Jerric's Story, A Nord's Adventures in Cyrodiil Options

[Thomas Kaira]

Mmm... Daggerfall sounds like my kind of city! Escargot and Foie Gras, Ratatouille and Steak Tartar (Jerric would like that one, I think)!

And thank you for painting an image I will take to my grave. Please do not ever give me the displeasure of meeting that harlot again.

I am now completely caught up, too. It's been a good day, and only made better by your writing.

[Grits]

haute ecole rider: That wasn’t Heinrich and Hasathil, just a random couple. By that time of day Hasathil should be behind the stables. I’m glad you enjoyed their normal afternoon, especially the marsh. I loved giving Jerric that walk, since there’s so little left from his childhood. Luckily Abiene just called Jerric by another man’s name, otherwise she might have been a little more vocal about their chat with the bejeweled woman.

mALX: You’re right, their time together has highlighted more differences between them. They’re definitely a mismatch in many ways. You bring up an important point, something that Jerric gets to ask Abiene soon: how can she be so wild and free with him in private, and so buttoned-down in public? It’s also the question Abiene has to deal with for herself, and decide if she wants to be just one or the other. She knows he’s not going to be the guy in the velvet shoes. It means a lot to me that you have picked up on this! One thing she got right for their day was staying outdoors. It could have been all art galleries, lectures, and museums! If only someone was in town to give a talk about rat libido…

SubRosa: I definitely am trying to carry over that patriarchal society you describe so well from Abiene’s Saturalia for Imperials and members other races who have adopted their culture. I’m sure I’ve created confusion by trying to explain! It’s just one layer of the cake in Jerric’s Story. The main point here for Jerric and Abiene is how culture and family have shaped them differently, and what it would mean for each of them if they were to stay together. I’m in complete agreement about equality in mer societies, I think because I see them spending far less of their lifespan pregnant or with small children. That would be a huge difference for them compared to human women, and something that’s not addressed in the game.

From Jerric’s frank comments to the glitter girl, it seems he could use another lesson with Arvena. I’m glad you enjoyed the garden house, I was thinking about all of my favorite wood elves when I wrote it! It was a fun afternoon to write, I’m so glad you enjoyed it.

Acadian: Thank you for the nit, I fixed it. I'm glad you enjoyed the glass house. Anvil has a Hammerfell flavor, but I wanted to give it a little Bosmer influence, too. I don’t know much about Valenwood, but it seems like the most fascinating place!

Captain Hammer: I’m so glad Jerric’s evolution has kept your interest. Thank you for your endorsement of his plan for the thieves, he’s learning! I’m glad you’re enjoying the humor. Jerric does seem to get himself into situations. Best of luck to Awtwyr, should he decide to scale Kvatch’s icy peaks.

D. Foxy: Jolly Bellz: the Kitten Collection, inspired by D. Foxy. Sounds like a market opportunity. Just remember when you hear the National Anthem, you’re supposed to stand up!

Thomas Kaira: I’m glad you saw through Abiene’s teasing about the cuisine. Unsettling images abound when you roll with Jerric of the TMI.

Where we are: Abiene and Jerric spent Loredas together in Anvil. Now Jerric and Darnand have some sirens to entrap.




Chapter 10: Septims, Part 15

Darnand stepped into The Flowing Bowl and stood for a moment letting his eyes get used to the light. A smoky haze hung in the room, the mark of a poorly drawing chimney and the patrons’ bad habits. At ten bells of the evening watch, the crowd was still fairly calm. The serious drinking would begin after midnight, or so Jerric had told him.

The tavern contained an assemblage of wood elves partly concealed by a forest of Nords. Darnand’s eyes sorted through the blond heads and broad shoulders until he spotted Jerric’s. Seated alone at the back of the room, hunched over a tankard. Did Jerric see him? Darnand squinted until Jerric’s raised eyebrow told him to get on with it.

He approached the bar. A sharp-featured Bosmer with his dark hair in a topknot greeted him with a smile. “Welcome to The Flowing Bowl. I'm Maenlorn. My twin's name is Caenlorn. How to tell us apart? I'm in brown. He's in blue. Simple, really.”

“Good evening, Maenlorn. How do you do?”

The Bosmer looked taken aback. “I’m… What can I get you?”

“I will have a beer, if you please.” Darnand glanced around at his fellow patrons. Most appeared to be dockworkers or seamen by their rough clothing. Norbert Lelles was the exception in his neat doublet and unstained trousers. Lelles gave him a nod of recognition, which Darnand returned. Lelles appeared to be in conversation with an Imperial woman. Her skirt gave away her gender more than her brutally short haircut. Darnand watched her for a moment before deciding that she was not one of the sirens. Her expression looked sweetly vacant as she spoke earnestly to Lelles, and her posture was in no way inviting.

As he scanned the room, Darnand noticed that nearly everyone in the tavern wore a blade at their hip, males and females alike. He looked down to meet the beatific smile of another dark-skinned Bosmer. “Greetings,” said the mer. “I’m Thurindil, son of Julianos and Mohi-Titona, Queen of Akavir. Mother's coming for me in the dragon ships. I don't like these itchy clothes, but I have to wear them or it frightens the fish."

“Indeed,” Darnand replied. This mer makes only marginally less sense than some others, he thought. “We each have our burdens to bear.”

"Don't mind him. He's not right in the head. Poor fellow." Darnand found a hard-looking Breton woman at his elbow. His stomach gave a nervous jump.

“Good evening,” he said to her. “May I offer you a drink?”

She gave him a scathing glance. "I'm Mirabelle Monet. I run the Fo'c's'le, a boarding house for sailors. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. Sorry, I reserve my beds for seamen." She stepped over to Thurindil and slipped her arm around his shoulders. The Bosmer rested his head on her breast, smiling.

“Your beer, Breton.” Maenlorn made the exchange with him, and Darnand found an empty table. He sat so that he could see most of the room, including Jerric. He tried not to look at him. Then he felt that he was being obvious by not looking. He glanced over.

An Argonian with a blazing orange scalp leaned down with his fist braced on Jerric’s table, talking to him. Jerric’s face still held a neutral expression, but he somehow looked quietly menacing. He did not collect those scars playing patty-cake, Darnand reminded himself. Jerric gave the Argonian a brief nod, and the lizard-man backed away a step before turning. Jerric’s eyes met Darnand’s. Jerric gave his head a small shake.

“Well met, Breton,” came a sultry voice. A dark-haired Imperial woman stood by Darnand’s table, one hand on her slim hip. She wore a red and purple velvet gown trimmed with gold that had seen better days. The suggestion in her smile did not match her cold eyes. She looked vaguely familiar.

“Good evening.” Do not appear too eager, he told himself. This might not be one of them. He let his eyes wander over her figure disinterestedly.

“Are you alone?” she asked.

“Indeed. Are you?”

“I have a friend, Signy. She wants to talk to you. She likes Bretons. I think you’ll like what she has to say.” Darnand kept his eyes on the woman’s backside as she walked away.

A Nord woman approached immediately. Tall, blonde and busty, she was the physical opposite of the Imperial. He stopped noticing her clothing when his gaze reached her cleavage. This has to be them, Darnand decided.

"I haven’t seen you here before,” she purred. “Awww, and you’re all alone too. How sad. Well, if you’re up to it we can solve that little problem. You see, me and Faustina here are lonely too, and we’ve been looking for someone. You look like just what we need.”

Excellent, Darnand thought. Now I do not have to drink the rest of this swill. “Your appearance appeals to me. Which one is Faustina, that one there?”

“That’s her. I’ll tell you what. We have a cozy farmhouse not far from here where we could... well... get to know each other much, much better. You know the old Gweden place? Meet us there around eleven bells. I can promise you a night of fun you won’t soon forget."

“What kind of fun? That is a long way to walk for a conversation.”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? You’re a man, and I’m a woman with a certain desire. You figure out the rest.”

“I shall see you in approximately one hour. Make sure to bring your friend. She is thin for my taste, but I am certain I will find a use for her.”

The disgust that passed across Signy’s face matched what he was feeling, but she put a smile on over it. Darnand stood and headed for the door, forcing himself not to look at Jerric. He passed Faustina on the way out.

“Can’t wait to see you later,” she said flirtatiously. “Don’t keep us waiting."

___

Jerric pounded on the Gweden farmhouse door with all of his strength. Darnand was inside, the door was locked, and it sounded as if the house was being torn down from within. Gogan and Maelona were nowhere in sight. He backed up and crashed into the door with his shoulder. Screams, howls, and roars from inside drowned out the sound of his shouting.

Darnand had followed the plan to the letter, and Jerric had trailed him to the farmhouse, keeping out of sight. Darnand hadn’t been inside long before the noise started.

Jerric crashed against the door again, and silence fell over the house. “Darnand!” he shouted. When he heard the lock working, he stepped back and drew his sword.

Darnand pulled the door open and stood holding on to the frame. Jerric stared at him in shock. He looked as if he had been dragged through a slaughterhouse. Jerric reached out and flicked something meaty off of Darnand’s shoulder. The thick stench coming from inside the cottage filled his throat. He grabbed Darnand by the front of his robe and pulled him out into the moonlit farmyard.

“Are you hurt?” Jerric asked. Darnand’s robe appeared to be intact, but it was wet with blood. Darnand shook his head. His eyes were big, and he was not focusing on anything. “What happened?”

Darnand didn’t reply right away, so Jerric put away his sword and gave him a shake. “Daedroth,” Darnand said.

Jerric thought for a moment. “You summoned a daedroth?” Darnand nodded. “Inside a cottage?” He went to the door and looked in at the single room, and then he really wished that he hadn’t. He went back to Darnand. “Let’s get you back to the guild hall. We’ll tell the Guard later.” Jerric was worried that Darnand’s calm would erupt into something else at any moment. “Are you wearing trousers under there? Good.” He stripped off Darnand’s stinking robe and cleaned his face with a dry section. Blood trickled down out of his soaked hair, so Jerric rubbed the robe over it. It reminded him how he used to clean Rhano up after a night out. Rhano’s mother had always struggled with her son’s Nord side. “Here, put on my shirt. That’s good enough for now, let’s go.”

They turned to find Gogan and Maelona walking up the hill carrying torches. They both wore the russet surcoats of the Anvil City Guard. “You’re late,” Jerric gritted through his teeth. He thought Darnand’s fragile calm would not be bolstered by him shouting. “Where were you?”

Maelona and Gogan stared at Darnand. Jerric noticed that he still looked quite bloody in the torchlight. Jerric stayed with Darnand while the other two went to the farmhouse’s open door. Maelona gagged, and when Gogan threw up on her boots, she also lost her dinner. They completed the obligatory spitting and mouth wiping, then they rejoined Darnand and Jerric.

Darnand seemed ready to talk to them. “I did as you asked. The weasel-faced one is called Faustina. She said we could have some fun, her Nord friend likes Bretons. I met them here and you didn’t come. They had swords and a Khajiit. I had to fight them.” He looked at Jerric. “I heard you but I couldn’t reach the door.”

“How many were there?” Maelona asked.

“Three. Faustina, Signy, and a Khajiit. I didn’t hear her name.” Darnand looked back at Jerric, his face sick. “I should have removed my clothing as they asked. Then you might have had time to arrest them.”

“First time?” Gogan asked Jerric.

“Yeah.” Jerric saw that Darnand had started shaking. He reached for Gogan’s torch. “I’m sure you law enforcers can sort out the parts. We’ll pick up his reward tomorrow. And it better be good!”

Darnand was silent the whole way back to the guild hall. By the time they passed into the Chapelgate district, he was shivering with the cold. Jerric simply kept him moving.

They stepped into the Mages Guild’s empty front hall. “You need a bath,” Jerric told Darnand. “Can you handle it?”

Darnand looked at him as if he had said something foolish. “Where is your shirt?”

Jerric eyed it, hanging open halfway down Darnand’s chest. He decided not to explain. “What were you about to do?”

“Take a bath. Wash the blood out of my hair. Lie awake and listen to dead women screaming.”

Jerric thought that sounded accurate. “Good night, then. I’m headed to the beach.” He wished he had better words for the situation.

Darnand nodded solemnly. “See you tomorrow.”

This post has been edited by Grits: May 23 2011, 06:43 PM

[haute ecole rider]

So Darnand panicked and summoned a daedroth? Yikes! That sounds as bad as the slaughter of Julian's family! Ugh!

Great depiction of shell shock afterwards. And how appropriate that it's Jerric that helps Darnand through it this time, considering that Darnand helped Jerric with his PTSD on the latter's arrival in Anvil.

[mALX]

Sorry, I reserve my beds for seamen." She stepped over to Thurindil and slipped her arm around his shoulders. The Bosmer rested his head on her breast, smiling.

ROFL !!! Mirabelle Monet must have a different type of seamen in mind with Thurindil, he is decidedly a landlubber, ROFL !!! His mosquito must be a real "ketch" - maybe it is a "De Havilland Mosquito," I heard they have an arresting hook...GAAAAH! Foxy must really be back, I see dherty in-you-endo!

The weasel-faced one

SPEW!!! ROFL !!!

“I should have removed my clothing as they asked.

Poor Darnand, bless his little heart! ROFL !!!

I absolutely love this chapter!!! You have a knack and ability for knowing exactly when to back off at just the right moments - NOT give play by play/blow by blow details - leaving scenes like this to the imagination with just teasers for information - Huge Talent !!!! Gotta add this to my favorite Jerric episodes, AWESOME WRITE !!!!

[SubRosa]

The tavern contained an assemblage of wood elves partly concealed by a forest of Nords.
I loved your metaphors here.

I also loved how Maenlorn was taken aback by Darnand's greeting, because it wasn't rude!

Excellent, Darnand thought. Now I do not have to drink the rest of this swill.
That is our Darnand alright!

And Darnand opens a can of whoopass on the sirens! Yuck! You handled his shellshock quite well, and the heaving stomachs of the typically useless city guard. Now if Abiene could only see him at at time like this, he might stand a chance with her after all!

[mALX]

And Darnand opens a can of whoopass on the sirens! Yuck! You handled his shellshock quite well, and the heaving stomachs of the typically useless city guard. Now if Abiene could only see him at at time like this, he might stand a chance with her after all!

Yes, I was in whoops over the puke fest that took place after seeing Darnand's handiwork too !!

BOLD: ROFL !!!!

[Acadian]

What a great bar scene! You really captured that place. Darnand being 'out of place' while Jerric fit right in made it priceless.

What a fabulous idea to have used a summoned daedroth! That would certainly create the mayhem you described! Whatever it takes, and Darnand was smart enough to do what he needed to in order to more than even the odds to his favor.

“Take a bath. Wash the blood out of my hair. Lie awake and listen to dead women screaming.”
This is brilliant for its unusually striking blend of humor, truth and sadness. Perfect!

[D.Foxy]

“Take a bath. Wash the blood out of my hair. Lie awake and listen to dead women screaming.”


Man, now....THAT....IS....W.R.I.T.I.N.G!!!!!


Malx, I was going to do something with "Seamen" and "Semen" but now you have come prematurely into this thread and I shall just have to keep my semen to myself.



Er...

Um...


OH DEAR. ME and my BIG MOUTH.

[Thomas Kaira]

Wow. Calamity and mutilation galore today. This is the second update I've read through today where people have been torn apart in a very physical way.

See what they say? You mess with the nerds, and you die a horrible death. We may be easy to pick on when young, but once we grow up, we can make our bullies' lives a living hell. Darnand fits this perfectly, and now the whole world will know not to *shablamz!* with him.

Let's hope he wears notoriety well.

[Captain Hammer]

So, Darnand gets some experience in a bar, including the ever-popular tavern pick-up routine. 'Course, he's operating at a different game, and so are the Sirens, but you can't let those little things get in your way. At the rate he's going, he'll soon be cruising the local taverns each night, at least until Carahil warns him off for inviting too many strangers to the guild-hall at night.

Then there's this little gem:

“You summoned a daedroth?” Darnand nodded. “Inside a cottage?”

Well, where else? I mean, even Darnand can't seem to be in multiple places at one time, and he was clearly in the cottage. Jerric maintains his fabulous propensity of ignoring the obviously practical on-all-fronts solutions that Darnand has a knack for finding.

I'd get a lot of water-tight sacks for the clean-up. And see about selling the place cheap once it's clean. Maybe have a chapel priest perform a cleansing to be on the safe side. Then hopefully get an old legionary to retire on the farm and discourage similar efforts in the future.

[ghastley]

I have to echo everyone's admiration of the way you describe the carnage without describing the carnage, but everyone else's reaction to it.

I do hope no Daedroth was harmed in the making of this scene!

In my Gweden Brothel mod the player has the additional complication of keeping Tsarrina alive. Darnand would not have done too well with that constraint.

[Grits]

haute ecole rider: I don’t know what it is about beautiful Gweden Farm that made me want to paint it with blood. Probably a combination of hideous draperies and the sour grapes of knowing I can’t get back inside!!

mALX: I was so paranoid about spelling “seamen” correctly! Well, Thurindil reportedly has the potential to scare the fish, so… Thank you, mALX!!

SubRosa: I can see it now. “Darnand, you seem upset. You should definitely bone me.” Then when people pass her on the street they could say she has the hoo-ha of a healer.

Acadian: Darnand is extremely difficult for me to write! He doesn’t talk much, and he’s way smarter than me. Thank you for your kind words about his quote.

D. Foxy: Thank you, Foxy! Darnand had kind of a rough night.

Thomas Kaira: Since he went from zero to daedroth, I’m sure no one will cut in front of him in line, ever again.

Captain Hammer: Darnand the playa, trying to pick up women without touching anything in the bar. I’m sure the dismemberments just sparked an overdue redecorating. Those curtains had to go!

ghastley: Looks like Darnand’s pimping career has had a setback. Still, I guess he could offer blood baths?

Where we are: Darnand ended his second real fight with death by daedroth. Up next: some girl time.


Chapter 10: Septims, Part 16

Abiene pulled the white wrap from her hair, straightening her back in a painful stretch. She thought by now it must be Sundas. An emergency patient had claimed the hours after Jerric had taken his leave. Their golden afternoon already seemed a distant memory. Now her patient was resting upstairs. Her magicka was depleted. She felt the emptiness inside her more acutely than the soreness from her muscles.

Yanerion finished wiping down the table. They had used the procedure room so that the boy’s cries would not disturb the patients sleeping in the main hall above. Now they were alone. The Altmer folded his cloth and placed it in the basin with the others. Abiene waited while he prepared himself to speak.

“I believe that lad’s parents nearly cost him his life,” he said quietly. “What recourse do we have when someone has been careless with a child?”

Anger and helplessness still twisted in Abiene’s stomach. Below it lurked the fear that the next time she would not be able to save him. “None,” she said shortly. “He is theirs.”

“You have exhausted yourself again.” Yanerion’s eyes remained downcast, his tone respectful. “I could have finished for you.”

Abiene leaned her hip against the high table. She watched Yanerion’s face carefully. “I had to cause him terrible pain. I wanted to be the one who took it away.”

Yanerion nodded. “I understand.”

“You already possess a delicate touch. Your skill is not in question.”

The Altmer’s golden cheeks flushed. “I thank you for the reassurance.”

Abiene found his formal tone irritating. She reached up and rubbed her neck. “You should go on to the guild hall. I know you’ve been here all day. Perhaps Hjordhild made a plate for you. You’re the only one she’ll serve after hours, and you could use a hot meal.”

“As could you.” Yanerion’s long face held concern. “How many days have you gotten by on soup and kahve? There is one more lesson I would have you teach me before you leave for Chorrol, Magister. How does a healer care for herself?”

Abiene’s mind leaped straight to Jerric. Find someone who loves you and don’t let them go, she thought. But I can’t do it.

Yanerion saved her from having to answer. “Hjordhild favors me because I help her with her back,” he continued. “She injures it repeatedly, and will until she accepts her limits or suffers permanent harm. I watch you exhaust yourself and wonder at the cost.” He stepped around the table and reached for her hands. Reluctantly Abiene gave them to him. “I may appear as a lad, but I am many years your senior. I hope you will take my words as coming from one who respects you, and not a student’s impudence. Please look after yourself in Chorrol. I fear that you will not last.”

Abiene had the urge to snatch her hands away and slap his face. Then she let herself feel his sincerity. Altmeri seldom touch, she realized. I don’t remember when Yanerion ever took my hand outside of lessons. I’m not being fair to him.

She squeezed his fingers. “I’m just tired. You and I are much alike, Yanerion. Healing is not a vocation, but a calling. I expect before long you will find your own way to Chorrol. Perhaps by then I will have found the answer.” She dropped his hands and walked briskly to the door. “Come, let’s go back together. I want a long soak in a hot tub, and you ought to put some meat on your bones. You may have twice my years, but I suspect you’re still growing. The guild hall has everything we’ll need tonight.”

They moved quietly through the dimly lit healing hall, careful not to disturb the sleeping patients. Yanerion took her soiled robe with his to the laundry. She waited for him outside the front door.

The cold night air bore a hint of low tide and wood smoke. Abiene stepped out from under the torchlight and looked up at the stars. Formed from the blood of Anu, she mused. The source of magicka from Aetherius. Another wonder that I take for granted until it’s gone. She shivered, wishing she had worn her cloak.

Yanerion joined her, and they walked in silence around to the front of the guild hall. They found Thaurron passing through the entry, chattering with Sparky the imp. When he looked over at them, his face filled with reproof. “Again, my dear? Go and retrieve your night clothes. I shall warm your bath.” Thaurron disappeared with the alacrity of his race.

Abiene felt herself flush and glanced up at Yanerion. His expression matched his neutral tone. “Good night, Magister.”

“Good night, Yanerion.” She gave him a small smile. “I’ve found that mother hens come in all shapes and sizes.”

“Indeed.” He smiled back and walked toward the kitchens.

Abiene stepped into Felen’s day room. The Dunmer sat with his legs crossed under a book, silver wine goblet in his hand. Green brocade and velvet provided a background for the lavish display of gold trim on his doublet. That outfit is worthy of Sidette, thought Abiene. She had only met a few folk who could out-dress her ostentatious sister. “Good evening, Felen.”

Felen smiled up absently. “Good evening, Abiene. You missed a lively dinner. Darnand and Gulitte were at one another’s throats. Highly entertaining.”

As much affection as Abiene had for Felen, she had no stomach for gossip. “It still smells like roast pheasant.”

“That is what we had. I shall not tease you with a description, other than to suggest you go in search of the apple pie that followed. Our Nord failed to join us this evening, so there may be a piece left.” They shared a smile. No mortal ever loved pie more than Jerric.

“Thank you for the suggestion. I’ll say good night.” She walked through to the stairs, knowing that Felen’s attention would already be back in his book.

Abiene collected her things from her bedchamber and walked down the hall in her dressing gown. The long bathing chamber contained three metal tubs, each with a small table beside it. White marble tiles covered the floor. Attractively carved cupboards hung on the walls, concealing general supplies and personal items. Folding screens could be moved to provide privacy, but Abiene doubted that anyone else would want a bath at this hour. Thaurron stood beside the tub at the end, trailing his fingers in the water. Steam carried the soothing scents of lavender and sage into the air. Sparky hovered near the open window, his wings wafting the last traces of destruction magic out into the night.

“Thank you,” Abiene said fervently. She placed her towels and nightdress on the table, then retrieved her basket of bathing supplies. “Will you stay and chat?”

“I’m afraid I’m not very good company this evening.” Thaurron gave her a sad smile. “I planned to go fetch you a cup of soup from the night hearth. I can tell you don’t have an appetite, but you should drink it anyway. You look worn out, my dear.”

“No soup tonight, I dined with Jerric. You look tired, too, Thaurron.” Abiene slipped out of her dressing gown and stepped into the hot bath. “Perfect,” she told him. He smiled wider at the praise, keeping his eyes averted. Abiene knew her bare skin held no interest for him, but he was unfailingly polite. She ducked under the water and reached for her shampoo jar while she still had the energy.

“I am tired,” he said. “Today I taught Flash Bolt to an adventurer from Cheydinhal. He kept burning his own hands, and I had to keep healing him so he would have enough magicka to practice the spell.” Thaurron plopped down on a low stool and leaned against the warm tub. Sparky flew over and tried to land on his shoulder. “Close the window first,” Thaurron told him. Abiene shut her eyes and rubbed shampoo through her hair. She heard the window latch click, and Thaurron chuckled. “There’s a good lad.”

Abiene ducked under the water again, working the suds out with her fingers. She emerged and sighed, leaning back against the tub’s high back. “I don’t know how you get the water just right. I always leave it too cold, or the tub gets too hot to sit in. You have a gift.”

“I have the gift of practice.” Sparky crouched on Thaurron’s narrow shoulder, his wicked claws folded under his hands. He had his wings folded back and his arms wrapped around his raised knees. He closed his glowing eyes and leaned his small head against Thaurron’s.

“Even your imp is sleepy. Better get him to bed. Shall I come in to say good night?”

“I hope you will.” Thaurron reached up to brace Sparky with one hand while he rose, but the imp jumped off and flew ahead of him. “Otherwise I’ll think you’ve fallen asleep in here, and I’ll have to send Gulitte in to check on you.”

Abiene snorted. “I can’t imagine less welcome company.”

“That thought was shared by others at dinner.” Thaurron’s eyes held a glint of amusement. “It was the Battle of the Bretons.” He stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

Abiene worked conditioning cream through her hair, pulling out the tangles with her fingers. She breathed out her stress, and drew calm into her body with the scented steam. Her hair piled onto her head to keep it out of the water, she leaned back and closed her eyes while the conditioner did its work. Her mind drifted as she enjoyed her soak.

The holidays are nearly upon us, she thought. She wondered how the guild celebrated Saturalia. An exchange of small gifts would be customary, but Anvil may have different traditions than Leyawiin. No doubt there would be a great deal more drinking, particularly on the Waterfront. The healing hall would see an increase in business, she guessed.

New Life Festival might find her already on her way to Chorrol. I’ll send my trunk as soon as I receive confirmation, she decided. Then I’ll follow when I can by express carriage. I don’t want to miss any time with Jerric. Her mind wandered through thoughts of him while the bath water cooled.

She stood and reached for her soap before she could talk herself into a midnight walk to the beach. Her bath left a trace of oil on her skin, and she rubbed it in firmly. Rinsing herself without soaking the floor held her attention. Her tired mind stayed blank.

Pleasantly warm and relaxed, she stood on the tiles and worked the hand pump as the tub drained. The handle was enchanted with a charm to increase the operator’s strength, so she easily sent the water up through the pipes to the cistern above the adjacent necessary. Bath water flushed the waste away there. The system made indoor facilities possible in a warm climate.

She tidied the bathing chamber and rinsed her hands in cool water before she slipped her nightdress over her head. With her dressing gown belted around her waist again, she padded down the stairs to the kitchen in her slippers. She had no cure for Thaurron’s melancholy, but she did know how to make his favorite tea.

She glanced at Darnand’s door on her way back to Thaurron’s chamber. Still no light under it. He’s probably in the basement, she thought. Or still out with Jerric, wherever they went. Small noises from the bathing chamber gave her another possibility for his whereabouts. She tapped on Thaurron’s door and entered, balancing her tray.

Thaurron’s chamber held a double bed, a relic of the days when he shared it with his late wife. Her clothing still hung in one of the wardrobes, according to the chambermaids’ gossip. Sparky lay at the foot of the bed, curled in the shreds of a velvet lap robe. Letting Sparky keep his stolen prizes only encouraged his bad behavior, but Abiene could understand the idea that a living creature was more important than material things. Of course she kept her own possessions under lock and key. At least since the time he ate her skin cream, then regurgitated on her rug.

Thaurron sat up with pillows at his back and a book on the coverlet in front of him. He beamed at Abiene in the candlelight. “You made my tea.”

She handed him the cup, and he slid over on the bed. “Stay comfortable,” she told him. She placed the tray on the bedside table and climbed up, pulling one of his bare feet into her lap.

“Won’t you have some?”

Dear gods, no, thought Abiene. Roasted bones steeped with salt and powdered sinew. “No thank you. I’ve already cleaned my teeth.” She took Thaurron’s small foot in her hands, kneading the ball with her thumbs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Thaurron sighed. “No, my dear. It is a sorrow that comes and goes, like clouds crossing over the sun. Recent losses bring old ones near again.” He sipped his tea and leaned back into the pillows. “Your sweetness is light enough until the shadow passes.”

“I’m going to miss you, my friend. You have been a refuge to me.”

Thaurron’s keen gaze seemed to pierce her. “There is much you are not saying. Heat in your eyes and sand in your shoes this past week. What will you do, Abiene?”

“I’ll go to Chorrol.” Abiene found herself blinking back tears. “And he’ll go on to who knows what. I can’t think about it, Thaurron.”

The Bosmer pulled his feet back and leaned forward. “No, my dear. What will you do about Darnand?”

Abiene stared at him in surprise.

Thaurron nodded thoughtfully. “Then the fool has still not declared himself. Well, until he does, he cannot deserve you.”

“Did he say something to you?”

“No. I know only what my eyes can see.” They sat in companionable silence until Thaurron finished his tea. “Do you wish to stay tonight? I am prepared to overlook wet hair on my pillows.”

Abiene slipped off the bed, smiling. “I’ll go to my chamber. You snore awfully, and I need rest.”

“It’s the imp.” Thaurron leaned toward her.

Abiene kissed him on the cheek. “Shame on you, blaming the poor creature. You must give him silk to shred as an apology.”

Thaurron tucked his feet under the coverlet. “Leave your door open, and I am sure he will find some. Good night, my dear. May your dreams be sweet.”

“And yours.” Abiene closed the door behind her and stood in the dim corridor.

Thaurron’s words confirmed her suspicions, but now it brought no joy. Instead she hoped Darnand would never mention it. As much as she cared for him, her heart knew that her answer would be no.

Now light flickered under Darnand’s door. She wondered if he was reading in bed, or sitting up at the small desk in his chamber. She imagined him bent over a book, shadows playing over his features. When I think of him, he’s never looking back at me, she realized. But yesterday morning in the healing hall, he had. The respect and admiration that had filled his face still gave her a thrill. She knew in that moment Darnand had seen the deepest part of her, and he had embraced it.

Then the dark hall faded away, and another vision filled her mind. Her Nord’s face lit by the sunset, with eyes the color of firelight through Cyrodiilic brandy.

The man I wanted might finally turn toward me, she thought. But I’ve reached for the one who’s going to walk away.

[haute ecole rider]

That was a chapter for the girls, indeed!

The interactions between Abiene and her Guild mates was interesting and heartwarming. Here we see Abiene at her maternal/sisterly best, looking after the men around her.

And Sparky the imp is quite the trouble maker, I see. Thaurron needs to do a slightly better job training that creature! Though his treatment of Marc in an earlier post was a lot of fun!

[mALX]

*

Thaurron’s chamber held a double bed, a relic of the days when he shared it with his late wife. Her clothing still hung in one of the wardrobes, according to the chambermaids’ gossip. Sparky lay at the foot of the bed, curled in the shreds of a velvet lap robe. Letting Sparky keep his stolen prizes only encouraged his bad behavior, but Abiene could understand the idea that a living creature was more important than material things. Of course she kept her own possessions under lock and key. At least since the time he ate her skin cream, then regurgitated on her rug.

Perfect imagery you gave this scene stealing imp!

“You snore awfully, and I need rest.”

“It’s the imp.”

“Shame on you, blaming the poor creature. You must give him silk to shred as an apology.”

“Leave your door open, and I am sure he will find some.”

ROFL !!! Sparky has become quite the celeb ... er ... personality!

Then the dark hall faded away, and another vision filled her mind. Her Nord’s face lit by the sunset, with eyes the color of firelight through Cyrodiilic brandy.

The man I wanted might finally turn toward me, she thought. But I’ve reached for the one who’s going to walk away.

Powerful ending to the homespun feel of the chapter! The reader may have seen this blow coming, but gets the feeling this is the first time Abiene has realized the impact of her actions/heart. It also seems Darnand won't be the only one missing her when she goes to Chorrol, she has a soothing effect on all the men and may evoke a pilgrimmage of the Anvil chapter to Chorrol behind her when she goes, lol.

Great Chapter, wonderfully written !!!


*

This post has been edited by mALX: May 26 2011, 04:00 PM

[SubRosa]

Edit: That all came out wrong, not the way I had intended it to appear at all.

But now back to the current episode:
How does a healer care for herself?”
Abiene’s mind leaped straight to Jerric. Find someone who loves you and don’t let them go, she thought
Ahh, the classic mistake. That of course, only makes things worse. Because it only adds one more person she has to take care of. Back in my Human Sexuality class in college, I learned that married women are the most unhealthy people in the world, because they have to spend so much time taking care of everyone in their household, that there is literally no time for them to take care of themselves. And of course no one else is going to do it for them.

Formed from the blood of Anu
A nice touch of world-building there.

No mortal ever loved pie more than Jerric.
Yes, hair-pie!

All in all, a lovely segment, giving us a look into Abiene's life at the guild hall, her ordinary trials with the abused child, etc... Thaurron really shines here. You have given him a great deal of depth and personality in a very short space, making him and his pet imp leap off the page. I wish I had someone like him to warm my bath water. I always make it too hot, or too cold as well...




nits:
And he’ll go on to who knows what.
I am thinking you wanted to end with a question mark here.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: May 30 2011, 04:16 PM

[mALX]

* Gripe removed. I just wish the adults on here would remember that this site is primarily here for and filled with minors. Our attitudes in everything we say and do on here as adults should reflect that and be cognizant of and responsible with the impressions we are leaving with our words.

This post has been edited by mALX: May 26 2011, 10:13 PM

[SubRosa]

I probably should have clarified what I said about Darnand getting some action now. Before he was always a decent guy who treated Abiene and other women with respect. You know a nice guy, and hence destined to die a virgin. OTOH it is Jerric's bad boy status that got Abiene into his bed. He's a thug, unlike all the other men in the Mages Guild. So it makes sense that any straight girl would notice him quick (and given what we have seen so far, that happens a lot, pierced labias and all!).

Now the ultimate bad boy is of course not merely an a-hole and a thug, but a killer. That is as bad as it gets. Well almost, the only topper is man who not only kills, but kills women. Prison is filled with murderers of women like Richard Ramirez who have gigantic female fan clubs who are literally dying to have sex with them. Don't ask me to explain why, it's a straight girl thing. But it's very real.

Darnand just achieved that ultimate level of bad boy-ness. He did not just kill 3 people in one fell swoop, but 3 women. He is definitely not a nice guy any more. You can't be considered nice with that on your resume. Now he's a dangerous man. To quote Jerric's own self-reference: a man who looks like he is on his way to a killing, and he might stop to do some raping first. He is going to be beating straight girls off with a daedroth from now on.

I have seen you spout this "anti-straight women" generalizations repeatedly on numerous threads in this forum lately, and they are as ridiculous as it would be for anyone else on here to say "all lesbians are like this, all gays are like blah blah, all blacks are ____"

What you are spouting is a predjudice one does not expect from someone as educated and supposedly open-minded as you are.

Not every straight woman is a baddie-chaser, and I (for one) find your generalization offensive. Please resist categorizing people of which you obviously cannot know the majority of, nor find the inclination to know about. I don't like being pigeonholed with the few you have learned of through whatever means. This site is filled with minors that should not be exposed to predjudice of any kind by the adults on here.

I am sorry that you take it that way. I do worry about people thinking something like that, and often bite my lip. But the fact of the matter is that I have never met a woman (who was attracted to men), who was not attracted to bad boys. And I have met a lot of women! I do not think of that as degrading or demeaning of them. It just is what it is, and I am not the first person to notice it.

But since you commented, in the future I will refrain from making any remarks about the subject. I am not here to offend you.

[Acadian]

Grits, this was a delightfully written episode. The style is both silky and subtle, while the content was simultaneously relaxing and powerful. Just some examples:

'The cold night air bore a hint of low tide and wood smoke.'

'Green brocade and velvet provided a background for the lavish display of gold trim on his doublet. '

“There is much you are not saying. Heat in your eyes and sand in your shoes this past week. What will you do, Abiene?”


My heart aches for Abiene (and Jerric and Darnand, and our Bosmeri widower).

Sparky tends to the steal the show whenever he graces anyone's fanfic, but your content here was so good that even the Sparkmeister could not upstage Abiene.

In case it isn't clear, I thoroughly enjoyed this!

[Thomas Kaira]

Very, very enjoyable, and I don't say that lightly here. Abiene is fast becoming one of my favorite characters ever. You are competing with published authors now, Grits, that is how well you have done with her.

Of course she kept her own possessions under lock and key. At least since the time he ate her skin cream, then regurgitated on her rug.



I am at loss for words. All I can say is don't stop now, cause I'm having such a good time. (I'm having a ball!)

[Grits]

haute ecole rider: Indeed, this one could have been titled “Abiene’s Slumber Party.” If she ever visits the guild in Bravil, it will be estrogen overload. I have to give TK the credit for the scene where Sparky lit Marc’s shirt on fire, that was in Light Through Darkness. He hasn’t attacked anyone in this story, I’m afraid my Carahil would draw the line there! Still, Thaurron has shown that taming a creature is far from training it. He could use a visit from the Imp Whisperer.

mALX: You’re absolutely right, this is the first time Abiene has really faced what she knows, that the two of them are heading off in opposite directions. She would take Thaurron with her to Chorrol if she could! I’m glad you enjoyed Sparky’s antics!

SubRosa: I hope I can clear something up about the way I have portrayed Jerric. I don’t think it’s coming across. Jerric drinks, gets in fights, and has a lot of casual sex. Sometimes he has to kill people. That does not make him an alcoholic, thug, bully, rapist, or murderer. It also does not make him a good candidate for priesthood. If I haven’t objected to the term bad boy applied to him, it’s because I did not think it was being used as a synonym for evil man.

One of the things I’ve tried to show is Jerric not cashing in on his dangerous appearance. (Meaning physically imposing, scarred, and generally armed to the teeth.) He shut down Astia in Skingrad because he thought she was misjudging him. He decided that Anette in Weye was too young to make an informed decision about him. The tweenage girls in Weye are an example of people who saw his character. They judged him based on his behavior, smiling and helping a local fisherman. They would not have been giggling and sneaking peeks if they felt threatened. I hope I showed that Abiene was drawn to him because he reminded her of her sweet boyfriend from home that she still has feelings for. She found out quickly that Jerric is likeable, and he made her laugh. Score. I would say that being a decent guy got him laid that day. She didn’t think he was a thug at all, and that appealed to him.

Here’s the context for his killing/raping remark:

They wandered toward the edge of the crowd, sipping their drinks. “You are outrageous,” Abiene said. “Is there anyone you don’t flirt with?”

“I have to compensate. Folk don’t tend to like me right away.”

Abiene looked at him over her cup. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I mean, folk look at you and think, ‘Here’s a nice woman. Sweet face and the hands of a healer. Dibella must love her.’ They look at me and think, ‘There goes a man on his way to a killing. Maybe he’ll stop and do some raping first.’ So I start off with a smile.”

He’s explaining the disadvantage of some people assuming the worst of him. They would have those thoughts and go to the other side of the street when they see him. When Jerric talks about some people thinking his scars must mean he is a monster, he is unhappy about it, not bragging. Other people (like Abiene) know that the scars only mean that something hurt him, and he survived it.

There would be some women who are now drawn to Darnand as a result of his new reputation. Presumably these women would be straight, but that should in no way imply that all straight women would fall into this category. This is something Jerric would anticipate based on his own experience. He would also anticipate that Darnand would not see this as a positive development, as he does not. But they haven’t had a chance to get into that yet.

I have to say, my first thought about women who would want to sleep with men because they have murdered women is “They must be bat-poop crazy,” not “They must be straight.”

I’m glad you enjoyed Thaurron. He has been important for Abiene, but I haven’t had much chance to show it. She would not have thrived in Anvil without a mutually nurturing relationship like she had at home with Ilonea. As Darnand said, she thinks the whole world is her patient. Good catch on the pie.

Acadian: Thank you so much, Acadian! I wanted this episode to have the feeling of Abiene, and your words tell me that it did. I appreciate knowing that the friends have touched your heart, especially Thaurron. It will be hard to leave him in Anvil. No matter what they say about Bosmeri, I find they can be quite winsome.

Thomas Kaira: Thank you so much for your kind words about Abiene. She keeps giving herself a bigger role, and I’ve stopped arguing. I am so honored by her appearance in your story!

Where we are: A long Loredas ran into Sundas morning at the Mages Guild.


Chapter 10: Septims, Part 17

Jerric opened the front door of the Mages Guild and followed his nose into the dining hall. Sundas breakfast was worth getting up for. A Nord cook knew how to make the most of winter ingredients. He blessed Hjordhild’s heritage as he filled his plate. Potato cakes with sour cream and applesauce, ham chopped into cubes and fried with onions and potatoes, pumpkin muffins, cheesy eggs baked with sausage and sun-dried tomatoes, and a slice of cornbread with strawberry preserves to balance on top. He reached for the tall pitcher of kahve. One large pottery mug now waited behind the cluster of regular-sized ceramic ones. He smiled as he filled it. Hjordhild likes me, he decided.

Jerric turned to the Imperial next to him at the sideboard. The lad’s grey eyes were wide with the expression Jerric was still not comfortable seeing. He looked at the lad’s plate.

“Don’t be shy,” Jerric told him. “At your age, even Imperials have a hollow leg.” He poured another mug while the lad heaped more eggs on his plate. “Here you go.”

The Imperial took the kahve, eyes even wider. “Thank you, sir,” he gulped. He quickly moved to sit at the long table with the other young associates and students. Just this summer I was sitting there, Jerric thought.

He sipped his kahve as he made his way over to Carahil’s table. There was a space on the bench opposite Darnand and Thaurron, next to Gulitte. He folded himself into it, careful not to bruise Felen in his customary spot at the foot of the table. Nods and murmured greetings did not interrupt the conversation in progress. Darnand looked pale, preoccupied, and a little tense. He’s back to normal, Jerric thought. Though the shadows under his eyes were perhaps darker than usual.

“I heard the Anvil Guard finally put a stop to the gang of women who have been preying on the town’s men,” Felen was saying. Jerric decided Felen must have been up gossiping before dawn.

“What has occurred?” Carahil’s voice was as smooth as glass. Jerric glanced at her. Even at the breakfast table she looked ready for an audience with the Countess. I bet every part of her is polished, he thought. Then he had to hide his smile in his mug.

“They were killed by a powerful mage.” Felen’s words silenced the room. “Their bodies were dismembered. I suspect it was a summoning.”

Jerric saw Darnand staring down at his plate.

“Who?” gasped Gulitte. “Was it murder?”

No one loves a sordid tale more than a mage, thought Jerric. Here come the theatrics. “I’m sure he, or she, had a good reason,” he said.

He found that all eyes were on him, except Darnand’s. Gulitte’s voice swelled with anticipation. “Do you know who did it?”

Dammit, thought Jerric. “I’m just saying, maybe they were working with the Anvil Guard. Or something.” He tried to hide his discomfort by using his napkin, but he hadn’t picked one up. “I mean, they’re probably not a murderer, no matter what people are saying.” He stared at Gulitte, hoping to shut him up.

“Was it you?” Gulitte asked. The air in the room seemed to disappear as folk sucked in their breath.

“I wish. I can’t summon anything that could do that.” Jerric’s sustained glare was making his eyes burn.

Gulitte’s eyebrows had shot up his forehead. He opened his mouth to speak again.

“It was I,” Darnand said quietly. “Please pass the salt.”

Abiene walked over during the babble that followed. She placed her plate and mug on the table between Thaurron and Darnand. “Good morning,” she said in a clear voice that carried over the talk. She rested her hand on Darnand’s shoulder and lifted her skirt to step over the bench. Jerric looked, hoping to catch a glimpse of thigh. Then he quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t been caught.

Thaurron’s eyebrow spoke for him. The Bosmer didn’t miss much.

Jerric cleared his throat, trying to think of something to change the subject. Abiene’s plate held only a pumpkin muffin, but he knew that was not a suitable topic of conversation. He watched her break off a piece and raise it to her mouth, lipping the crumbs from her fingertips.

“What brings you to us so early this morning, Jerric?” asked Thaurron. “Will you join us at the chapel?”

Thank you, little mer, thought Jerric. “Uh, no. The gods will find me if they want something.” Carahil gave him a sharp look for that piece of impiety. “I need to spend some time with my horse. And do some training. Then I have to pick up some things in Westgate.”

Abiene’s tone was casual. “Training at the Fighters Guild?”

“No, here. Do you have some time for me?”

She sipped her kahve and appeared to be thinking. “I will be busy at the healing hall after chapel, and then I have some errands that will take me to Westgate. Shall I find you there this afternoon?” Her eyes smiled at him over the rim of her mug.

Jerric felt heat rising in his face. He became acutely aware that Gulitte was still looking at him. “Uh, yeah. That would be great. It’s, uh, going to be a nice day.” He took a gulp of kahve. “For being outside.”

“I’ll look for you at five of the afternoon watch, under the evergreen oak in Westgate. Will that give you enough time?”

“Yeah. That sounds like a great plan, Abiene. Thank you.” He guessed that if she meant something else entirely, she would have the sense to tell him in private.

“What happened?” Gulitte asked Darnand eagerly. Darnand’s knuckles were still white on his kahve mug. Jerric considered kicking Gulitte, but he couldn’t get an angle.

“They died. This subject is closed.” Darnand looked over at Jerric. “I am at your disposal, if you wish to conclude our business today.”

Jerric nodded. “After chapel?”

“Right away, if you like. My presence today would not please Dibella.”

After breakfast Jerric followed Darnand out the front door. Abiene caught his hand in the doorway, whispering that she would be at his hut by three bells. He gave her fingers a quick squeeze of acknowledgement as he left.

Darnand was quiet on their walk to the castle. He had been a shield for Jerric on the day he returned to Anvil, and Jerric wished he had been able to think more quickly at the breakfast table. Then he realized that Darnand had handled the situation on his own. He tried to find the words that would express his regret without sounding as if he doubted Darnand’s competence. He also wanted to give him an opportunity to talk without needling him with questions. Arvena’s lessons hadn’t taken him this far. He decided to speak from his heart.

“About last night. I put you in a bad situation without a backup plan. You did well, but I failed.”

Darnand kept his face forward and continued walking. “When we speak of high-risk work, we are accepting the potential for such occurrences. Someone had to be first. I would not have chosen to kill those women, but I did not choose to die instead.” His voice had the resolute tone of a practiced speech. Then Darnand looked over at Jerric. His eyes betrayed his vulnerability. “I was surprised at how quickly their malice fled. One moment they would have murdered me, and the next I had blood on my hands.”

Jerric reached out and steered him around a lamp post. “Yeah.”

They walked in silence for a few moments before Darnand spoke again. “Perhaps in our future endeavors, I might take a more active role in determining our course of action.”

“Yeah,” Jerric agreed fervently. “About that. There’s a Nord up in Whitmond, name of Maeva. The Buxom. She needs help, something about her husband ran off on her. Maybe you could come with me when I talk to her.”

“I think that would be well advised.”

Gogan and Maelona had their report ready for Darnand’s and Jerric’s signatures. The Guardsmen emphasized the need to keep their identities secret. Jerric supposed it was too late to keep Darnand’s name out of it. The chapel was no doubt buzzing with mages confiding their latest story to just one friend. The news would surely reach Valenwood by lunchtime.

He watched Darnand exchange his signature for a pouch of gold in the Steward’s office. Then he handed some of it back to be kept in his account. The county taxed such savings, but it was far less than the thieves’ tax. Jerric wondered if the gold in the Kvatch vaults had been recovered. Surely the records would have burned.

Walking back across the castle bridge, Darnand handed the rest of the gold to Jerric. “Your half,” he said.

“I didn’t do anything,” Jerric objected.

“You got us the job, and you provided support. I refuse to quibble over such matters. In the course of our partnership I expect that our roles will vary. Over time, there will be a balance. Do you agree?”

“Yeah.” Jerric weighed the pouch in his hand, smiling. He had enough to make several merchants very happy.

Jerric left Darnand at the guild hall and walked out the Main Gate. He found Flash in the large pasture behind Horse Whisperer Stables, grazing with a group of horses. He leaned on the fence and watched for a few moments. The red-headed stable hand joined him at the rail.

“You’re Flash’s friend,” the Nord told Jerric, smiling broadly. “I remember.”

“That’s right, Kado.” Jerric smiled back at him. “How’s he doing?”

“Good, good.” Kado nodded firmly to emphasize his words. “He’s doing good.”

“Do you think he’ll come over when I whistle?”

Kado’s face lit up with anticipation. “You taking him out today?”

“Yeah. Will you help me get him ready?”

“I’ll help you! You watch, I’ll do everything right!” Kado’s grin was infectious. It’s good to see a man who loves his work, thought Jerric.

Jerric’s whistle brought Flash over to them, though Jerric suspected the carrots in his hand had something to do with it. The three of them walked toward the stable, crunching their carrots.

“I have some business with Clesa first,” Jerric said. “I’ll meet you.”

“Mother is in the house,” Kado told him. Jerric tried to hide his surprise.

He exchanged glares with Ernest on his way into the stable house. Jerric had nothing to say to Clesa’s husband. After he handed over some coins, Jerric eyed Clesa as she made a record of the payment. He saw no resemblance between this beautiful Redguard and the grown but child-like Nord outside.

“Your account is paid through next week,” Clesa said. She handed him his receipt.

“Thank you. I’m taking Flash out for a few hours, Kado’s with him. He’s your son?”

Clesa returned his look, unflinching. “A fever left him simple when he was just a lad. Ernest and I took him in, his mother died from the same illness. He’s good with the horses. Do you have concerns?”

“No, I just wondered. If you trust him, so do I.”

Clesa’s face softened. “I don’t often hear that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it of your husband.”

Clesa snorted. “That I do tend to hear.”

The hours passed quickly until it was time to meet Abiene at his hut. Jerric built as lively a fire as he could risk in his fireplace. Leyawiin was about as far from the Western Reach as he could imagine. Abiene had grown up in an Argonian climate. She did not relish the cold.

When Jerric heard her light step on his wooden porch, he couldn’t help grinning. Or his other reaction. Keep your trousers on, he told himself. At least until you learn the spell.