped Edward's throat. “Yes, you just might have overlooked that tiny detail!”

“Well, it wasn't the sort of thing to discuss while you were tied up anyway,” his valet shrugged. “But, yes, before I left Maric at the healer, I talked him into returning your money.”

Edward blinked at the idea. It seemed improbable – nay, impossible – that anyone could reason with the obtuse Breton.

“Well...I threatened him, actually,” his companion admitted with another shrug. “But he coughed up what he owed in the end.”

Licking his lips greedily, Edward positively cackled with delight.

“Sir?” the other man asked, a blank expression crossing his face.

“Then...that means...I still have a thousand septims!” Edward mused, in way of explanation for his sudden change of demeanor.

“Another thousand?” the valet asked, his forehead creased. “How so, sir?”

“You wasted a thousand,” Edward explained, “but Maric stole two thousand!”

“Ohhhh, I see what you mean,” his companion nodded. “But I didn't make him return the full purse.”

The Imperial's jaw dropped anew. “What?!”

“Well, sir, he had spent a lot of it already before setting out for Nenalata...”

“How much?!”

“A hundred or two septims...”

“And the rest?!”

The valet shrugged. “His wounds were pretty bad, sir. He's going to need a good healer, and he'll have to be able to afford a few months of bed rest. I thought it only right...”

Edward's eyes flickered, and he felt himself falling out of the saddle, into a dead faint.

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Feb 13 2011, 07:47 PM

[Rachel the Breton]

Be sure your sins will find you out –
So see to it that you always have a handy lie about!
-- Excerpt from the chapter “On Lying”, in The Young Nobleman's Guide to Success in Society

Chapter Eighty-Five

When Edward roused from this new faint, he found himself in a little glade some ways off the road with his valet and the two horses.

“Are you alright, sir?” the other man was asking.

Edward groaned piteously.

“What hurts, sir?” the other man asked, his face very perplexed. The Imperial continued to whimper in response, so he prodded, “I can't see any exterior wounds, sir...you need to talk to me. What's hurting you?”

“My purse!” Edward spoke at last.

The valet sighed, raising an eyebrow at him. “Is that all, sir? I thought you had seriously injured yourself!”

“I didn't injure myself,” the Imperial corrected. “It was you who gave away my money like that!”

“I didn't give it away, sir. Maric needed it for his treatment-” Edward interrupted with renewed groaning, but his companion ignored him. “And, as I say, we were lucky that Antoine accepted that payment!”

The Imperial's eyes flashed with fire. “Hold on!” he said. “You told that stupid Breton that I would have got off with a minor fine. Why did you waste all my gold, then?”

“You mean...you would have preferred if they dragged you off to prison, sir?”

“As opposed to losing one thousand gold septims?!” Edward thundered. “Are you daft, man? Do you even need to ask such a question?! Of course I would have!”

His companion frowned at him. “Well...be that as it may, sir, what I said to Branck wasn't strictly true, anyway.” Edward frowned in response. “You see, there's some fellow going around attacking the women in the area...they haven't seen him in a couple of weeks, but he hurt a few of them pretty badly. Killed one.” His brow furrowing, he continued, “I have my suspicions, sir, that it was that Rufio character that you...erm, snuffed out. No one's reported an attack since then. But that, of course, would have been difficult to explain – the Guard would have assumed that you were the culprit of the attacks. And, what with our only defense being murder...that wouldn't have went over very well.”

The Imperial frowned. “But...one thousand septims? Couldn't you have offered him less...like...I donno...fifty?”

“Of course not, sir,” the valet answered. “I didn't want to insult him – because then he might have refused the money just out of spite.”

Edward glared at his companion. “Well then,” he demanded, “why didn't you just kill the fool?! After all, he was holding me illegally, against my will and unjustly!”

“Speaking of that, sir...” the other man started. “What, exactly, happened?”

The Imperial sighed. “That great lummox was following me around spouting off banalities about the horses and his sister – who could pass for one of the animals any day, I can tell you! – and his job and all that. So I went inside to escape the lout.” He sighed again. “When the obtuse woman greeted me, she...mistook...a few things I said.”

“Oh?”

“About her brother and...his intellect,” Edward admitted, hurrying to add, “they were quite witty and amusing statements, of course, all very tasteful...I just forgot that I was speaking to a witless, humorless Breton. Anyway, she started calling the guard....and I threatened to tell the guard that she had a dangerous animal outside without a permit...”

The valet cringed. “You didn't say that about her brother, did you?”

Edward shrugged. “I might have,” he answered. “But...I didn't know the fool was her brother, anyway!” His companion sighed while he pouted. “Anyway, things just sort of...went downhill from there.”

“I see,” the valet nodded. “I'm sorry to hear that. Still...not the end of the world, I suppose. They were no doubt frightened, but the septims should be a decent remuneration.” Edward glared at the other man, who cleared his throat. “Yes, well...umm...we should probably head out now.”

The Imperial begrudgingly nodded his acquiescence, and the two headed for their mounts.

“Oh, sir...by the way....”

“What?”

“About that fire yesterday...”

[haute ecole rider]

I waited to reply to make sure you didn't have more chapters up your sleeve.

These two chapters had me laughing out loud! Edward in his shock over the 'loss' of 'his' septims soooo reminded me of my little Italian granny. God bless her soul, but she would have reacted exactly the same way he did!

And Edward's version of events leading up to the 'loss' was just - just - *spluttering helplessly* - priceless!


Care of two horses for one day: Ten drakes
Healing for an ungrateful, shady character: eight hundred septims.
Bribing a mentally challenged but pissed off brother: one thousand septims.
Seeing a memorably annoying character pass out and fall off his horse: Priceless!

[mALX]

Edward falling off the horse in a dead faint ... over Septims he thought were lost anyway ... SPEW !!!! ROFL !!!

Can't blame Edward for being mad that his valet paid the man who robbed the Septims from him to begin with, (half of it for his troubles) though - that might be the incident that gets his Valet put on Edward's "Death Wish List," lol.

[Rachel the Breton]

haute ecole rider: lol, glad you enjoyed the chapters!! I loved writing Branck...he just sort of happened, lol -- in large part because he and Isabeau say the same things each time you talk to them and I thought...hmm, wouldn't it be fun if they did that in Edward's "real life" too. And then the 1,000 Septims bribe just sort of grew out of that. Thanks for posting!!


mALX: lol, I can't blame him either. The valet, though, is a sucker for someone in hard times. So, to his mind, no matter how much of a blackguard Maric is, he can't just leave him without anything for healing. As far as ending up on Edward's death list, lol, that's a good point -- there is little that means more to Edward the Imperial than money. Glad you liked it!!



One reaction, whatever the cause
To hail the victorious or see off the dead
And when no reason, just because:
They prefer to drink even before they are fed.
-- A Study of the Social Evolution, Customs and Building Practices of the Nordic Tribes, ordered by High Chancellor Cicero




Chapter Eighty-Six

Edward smiled. Fortune had indeed been with him since he and his valet left Bravil in the dust. Their ride to Cheydinhal had been quick and eventless, and his servant had been gullible enough to believe his explanation for the near-forest fire incident.

So it was, while the valet contemplated how a man who was both afraid of the dark and paralyzed by fear of fire could be an adventurer of Edward's caliber, the Imperial smiled coolly and swaggered into his Dark Brotherhood hideout. He was disappointed to see that, aside from M'raaj-Dar and the Dark Guardian, he was all alone; but he remembered what had happened last time he'd entered, so maintained his cool, easy attitude; at least, an attitude that he took to be cool and easy. "Yo, M'raaj-Dar my man, how's it hanging?" he asked.

The cat raised a furry eyebrow, responding only, "Funny that it would be you, talking about hanging...I think of the same thing, every time I hear you..."

Edward blinked, taken aback by this less than friendly response. "Come on, M'raaj-Dar, are you really saying that you hate me so much that you want to hang yourself every time you hear me?"

M'raaj-Dar's already raised eyebrow stood a good inch higher, and he commented dryly, "Myself? Guess again, brainy."

Edward gulped, and decided that he'd rather not carry on a conversation with the ornery Khajiit. Keeping his distance, he circled the cat to reach the Brotherhood quarters. Pushing against the doors with a grunt, he thought, "Great divines, haven't these people ever heard of oiling the darned hinges?!" They opened slowly, and only with much effort. Entering at last, and panting heavily as he did so, he shook himself to loosen his cramped muscles. He stepped inside, only to be greeted by several surprised stares, and a hiss of disgust from Antionetta.

"Oblivion!" he thought, attempting to resume the manner with which he'd entered the hideout. "Of course she'd have to see that...I couldn't have problems with some other door...oh no...it would have to be here, and now."

"Edgar!" Vicente greeted, rising from his seat across from Antionetta, where they both sat over a chessboard.

"Edward!" Edward corrected, frowning deeply. He didn't like this Breton; he didn't like the way he always got his name wrong; he didn't like the way he tended to dismiss him; and he certainly didn't like the way he was always hanging around Antionetta.

"Vicente, can't you wait to talk to him?" Antionetta asked, waving her hand in Edward's direction but not bothering to look at him. "We're almost finished with our game!"

Edward blinked, wondering how he should interpret her body language. "Wow," he thought with a touch of joy. "I didn't realize she had such a crush on me that she can't even look at me...I mean, I suspected, but..." Aloud, however, he declared in his most obliging voice and with a broad smile, "Oh, of course -- it can wait!"

But Vicente smiled at Antionetta and declared, "Business before pleasure, my dear." With this, he took her hand, pressed it to his lips, and turned to Edward, who now stood agape. Antionetta, meanwhile, smiled warmly at Vicente, but cast a dark look Edward's way.

"Now," Vicente declared, his manner very businesslike, "what can I do for you?"

"Well, I, umm, came because I, uhh..." Edward started, stumbling over his words. His thoughts were in complete disarray, and he was having little success at reorganizing them. "How dare that snotty little Breton touch her?" he was wondering. "And to kiss her! Him, of all people! I'm surprised she didn't slap him! In fact, if he wasn't my boss, I'd slap him!"

While his thoughts rambled on in this manner, Vicente spoke. "Yes, we heard about your mission. Interesting ruse, pretending to be a madman and all that, I must say -- and a bit risky at that." He shrugged. "But, it worked."

"Yes, it did," Edward said haughtily.

"Good thing you had someone to help you," Vicente offered.

"Save his butt, you mean," Antionetta put in curtly.

Edward blinked, surprised by her tone. "But," he told himself, "I can't blame her...of course she's short tempered, after being treated like that by that presuming, stuffed shirt Breton!" He glared at Vicente. Of late, Bretons seemed to make a habit of getting in his way.

Vicente seemed not to notice his expression. "Well, however that may be, you've earned your reward, and a promotion."

Edward blinked again, this time forgetting his abhorrence of Vicente. "A promotion?" he asked.

"That's right," the other man answered. "Congratulations! You're now a Slayer!"

Edward's blank expression turned into a radiant smile, and he started dancing and chanting, "Yes, yes, yes!" Then, seeing Antionetta's rather disgusted gaze resting on him, he hurried over to her table. "Did you hear? I got promoted!" he exclaimed, plunking into the seat opposite her and knocking the chessboard over with his knees as he did so.

"That's as good a way as any to go, I suppose," she said through clenched teeth as the chess pieces clattered on the floor.

"Huh?" Edward asked, abashed by his clumsiness, as he scrambled to pick up the pieces.

"What Antionetta means," Vicente intervened quickly, "is that that's a nice way to go on your next mission."

"Oh," Edward smiled up at her, "yes, isn't it?"

[Rachel the Breton]

Can you feel the love in the air?
There, the dreamer dreams up his starry paradise
Do you wonder how the lover will fare?
Alas, his poor heart must pay the fool's price.
-- The Witless Swain, unattributed love poem rumored to have been inspired by a certain Imperial




Chapter Eighty-Seven

“Well,” Edward was telling his valet, “you know how I had been unjustly imprisoned by those nobleman who were aware of my ancestry?”

The other man grimaced almost imperceptibly, but said in a tone free of expression, “I recall you saying something to that effect, sir.”

“Quite so,” Edward nodded. “Well, they knew who I really was…that the Emperor was my father, and all of that…and they know that, with no heirs to the throne, it should, by rights, be mine – which is, of course, why I was thrown into prison.”

“Indeed, sir,” the valet declared, assuming that flat, disinterested tone he used when Edward was lying through his teeth.

“Well, anyway, do you remember the prisoner who was stationed across from me, Valen Dreth?”

“No sir.”

“Well, he was a nasty thing…foul mouthed, cruel, mean…he taunted me the whole time I was in prison…”

“How terrible, sir.”

“Yes, quite,” Edward agreed. “But, it’s payback time…Vicente wants me to kill him.”

The valet’s eyebrows rose. “For taunting you in prison, sir?”

“No, of course not!” Edward snapped. “Although I don’t see why you’d say it with such disbelief…that would be reason enough to warrant the little turd’s death, wouldn’t it?”

The valet coughed discreetly, saying, “If you say so, sir, then I’m sure it is.”

“You’re darned right it is!”

“But what is his crime?” the valet persisted. “That is, his other one.”

Somewhat, though not entirely, placated by this recognition of the wrong he’d been dealt, Edward answered, “Well, turns out the old goat is a murderer as well as a nasty, big mouthed honoured user.”

“But isn’t that why he’s in prison, sir?”

“Yes,” Edward answered. “But he’s not going to be in prison for very long.”

“Oh?”

“Yes…he’s got friends, it seems, who are ‘looking the other way’ and releasing him next month…after only serving two months!”

The valet’s eyebrows rose again. “I see!”

“Well,” Edward smiled, “these good old boys are in for a surprise…Edward the Imperial doesn’t stand by while friends pull strings for their friends, getting them out of prison, saving them from the gallows, freeing them after they’ve killed someone!” His valet shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, but Edward didn’t notice. “No indeed! I’m going to be handing out some final justice.”

“Indeed sir,” came the valet’s slightly ironic tone.

“Yup,” Edward agreed, smiling broadly. “I say, this is a good day, you know that?”

“Is it, sir?”

“Yes indeed! Another mission, and…” Here Edward broke off, blushing a little. “Well, everything.”

His valet frowned thoughtfully. “Everything, sir?”

“Yes, yes,” Edward answered. “The birds are singing, the sun is shining, the flowers are blooming, the world is at peace all over!”

“I take it, then, sir, that you have a lady friend in the Brotherhood?”

Edward turned to the other man, and stared at him in astonishment, his mouth agape. “How on earth did you know?” he demanded.

The faintest hint of a smile appeared on the valet’s lips, but he replied only, “Valet’s intuition, sir.”

“I say, that’s very good!” Edward declared. “And, of course, you’re right. There is a girl…Antionetta Marie…oh, you should see her…beautiful…blonde…absolutely, madly in love with me…”

His valet shot him a quick glance, as if hoping to discern whether or not he was lying. His expression only grew more puzzled, however, and he said, “Are you sure, sir?”

Edward stared at him, dumbfounded and not a little insulted by the question. “What do you mean, ‘am I sure?’ Of course I’m sure! Why, the poor girl is so in love with me that she can barely speak two words to me! She can’t even look me in the eye! And that Vicente – the old pervert’s got his eye on her, it’s plain to see, but she wants nothing to do with him. You should’ve seen how upset she was when I came in while they were playing chess, and then he kissed her hand and left to talk to me; oh, she was furious! And humiliated – she couldn’t even look me in the eye after that, she was so mortified.” Edward sighed. “The poor lamb…if she only knew that I understood, that I saw through that red-eyed, pointy-toothed swine’s schemes.” Edward sighed again.

Meanwhile, his valet was staring at him, open-mouthed. At last, however, he cleared his throat. “Sir…do I understand you rightly when you say that you interrupted this girl – Antionetta – and Vicente from a game, and that Vicente kissed her hand, and after that – after you interrupted and Vicente left – Antionetta was furious, and wouldn’t look at you or talk to you?”

“Yup,” Edward nodded proudly. “I told you…plain as day, isn't it?”

His valet blinked at the statement, sat in amazed silence for a moment, and then ventured, “Well, sir, are you sure that you…well, that you’re interpreting her reaction correctly?”

“Oh yes,” Edward assured him, adding with a knowing smile, “But don’t worry…I haven’t done anything rash…I’m pretending I haven’t noticed yet.” The other man breathed a sigh of relief, but let Edward continue to prattle on. “The way I figure it, no sense rushing this thing…I’m young…I’ve still got to have fun before I think of settling for any one woman, even if she is wild for me…I’ve still got to reap my wild oats and all that!”

“Sow, sir,” the valet corrected.

“Right,” Edward agreed. “Whatever. But you get my drift. And, anyway, it’s damned hard to have a relationship with someone when she’s so carried away by her emotions that she can’t talk to you or look at you, and avoids you whenever possible.”

The other man cleared his voice. “Sir, don’t you think…I mean, are you sure that her reaction earlier was embarrassment rather than, oh, I don’t know…maybe being furious that you interrupted her game and took her away from the man she’s really interested in?”

Edward did a double take, and in so doing nearly fell off of his horse. “Vicente?” he laughed. “Are you mad? That horrible, red-eyed thing, with his pointy teeth and stuffy accent? For heaven’s sakes, man, he looks like a bloody vampire!”

“And are you sure that he’s not?”

Edward stopped laughing and stared at him superciliously. “A vampire? Come now, don’t be absurd! There’s no such thing as vampires….that’s all hogwash and superstition!”

“Oh yes,” his valet agreed. “Vampires, werewolves, zombies, magicians…the whole lot.”

“Not zombies and magicians,” Edward corrected. “Those exist…I know, I’ve met some. The rest are though.”

“Oh, I see…only the creatures that you’ve met exist, and the rest are myth?” the valet asked, a hint of irony in his tone.

“Exactly,” Edward agreed earnestly. “And Vicente might be a nasty old coot, but a vampire he is not, even if he does look like one.”

The valet shook his head, but did not argue the point. “Well, then, what’s to say that she isn’t in love with this fellow who looks like a vampire but isn’t one?”

Edward laughed again. “Come on, who would fall for some weirdo with glowing eyes and pointy teeth?”

His valet sighed. “I have one word for you, sir: Twilight.”

[Rachel the Breton]

Of noble princes we sings,
All those whose rule we fear
Princes, Lords and Kings
Hopes our praises they hear.
-- Song of the Beggars and Serfs

Chapter Eighty-Eight

Edward had not spoken to his valet in hours. After the other man's impertinent, downright offensive, suggestion, he had had no desire to converse with him. Furthermore, despite his adamant denial of the idea, his valet's words had touched that shred of common sense that he'd always managed to cling onto, and made him ever so slightly uncomfortable, and ever so slightly depressed.

"You know, sir," his valet said at last, "I've been thinking...it might be a good idea to do something else for a while."

"What?" Edward asked.

"Well, you've got over a month to deal with the prisoner before he's released...and then, you could always get him after he's released too."

Edward frowned. "Why do you care when I do it, anyway?"

His valet shrugged, in an entirely unconvincing attempt at nonchalance. "Oh, I don't know...I just thought that maybe it might be a good idea to take a break from your Brotherhood quests."

"Why?" Edward asked, his frown deepening.

"Well, just so that you can...I don't know...broaden your horizons," the other man answered. "You know, see some other things, go other places."

"I don't think you understand," Edward snapped, "just how important my job is! If not for me, all sorts of nefarious characters would be getting away with all sorts of nefarious deeds! I don't have time to go sightseeing!" He paused. "Anyway, I don't really have enough money for a vacation."

His valet shook his head imperceptibly. No matter how much money Edward earned, he never seemed to be able to hang onto it for very long; between tipping pretty waitresses too much in vain attempts to impress them, to being a magnet for clothes with holes in their pockets, he always managed to wind up short on cash. "Well, sir, I know just the place where you might be able to earn yourself a little bit of money, take care of a few bad guys, and see some beautiful country, all at the same time."

Despite himself, Edward perked up. A vacation didn't sound terribly bad, and it might be nice to build his reputation outside of the Brotherhood. "Oh?" he said, attempting a disinterested air -- attempting, and failing miserably.

"Yes...a little town by the seaside, with lots of beautiful scenery and nice people, and just enough trouble to make it profitable for a noble-minded adventurer such as yourself to clean it up."

Edward smiled, almost forgetting his annoyance with his valet entirely. "At least the man recognizes my inane abilities," he thought. "Or is that innate?" He frowned in thought for several moments, but then dismissed the difficulty. He was too excited about a vacation to worry about stupid things like the proper use of language. "Well, what is this little town?"

"Anvil, sir."

Edward frowned again. "Anvil?"

"Have you been there, sir?"

"Well, no," Edward admitted. "But one doesn't have to go somewhere just to know that it's a backwards place. Take Bruma...I knew before I stepped foot in that frigid den of barbarians that it was an arctic hell. And, of course, I was right."

His valet cleared his throat tactfully. "Yes sir, however, Anvil is not a Bruma."

"Yes," Edward agreed, "it's warmer."

The other man sighed. "Sir, Anvil is a hub of culture!" Edward scoffed, but his valet continued anyway. "The sea port brings in people and goods from all lands!"

"Oh joy," Edward remarked. "A bunch of dirty, uncivilized seafarers bringing second class merchandise, probably stolen, in to drive the prices down for quality merchandise made by hard working Imperials!"

His valet's grimace deepened, but he did not directly confront his master's suppositions. Instead, he said, "Well, there are lots of Imperials in Anvil...and they sometimes have problems with some of the sailors and the dock hands...the whole town would be grateful, I'm sure, if a brave adventurer would come into town and clean things up." Seeing that Edward wasn't wholly convinced, he added, "And I'm sure they'd be willing to pay well...very well!"

Edward smiled at this. Yes, he could see himself filling the role his valet described, particularly the part about collecting a handsome reward. "Well," he said slowly. "I suppose I could make a short trip there...it's not like Valen's going anywhere for awhile." He laughed at his own joke, while his valet tried not to sigh audibly. "After all, these people really do need me...and, if I don't answer the call, they'll be left to face the barbarian hordes by themselves."

"Yes sir," his valet returned in his driest tone.

"And I couldn't desert them like that," Edward continued.

"No sir," the valet responded in the same tone.

[haute ecole rider]

So it's off to Anvil, huh? And what, pray tell, would Edward find to screw up there? A certain rundown manor in need of renovation? Unwelcome seductresses in need of eviction? Or a bloodbath in a Chapel? I can't wait to see what happens next!

Oh, and this cracked me up:

His valet sighed. “I have one word for you, sir: Twilight.”

Can you believe how sick I am about the whole vampire/werewolf thing? I'm with Norvayne there!

[Grits]

Twilight!! Anvil, oh dear. I hope at least some of it is still standing when Edward is finished there!

[mALX]

GAAAAH !!! I remember the Edward, Antoinetta part - but never remembered that Edward didn't know Vicente was a vampire !!! I sprayed my coffee everywhere !!! ROFL !!!


This killed me, and I don't remember it from the original either :

His valet sighed. “I have one word for you, sir: Twilight.”

SPEW !!!! BWAAAAHAAA !!! ROFL !!!

[Rachel the Breton]

Thanks for the comments, all! As for the Twilight thing, lol, I hear you...how many teen angst vampire love triangles/conflicts/whatnot do they expect us to suffer through, lol?
Anvil may be standing, but I'm not sure that Edward will be when he's done.
As for Edward not realizing that Vicente is a vampire...that might require taking time to observe and think about what he's observed. And that is all far too tedious for dear Edward.

Plagues and famine, war and devastation
No single disaster, tragedy or travesty of life can compare
To the horrors of the wayward servant
Fiend, miscreant, and irritant his master simply cannot bear.
-- Excerpt from The Trials of a Nobleman, First Edition

Chapter Eighty-Nine

Edward was stiff and sore. He and his valet had been riding for almost a week, and he had lost all of his enthusiasm for this adventure; in fact, if he had not been so stiff and so tired, he might just have strangled his companion for talking him into this hellish nightmare in the first place. As it was, they had been riding through almost nonstop storms, in bone-chilling rain and wind, and at an annoyingly slow pace; and, while the latter issue was Edward's fault, as he insisted on making frequent stops to wring the rain water out of his cloak, he held his valet personally responsible for the other difficulties since this trip had been his idea.

Aside from being sore, he was also very tired, and very, very cranky. He had hardly slept so far, and his nerves were completely on edge. Every noise made him jump -- more so than usual -- and every flash of lightning sent his heart into his mouth, until, at last, he was a nervous wreck. Finally, the walls of the city came into sight. Then, after what seemed an agonizing stretch, they had reached the stables, left their mounts, and were heading toward the gate.

Edward was shaking with exhaustion and cold, but his valet seemed to be in high spirits -- a fact that served only to dampen Edward's own spirits further. "You know, sir," the valet was saying, "one of the reasons I was particularly anxious for us to head down here -- aside from it being just the adventure you need, of course -- is that there's a mysterious person who lives here; the folks around these parts just call him 'stranger'. There's something strange about that..."

"Oh, no?" Edward asked sarcastically. "I supposed they call him 'stranger' because there's nothing strange about him at all."

An eyebrow creeping up his forehead, the other man asked, "Is everything alright, sir?"

"No!" Edward shot back. "Everything is not alright! I'm freezing cold, I'm exhausted, I really have no business being here, and you're still breathing!"

The valet cleared his throat. "Yes sir...well, I'm sure these difficulties will all work themselves out once you rent a room, eat a warm meal, take a long nap..."

"Only if some friendly passing loon cuts your head off while I'm sleeping," Edward muttered.

His valet smiled, although very discreetly, and continued speaking. "And the sea here is just wonderful...you know, I haven't been swimming in so long..." He glanced around. "The lightning seems to have stopped...hmm, I just might take a swim while you take a nap."

Edward frowned at his servant. "But it's raining!" he protested.

A flicker of a smile appeared on the other man's face, as he answered, "Oh, good point, sir...I might get wet if I do that!"

Edward's frown deepened, and he wondered which god he should pray to in order to get the lightning to resume and strike his miscreant manservant. Finally, he decided the more promising option was just to pray to all of them that his valet cramped up while swimming, and drowned.

Both men fell silent, and they had been walking without speaking for several minutes when the valet noticed Edward's lips moving ever so slightly. "Oh, I didn't know you were religious, sir!" he said.

Edward started, looked around rather guiltily, and then asked, "What?"

"Well, you were praying, weren't you?" Edward blinked, but said nothing. "I didn't know you were religious, that's all."

"I'm not," Edward replied. Then, glancing upwards, he hurried to add, "I mean, not terribly...but there's always room for improvement...if I could be convinced that the gods really existed, and were as benevolent and generous as they claim to be, I'm sure I'd become a very religious man."

Smiling discreetly, his valet nodded. "I take it then, sir, you were praying for good fortune during your stay here?"

"Umm, yes, you could say that," Edward said, avoiding the other man's gaze as he spoke.

[Rachel the Breton]

Revenge is a sweet dish best served cold, much like ice cream.

-- Topic sentence of a grade-school essay written by Edward

Chapter Ninety





Edward stumbled, wet and weary, into the Count's Arms, an inn and pub in western Anvil. He glanced about, glaring at everyone in the room. He'd headed to the waterfront already, figuring that there would be cheap lodging to be had there; instead, he had very rudely been ousted from the only inn there, The Fo'c'sle, because he wasn't a seafarer. So, trudging back through the rain to the Count's Arms, he had come to terms with the fact that he'd have to pay a full 25 gold for his room. Needless to say, he was significantly less than pleased. In fact, he was so much less than pleased that he'd inwardly vowed revenge on the proprietress of The Fo'c'sle, Mirabelle Monet -- but not until he'd changed into dry clothes, rested, and eaten, in whatever order took his fancy.

As he clomped -- rather, sloshed -- into the room, staring daggers at everyone who dared to cross his path, a young man approached him. "Hello there!" he greeted. "My name is Velwyn Benirus, and you look like someone who could use a place of your own here in town. And it just so happens that I'm selling a beautiful manor house, full of character, because I'm moving out of town; and, since I don't have time to negotiate, as my business is so pressing, I'm going to let it go for the ridiculously low price..."

Edward turned malevolent eyes in his direction, and snarled, "Piss off!" The other man blinked at Edward's fury, and quickly absented himself. Satisfied by his success, Edward finished sloshing up to the counter, and demanded in his most uncivil tones, "You there! I want a room!"

Wilbur, the publican, cleared his throat, and said, "Yes sir. That'll be 25 gold."

"Highway robbery is illegal in this empire, you know!" Edward snapped.

Wilbur frowned, saying, "Well, sir, if you think you could find a better deal here in town, be my guest."

"'If you think you could find a better deal, be my guest'," Edward repeated in a mocking tone, flinging the gold at the publican.

Stooping to pick it up, Wilbur replied meekly, "Thank you very much, sir. Here's the key to your room." This, in turn, he flung at Edward.

Starting in surprise, Edward made no other move, and the heavy iron key flew into swift, painful contact with his jaw.

Wilbur smiled as Edward bent to retrieve the key. "Have a nice evening, sir."

Trudging up the stairs, oozing a trail of water behind him like a giant human snail, Edward thought, "Well, now, that's one more to add to list..."

When, at last, he'd reached his room, he plopped into a chair -- making a noise very reminiscent of a large stone plopping into a body of water -- and pulled out a soggy list from one of his pockets. It read as follows:





*** Private ***
* * * TOP SECRET * * *
* Do NOT read *
* If found, return to Edward *
* Do NOT read *
* * * TOP SECRET * * *
*** Private ***

Retribution List

Imperial Guard who arrested me (he arrested me!) <-- haven't been able to track him down...too many Imperial Guards

Imperial City beggar (pick-pocketed 3 gold from me) <-- no luck so far...too many beggars, they all look alike

Headmaster George (geography teacher in highschool) <-- honoured user croaked before I shove those !#$#'ing globes down his throat...

Aunt Francisca (for sending those gods-awful outfits every Christmas, that Mom would make me wear all #$% 'ing year) <-- died last summer, before I could have retribution...may she rot in Oblivion

Mom (for making me wear the outfits Aunt Francisca would send) <-- CHECK...killed her pet bird, fed it to the cat, the cat choked on its beak

Valen Dreth (for taunting me in prison) <-- update: DB wants him dead too, now I can get revenge and gold, haha, go me!

Vicente Valtieri (arrogant SOB needs to be taught a good lesson) <-- might have to wait on this one...it probably wouldn't do much for my job performance if I attacked my boss

Valet (unparalled insolence, has no respect for me) <-- postpone vengeance while he's still useful to me

Mirabelle Monet (throwing me out of her inn)


Frowning as he read over his list, he wondered if it reflected poorly on his abilities that the only person on whom he'd sworn revenge and actually been able to avenge himself was his mother. "Nah," he decided. "My mom is pretty tough...she can even out arm-wrestle me and everything! Anyway, it's always harder to exact revenge on your own mother because of family loyalty and feelings and whatever..."

This point settled to his satisfaction, and reassured that he really was the skilled, ruthless adventurer that he imagined himself to be, he added the following line to his list:




Wilbur (for throwing key into my face)


Then, just in case the point had been lost in the header, Edward added the following at the bottom of the soggy page:




**DO NOT READ -- PRIVATE DOCUMENT**

[Rachel the Breton]

Notice to all residents of Anvil:
Please note that repeated rumors have come to our ears of a gang of female thieves who use their wiles to prey on men. As of yet these rumors are unsubstantiated, but we advise all male citizens to use wisdom and caution if approached by any unknown females.
Anvil City Guard



Chapter Ninety-One

Edward had slept for a long time, managed to eat more than a horse, and dug up new, dry clothes. His valet had mysteriously disappeared, and Edward dared to hope that his prayers might have been answered -- although, at the same time, he felt slight compunction. "If the gods really do exist, will they punish me if I don't keep my word? I mean, if they granted my wish, and I don't become super religious?" he worried.

This thought perplexed him, as he had no intention of becoming religious. "Religion is for wimps," he thought. "And fools...only a fool would get involved with something that won't let you rob people, exact revenge, plot crimes..." But, at the same time, if the gods did as he'd asked, what would they do when he broke his word? The gods weren't renowned for their graciousness when crossed...

To distract himself from this puzzler, he decided to go about his first order of business: revenge on Mirabelle Monet. Wilbur could wait, he decided -- Wilbur at least rented him a room, even if he did charge him an arm and a leg, and throw a key into his face. "Anyway," he figured, "no sense ticking him off further while I'm staying in his inn..."

Strolling to the docks at a leisurely pace, Edward wondered how he'd go about exacting revenge. "I could push her into the sea," he thought, adding ill humouredly, "and, with any luck, she'll meet the same fate as my valet."

At that moment, a hand clapped him on the back and an excited voice accosted him. He jumped a good foot into the air, spinning around to face his valet, who was saying, "Sir, you'll never believe my good fortune! I just met someone, Velwyn Benirus, who was selling his ancestral home -- a huge, beautiful manor right here in town, fully furnished -- and he sold it to me for 5,000 septims!"

Edward glared, mentally cursing the gods. Not only had they not answered his prayers, but they'd rewarded his wayward servant.

"Which means, of course, sir, that you won't have to stay in the inn here in Anvil! You can stay at my home."

Edward brightened at this, but only slightly. While, on the one hand, it was good to save 25 gold a night, on the other hand, it was hard to do so at the cost of yet one more piece of excellent fortune falling into the lap of -- of all people -- his servant.

"Will you come take a look at it, sir?" the excited valet asked. "I'm certain you'll be as impressed as I was."

Edward frowned. "No, not now...later," he answered.

"Oh, are you sure?" the other man asked, clearly disappointed.

Feeling somewhat better at his valet's reaction, Edward declared firmly, "Yes, I'm on an important mission!"

"Oh, I see," the valet nodded understandingly. "Out to bring peace and justice to the waterfront?"

Edward shifted uncomfortably. No matter how hard he tried, he still found it difficult to maintain his equanimity when people started speaking of justice. "Umm, yes, something like that," he answered.

His valet nodded approvingly. "I'm glad to hear it, sir...the port is in need of a good cleaning up! Some of the people here...the things they do, and for the most trifling reasons...petty revenge, wounded pride..." He shook his head. "You'd be amazed, sir, at some of these people!"

Edward shifted again, feeling very ill at ease. "Yes, well, I have to get to work..."

"Right you are, sir!" the other man nodded. "I'll go tidy up the new house. Here, I'll show you on your map right where it is, so you can find it easily." With this, he did as he'd said, and then departed.

Edward watched sullenly as his valet departed. He couldn't explain it...no matter how hard he tried, he never seemed to get very far in life...and as bad as that was, to make matters worse, this lowly upstart, this trifling servant, had all the luck! "Oblivion!" Edward thought. "I couldn't have even afforded that house, even if I had been offered it! How does he get the money to do that?" Then a thought struck him. "Probably from his thieving...after the gray fox invited him -- and not me -- to join the thieves guild." His scowl firmly set, Edward felt like crying.

Then, catching sight of a tavern sign, he thought, "I need a drink." Edward pushed open the door of The Flowing Bowl tavern with a shove, and stomped sulkily inside. "A drink," he said to the Bosmer behind the counter, "and make it strong. Very strong."

The publican nodded, handing him a mug of a very foul tasting brew, and Edward took a long draft. At the same time, someone sat down beside him. "Now, what could be bothering a handsome fellow like you so much that you need something that strong?" a soft, sultry voice crooned.

Edward almost jumped out of his seat, spilled the contents of his mug all over the counter and himself, and choked on the mouthful of brew he'd been about to swallow. Gasping, wheezing, soaking wet, stinking of alcohol and very self conscious, he turned to see the speaker. He nearly did a second double take as he saw her. She fit her voice completely -- absolutely beautiful, and a bit tawdry.

"And, as bad as it is, isn't there some way we could make it better?" she asked, apparently not even noticing his series of blunders, or the fact that he was drenched in and reeking of liquor.

Edward tried to speak, but couldn't find his voice. Instead, swallowing hard, he managed to nod his head and smile very stupidly.

"I thought so," she crooned, pressing a key into hand. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "After 11...at Gweden farmstead, right outside of town. And I'll bring a friend, too..." She smiled. "Save your money, sweetie -- trust me, you won't need any more of this." She pointed at the now empty mug, and winked. Then she got up, swaggered to the door, turned to him as she reached it and said, "Don't you be late now," and then, as suddenly as she'd come, she was gone. Edward blinked, once, twice, and then fell backwards off of his stool.

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Feb 22 2011, 10:42 PM

[Rachel the Breton]

When the lure of danger and adventure calls,
When the innocent a protector need,
To see them safely through tempests and squalls,
Then the true hero their pleas shall heed.
-- Ode to the Heroes



Chapter Ninety-Two

Edward was at his valet's new home, nursing a bump on his head and bad headache beside the fireplace. He noticed with only fleeting interest that the house, though in need of some minor repairs, seemed to be a very nice one; his mind was focused on the girl he'd met at The Flowing Bowl. "My valet was right," he thought, "and that's for sure! What am I doing, worrying about Antionetta, when there's gorgeous girls like that out there, who only have to take one look at me and they're smitten?"

Then, another thought occurred to him. Despite the fact that he currently wasn't speaking to his valet, he desperately wanted to reveal his run in with that girl -- whatever her name was. This desire was only heightened in light of his servant's unflattering assessment of Antionetta's feelings for him.

He sat lost in thought for several minutes, weighing the pro's -- rubbing his snotty servant's nose in his newfound appeal to the ladies -- against the con's -- acknowledging said snotty servant's existence. Finally, the temptation being too great, he decided on the pro's.

Waiting until his valet came into the room, busy about this chore or that, he declared very nonchalantly, "Oh, by the way, I should tell you...I won't be home tonight."

"Oh, another mission sir?"

Edward smiled. "No, I have a date with a hot woman."

"Come now, sir," his valet chided. "You don't have to lie to me...you know you can trust me not to give away your missions."

Edward's smile turned into a glare. "Lie?" he demanded. "I'm not lying, you stupid servant! I am meeting a hot woman, and her friend! She came up to me -- before I had even noticed her -- and invited me to her place, a little farmstead outside of town!"

His valet stared at him, somewhat stunned by the sharpness of his tone, but more so by his words and the fact that he seemed to believe them. "What was it you were drinking again, sir?" he asked.

Edward's glare intensified. "Who said I was drinking?"

An eyebrow raised, the valet answered, "Only conclusion one can reach, sir, unless you were swimming in alcohol."

Edward flushed. Though his clothes had dried, he still smelled very strongly of his very strong drink. "Someone spilled their drink on me, actually," Edward snapped. He was not technically lying, as someone had indeed spilled their drink all over him; he just neglected to include the fact that that someone was him.

"I see," the valet answered dryly.

"And, just because you have no idea what does and doesn't appeal to the ladies, I'll have you know that I neither hallucinated nor invented meeting her!"

"And she's beautiful?" the valet asked. "And not charging you for the meeting?"

Edward's eyes bulged. That was the last straw! It was bad enough when his servant doubted that he was the babe magnet that he was, but now to imply that he had hooked up with a lady of the night?

"Sorry sir," the valet hastened to say, apparently sensing Edward's fury. "But it just strikes me as highly suspect that a beautiful woman would be...well, interested in you." A second glance at Edward, who felt his blood reaching a boiling point, prompted the other man to hastily add, "I mean before she knows anything about you, of course, sir...before she experiences your charm and wit..."

"My wit and charm," Edward replied through clenched teeth, "radiate forth, so that she doesn't have to talk to me to know what a brilliant, sophisticated man I am."

"Hmm..." his valet murmured thoughtfully, as if to himself more than to Edward, "yes, I'm sure he radiated something, covered in his drink and doubtless tongue-tied or else babbling like a schoolboy...but sophistication?" Then, an idea seemed to come to the other man, because his expression changed very quickly into one of alarm. "Sir, this might be the gang I've heard rumors of -- a gang that singles out gullible men, and then lures them..."

By now, Edward had had enough. "That's right," he said, his tone dripping with loathing, "it would have to be some sort of mistake, or a gang of criminals, or something like that, for a gorgeous woman to be interested in me. You have to make up some sort of excuse to explain away the fact that she's interested in me, just like you had to make up an excuse to convince yourself that Antionetta isn't crazy about me. You know what, though? Just because you're a jealous nothing who can't stand to see my success, who is envious of my every achievement, nothing changes the facts. You are just a servant, whereas I am a somebody. And you know what else? You're not even a servant anymore...you're a former servant!" He paused to regain his breath, his tone having reached a pitch that was almost painful to the ear. "Because I'm firing you, you worthless, good-for-nothing, half-witted, lame-brained, jealous bag of...of...of minotaur turds!"

His valet blinked at him, too shocked to say anything. Edward turned on his heel, and stormed out of the manor house. The other man stood in place for a few minutes, far too amazed to do anything else. And then he mused aloud, "My gods, he took that the wrong way...I wonder if it was the way I put it..."

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Feb 22 2011, 10:42 PM