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

[haute ecole rider]

What a bittersweet reunion!

Loved the sparring between Jerric and Lildereth in the beginning! I know exactly how she feels! I've had so-called assistants just like that not that long ago.

“I don’t have a temper!” Jerric thundered. Glass chimed on the shelves behind him.

I just about fell out of my chair laughing! As developed as your characters are, it probably wasn't difficult writing this scene - just let 'em have at it. The hardest part for you probably was typing fast enough to keep up with them!

And Ulfe didn't mind Abiene's - errh - visit with Jerric? Heh, she probably rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, not that they'd hear!

The reunion at the family's home was very sad, but very loving at the same time. All the memories come crowding back, and it's difficult to enjoy the moment when folks are burdened by survivor's guilt. I hope that Rhano and Jerric are able to move past the sadness and enjoy the moment, and that Rhano's parents are able to do the same.

[mALX]

Jerric isn't the only one blinking to clear his eyes again. As much as I loved the temper flare-up between Jerric and Lildereth at the start of the chapter, and all the other wonderful diverse scenes this chapter is full of - all paled into the mist at the end, leaving only the reunion with Shasana and Ongve. Awesome Write !!!

[Acadian]

Fabulous! A great scene among the mages, complete with fireworks and delightfully sharp banter. Then a cold rain on a warm beach cottage and finally a touching reunion.

'Green fog swirled around Lildereth’s clawed fingers, matching the venom in her slanted eyes.'
I instantly knew what this was. And why. I wonder why I can identify with Lildereth so easily? And oh my, what a wonderful description!

“None is needed,” Abiene assured her. “The Countess extends her invitation to all guild members who are resident at the hall. We have Carahil’s position in Anvil to thank for that courtesy.”
Wonderful, and how very natural it seems that Carahil would hold a position of note when it came to matters involving the castle. She's a fine magister.

'The sound of a fire greeting new wood drew him into the dining hall. Rhano straightened at the hearth, brushing his hands together. Jerric’s eyes wandered over the elegant table, reluctant to meet Rhano’s. Candlelight glimmered on polished silver and glazed porcelain. Crystal goblets would hold their water and Shasana’s wine. Gleaming tankards stood ready for the men’s ale. The tight feeling grew in his chest when he recognized the cloth on the table. Damask from Kvatch.'
How beautifully you retain the emotion of the moment while delicately painting the surroundings - what a wonderful touch you have with description! If you are anything like me, this seemingly simple paragraph required countless edits to float so effortlessly from the page.

[D.Foxy]

Jerric reminds me of many a 'gentle giant' I have known in real life, with just a touch of depth and off-beat subtlety to leaven the 'fight, fuk and fart' stereotype of male behaviour. However...if he is vulnerable to command spells (and BTW, your description of one was masterly!) wouldn't that put a great hole in the trust of his companions? Time to brew up a resist illusion magic potion methinks...

[King Coin]

Chapter 7.2
Great description of the column of flame. I never imagined it shaking the floor though!

Holy ****! I’m so glad that Jerric killed that daedra. I can’t imagine worse than being captured by one of those.

No no no! That is NOT running water!

I always hated leaving the man in the cage to die at the hands of the daedra. I even tried to kill him once and I couldn’t even do that.

Chapter 7.3
Days? Was he really in there that long, or does time travel differently in Oblivion?

I never thought of it, but these men know Jerric. They’ve always been strangers to my characters. I never thought what it would be like to actually know them.

Chapter 7.4
For a second I thought that this chapter opened as Kvatch was being attack from the perspective of a mage in the guild hall there. It’s actually Anvil right?

The part with the blessing was nicely worked in.

This was a very strong chapter in my opinion. The reactions of the people to Kvatch’s fate was well done.

I’m afraid for Jerric though. It always seemed like he was so care free and now to see him like this and knowing that it will not turn out well is just sad.

Chapter 7.5
I forgot about the legion that joins from patrol! They always died with me. Suicidal idiots. I wonder how they fare here.

Lol those crazy atronachsigns, running into harmful spells!

You do so well describing the skirmishes. The soldiers seem to be making progress with minimal casualties.

[SubRosa]

“Poisons of paralysis,” Jerric explained. “She said it would make me pay attention.”

“It didn’t,” Lildereth snapped.
The whole exchange about poison training was priceless. Seriously though, it is good to see another example of the limitations you are placing on your protagonist. There is a tendency in not only fan fiction, but also professional fiction, to make the central character a master of everything. Having a character who is not all-around perfect is refreshing to see.

Also nice save by Abiene, calming the explosive situation. I thought the Fighters Guild would be the place to expect fights at the lunch table, not the Mages Guild! I see she is not going to Leyawiin for Saturalia this year. Hmmm, that is going to send a message to her parents, especially her mother I think.

“I’m going back to the beach for awhile. Run, swim, restore my temper.”
And get naked and boff? Since Abiene already told everyone that she was going to be busy in the afternoon... I wonder how long they are going to keep trying to keep up the pretense of not being a couple?

Finally, the Saturalia feast with Rhano and the rest of Jerric's foster family was very touching.

[Grits]

haute ecole rider: Luckily Ulfe stayed under the table, or she might have found herself standing in the rain with a Breton-sized footprint on her rear. You’re so right, by the time Jerric and Lildereth got to their shouting/seething match, they knew exactly what they were going to say. Now they’re comfortable enough with each other to let it fly! You describe the reunion just as I hoped, thank you haute!

mALX: You made me smile! Thank you, mALX. As I’m sure you know, the last part was pretty important to me. Now I’m working on a very short Jerric and Rhano story, I know it’s Shasana’s doing!

Acadian: I think Carahil would be an interesting character to explore. Her history with the Benirus situation has her in Anvil for a long time, and folks seem to respect her. Yet her friendship with the castle mage/necromancer Baeralorn provides a nice contradiction. You’re so right about the editing. That paragraph even got one more tweak as I was posting, and I try not to do that! Thank you for your kind and encouraging words, Acadian.

D. Foxy: You’re right, Darnand’s trust would be especially shaken, as would Jerric’s trust in himself. There was a lot that went unspoken while they sat there recovering from the fight. All of them would have been aware of the possibility, though. It’s the reason Jerric can’t bring himself to use illusion magic. I’m sure Darnand’s wheels are turning to come up with a solution, now that he’s actually experienced Jerric yanking him by the throat. Priorities. Thank you Foxy, I’m so glad you’re back!

King Coin: Time passes much slower in the Deadlands in this story. Jerric has to tell time there by how long it takes him to run out of water. Yes, Chapter 7.4 starts with the people in Anvil learning about Kvatch, then jumps to Jerric in the Kvatch chapel. It’s another time difference thing, they had days for news of the attack to travel while Jerric was in the Gate for less time. Since I wrote that, I’ve learned to avoid changing POV in the middle of a post. I thought you’d enjoy that Atronach remark! Your concern for Jerric warms my heart. You’re right, it’s not going to be a smooth road for him. Thank you, King Coin!

SubRosa: Traven might have to tighten the standards again, after the near throw down at the Anvil MG. You’re right about Abiene’s staying in Anvil for Saturalia. That should be a huge step in her allowing herself to break away from her family’s expectations and stop living under their fears. Then she could put on her big girl panties and deal with everyone knowing her business. Or she could move to another city and just not deal with it. She could use some of Aela’s courage! And possibly some advice on how to cope with stress without her daily Nord ride. Thank you, SubRosa. It’s good to know if I’m finding a balance for Jerric.

Where we are: It’s the Eve of Saturalia. Jerric has made his way to Ongve and Shasana’s for the evening. Now we go back a little earlier that same afternoon to pick up with Abiene. We’ll spend the next two episodes in her company. Estrogen overload warning.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 14

Abiene lay on her side in Jerric’s bed, watching him breathe life back into the fire. Shadows rolled along his back and side. Candlelight played over his scars. Magnificent, she thought. How did this skinny Breton get into that man’s bed?

She hugged her knees, cradling his seed inside her. It was folly, her precautions had already been taken. No child would spring from their loving. Still, part of her held a voiceless wish.

Winter rain drummed against the roof of his hut, loud with no ceiling above them. The room was dark enough to make Abiene think it was already night, but Jerric’s stomach would have complained if the afternoon had completely passed. She hoped that the sound of rain on boards and a crackling fire would always bring her back to this feeling.

I need to go soon, she thought. Lildereth is expecting me, and I’ll need to bathe before we dress for the ball. I shouldn’t let him build the fire too high, he’s only doing it for me. She tried to still her mind, and stay just in the moment.

Jerric turned his head to look at her. The new shadow in his eyes was her doing, she knew it. The message had come from Chorrol, and she would leave before New Life Festival. She had told him in the sweaty glow after their energy was spent, hoping that closeness would ease the sting. Now she felt their separation looming over them. Then he smiled, and her stomach trembled.

“Think it’s going to rain?” he asked, teasing. When he rose, his sudden grace stopped her breath. She supposed that’s why he kept his furniture pushed against the walls. At the guild hall he often moved like a horse surprised to find itself at a tea party.

He climbed over her and put his back to the wall, drawing her against him. Heat and strength enveloped her. Bittersweet, she thought. Now I know what that means.

“Are you going to sleep?” she asked. His breathing was already slow and heavy.

“Mmm hmm. I’ll wake up before it’s time to go to Rhano’s. Can you stay awhile?” He draped a leg over hers, hot and crushing.

“Until you drift off. I have to get back soon.”

“Right,” Jerric rumbled softly against her neck. “The ball.”

That must be what it’s like to hear a lion purr, thought Abiene. “I’m going to wear my new earrings.”

Jerric made an unintelligible mutter.

“The shoes?” Abiene guessed. “No, my love. I need to be able to dance in them, and it’s raining.”

Jerric’s snore told her the conversation was over. She waited for his muscles to stop twitching, when he would slump easily to his back without waking. After she extracted herself from the bed, it took some time for feeling to return to her toes.

Ulfe still lounged mostly under the table. She gazed up with her shaggy brows at a supplicating angle. Abiene knelt to give her a long scratch and whispered farewell. Moments later she was out in the rain, her spells speeding her steps and concealing her passage.

At the guild hall, Carahil stood behind her counter in the entry. Abiene saw her check the hourglass as she hung up her cloak. “Good afternoon, Abiene.” Her tone was as neutral as her expression.

“Good afternoon, Carahil.” The Altmer wore a black velvet gown with a heavily embroidered panel running down the bodice. Her belt was made of jewel encrusted gold medallions. Black gems set in an ornate necklace sparkled against her golden skin. Abiene concluded that Carahil was ready for the ball.

“Lildereth has been looking for you.” Now her magister’s smile told Abiene that they spoke as friends. “We will depart in two hours. It has been a slow afternoon here. Most of us have already made our preparations for the evening.”

“You look lovely,” Abiene said. “Is that a new gown?”

“This gown is older than you are, my dear. However…” Carahil stepped to the side of her counter and raised the hem.

“New gold slippers! They’re perfect! Where did you get them? Not from Tulia. Oh, Carahil, they’ll be ruined in the rain!”

Carahil’s smile broadened. “I know a shoemaker in Cheydinhal. I nearly despaired that these would arrive in time for the ball.” She held out a slender wrist adorned with a simple gold bracelet. “I will tell you a secret. The rain does not bother me while I wear this.”

No wonder her hair stays smooth when mine puffs up like a startled cat, thought Abiene. “That’s a useful enchantment. Is there a spell that keeps off the rain?”

“I do not know one, but surely one exists. Perhaps one of our own ambitious mages might make one, if he can tear himself away from his studies long enough to gain access to the Praxographical Center.”

“Darnand is joining us tonight, isn’t he?”

“You might remind him of his promise before you join Lildereth,” Carahil suggested. “He may have already forgotten today’s date.”

Abiene gave in to the excitement of getting ready for a party. Her skipping feet carried her quickly through her preparations until she met Lildereth in the bathing chamber. The Bosmer perched on the edge of the center tub in a dressing robe, trailing her fingertips through the water. The far tub was also filled. “I hung my gown in your chamber,” Lildereth told her.

“I saw!” replied Abiene. “That one suits you so well. It brings out the color of your eyes.”

Lildereth smiled with a twist of her lips. “I’m glad, since that one is the only one. You’ll see it again tomorrow, unless tonight brings some dress-rending mishap.”

Abiene approached the tub, raising her hands. “I would wager on your gown’s safety. The most dangerous event of the evening is about to occur. I shall attempt to heat my bathwater without burning down the building.” She took a deep breath, cautiously preparing to draw fire into her hands.

“Wait!” said Lildereth. “This one is for you, Abiene. I prefer mine cooler.” The wood elf smiled up at her.

Abiene stared at the steam rising from the center tub. Lildereth has been heating it this whole time, she realized. “But it doesn’t smell like fire in here at all!”

“For me it’s a matter of exchanging cold for heat in the water,” Lildereth explained. “Fire has nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, I’d love to learn that! Thank you!” Abiene moved to the shelves, rummaging for her bath supplies.

When she drizzled her scented oil into the water, Lildereth raised one hand slightly. The water began to gently circle in the tub.

“Valenwood must be a wondrous place,” breathed Abiene.

“Indeed,” Lildereth told her. She seemed to be on the edge of saying more, but stopped herself.

Abiene bustled around, gathering their towels and moving the screens for privacy. “I know you’re not shy, but Marc will be in here any moment. He always smirks at me like he thinks he knows something.”

“You should give him a good look,” Lildereth suggested. “Then he might leave you alone.”

Abiene hoped that Lildereth hadn’t meant that the way it sounded. She glanced at the wood elf as she hung up her dressing gown. She has the strength I admire and the curves I envy, thought Abiene. Is she reminding me that she’s prettier? Yet Lildereth’s face showed only friendship. I’m looking for barbs where they don’t exist, Abiene decided. Not every woman stings like my sister.

A duet of sighs rose with the steam as the women eased into their tubs. Abiene lay back for a moment before she went about the business of washing. Her eyes popped open with a revelation. “Oh, darn it! I forgot the wine.”

Thaurron strode briskly in as if summoned, bearing a silver tray. “I believe this is yours, my dear! How will you begin your debauchery, if not with wine?”

“How indeed,” Abiene laughed, flicking water at him. Sparky landed on the edge of her tub, scolding. “Only two glasses! Won’t you join us?”

Thaurron handed them each a chilled goblet. “I shall accompany you to the castle this year, so I must postpone my revelry just a bit longer. Felen will outshine me with his raiment, but with my wits about me I might yet find a way to surpass him.” Thaurron winked at Lildereth. “To no end, of course. A simple rivalry between friends.”

“I’m so pleased, Thaurron,” said Abiene. She leaned back and sipped her wine. “To think I have missed this in years past.”

“Your presence is what spurs me to celebration,” Thaurron told her merrily. “You must see me take a turn about the floor with Carahil. It is the dance of the chaffinch and the crane.” Thaurron spun around as he departed, elaborately bowing himself out the door.

“He cares for you,” Lildereth remarked, still laughing.

“More than I deserve. I feel I would do anything for the ones I love, except stay with them.” Tears rushed up behind Abiene’s eyes, infuriating her.

“Tonight is for enjoyment, as is tomorrow,” Lildereth said gently. “Let your concerns keep themselves for one day.”

Abiene ducked under the water to rinse away her sorrow. She came back up determinedly smiling. “Thank you, Lildereth. I wish we had more time together. Somehow I know we would be friends.”

Lildereth’s eyes twinkled the way only a Bosmer’s could. “I feel that we are friends already. Do not say farewell so soon. Our paths may cross again.”

“Do you have plans?”

“I thought I might go to Kvatch for a time. I’m a market hunter, and the guild needs venison for feather potions.”

“Oh, you should travel with Darnand and Jerric!” Abiene sat up in the tub, excited. “Darnand speaks so highly of you, and Jerric would never bother shouting at someone he didn’t care about.”

“Perhaps I’ll find them there. They plan to ride, and I don’t have a horse. Besides, I prefer to travel off the roads.”

“I do hope so. It would ease my mind to know they had someone sensible with them.”

Abiene and Lildereth finished the wine in Abiene’s chamber. Lildereth amazed Abiene by using gentle streams of warm air to dry their hair. The wood elf took her time playing with Abiene’s curls, eventually drawing them into a loose twist at the back of her head. She tugged a few free and tweaked them with her fingers until they framed Abiene’s face to her apparent satisfaction.

Abiene smiled at her as they switched places in front of the mirror. “Your turn.” She picked up Lildereth’s brush.

Another thing to envy, Abiene sighed to herself. Lildereth’s hair was as glossy and smooth as the Niben on a moonlit night. Abiene watched the Bosmer’s eyes close with pleasure under her touch. “My mother used to do this,” Lildereth murmured. “Long ago.”

Abiene looked at the wood elf’s delicate features more carefully. Slight shadows darkened her eyelids, and she looked sallow under her tan. Abiene stilled her hands. “Do you feel all right, Lildereth?” She saw her own cheeks flush in the mirror. “I’m sorry, that was a little blunt.”

Lildereth’s eyes opened, pale green and almost luminous. “I suppose I’ve been tired lately.” She looked at Abiene in the mirror. “How should we style it? You decide.”

Abiene chose braids running down from a center part, tucked into a roll at the neck. For a moment she was stymied by Lildereth’s ears. They have their own fragile beauty, she mused, smoothing the hair behind them. When she carelessly brushed one with her knuckles, Lildereth jumped in her seat. That answers that question, thought Abiene. She made her movements more cautious.

Lildereth’s green dress bared her shoulders and a flattering amount of cleavage. The sleeves and skirt fell loosely around her, but the close-fitting bodice showed off her shape. Abiene tightened the laces until Lildereth gasped. Her bosom surged above the neckline. “Your dance card will be full this evening,” Abiene giggled. She blamed the wine.

“I’ll be breathless the entire night!” laughed Lildereth. “Give me room to breathe, or they will all think I’m panting with desire!”

Abiene showed some mercy with the laces. “Is there anyone in particular you have your eye on?”

Lildereth sighed. “Not for some time. Such matters have not held my interest lately.”

Abiene chose her sleeveless gown made of deep burgundy silk. The neckline rose high in the front, showing only her collarbones. The back dipped low, open halfway to her waist. Tiny, evenly spaced beads glittered across the fabric. Abiene pulled the material snug over her hips so Lildereth could close the hooks along the side. This is not the dress to wear with Jerric, Abiene thought with a smile. She shook out the full skirt when Lildereth stepped back, checking herself in the mirror.

“A healer’s robe does not do you justice, Abiene,” said Lildereth. “What jewelry are you wearing?”

“Just earrings.” Abiene smiled her thanks as she fastened Jerric’s gift onto her ears.

Lildereth took her hands, holding them out to the sides as she looked her over critically. “I have a bracelet you can borrow. I’ll be right back.”

Their final primping complete, Lildereth and Abiene moved swiftly through the guild hall, following the mages’ chatter from the entry. Abiene smiled at the sight of her guild mates’ muffled figures gathered there. Most had their heads together in jovial conversation, but Darnand and Marc seemed to be engaged in one of their interminable staring competitions. Darnand has my cloak, Abiene realized with surprise.

“At last!” Thaurron exclaimed. “Ladies, we are graced by your presence. We are also delayed by its long absence. Make haste, friends! To the castle!”

The door let in a rush of wet air, but the rain seemed to have ended. “Felen, is this your doing?” Carahil demanded as she stepped through.

“Ayleid weather magic?” The Dunmer replied. Abiene lost the end of his remark as they passed into the street.

Darnand’s eyes were on her, admiring. Abiene stopped for a moment in the hall to look back at him. His haughty expression had faded, and now his lean features held an almost boyish smile. He held her cloak in his hands, ready for her. “Will you permit me?” he asked softly.

Abiene stepped in front of him, bending her neck as he secured it around her shoulders. Her stomach surprised her with a nervous flutter. Thaurron’s words returned to her. Surely tonight will pass without any awkward declarations, Abiene thought.

Once on the portico, they found their guild mates already processing down the street under a halo of glittering light. Carahil and Felen led the group, the Altmer’s long strides keeping the trailing wood elves at a trot. She sent up another swirl of sparks as they watched. Darnand caught Abiene’s eye, and they shared an indulgent smile. “Illusionists,” said Abiene. “Such theatrics!”

Darnand offered his arm, and Abiene gave it a squeeze when she took it. I’m going to miss him, she thought. They walked out under a clearing sky, the wet cobbles just beginning to reflect the starlight.

[SubRosa]

In a way Aela had it easy. Once your family disowns you, you don't have to worry about what they think anymore. Abiene still wants to keep her family, just at a safe distance. So she still has to consider them.

No child would spring from their loving.
Here is a good touch. Most writers completely ignore the fact that without birth control, sex = kids (at least the guy on girl variety of sex). Now I am intensely curious as to the form. A spell? A potion? Abiene is lucky to be a Restoration magician, I imagine that makes either easy for her to do herself. Of course it also begs the question, how available is birth control to ordinary women in the JF? For example, not so long ago IRL, it was illegal for a doctor to tell a woman how to prevent pregnancy. Margaret Sanger went to prison for doing just that.

So Abiene is leaving before the New Life Festival? That gives her less than a week in Anvil. Then it is off to Chorroll where her big girl panties await.

I see Carahil is hot as ever. When I read about her velvet dress, I immediately thought it would be ruined in the rain. But I see Teresa is not the only one with anti-water enchantments. As Abiene noted, not only good for the clothing, but in keeping those bad hair days at bay as well.

Aela would suggest conjuring a sylph to deal with the weather. Being a spirit of the air, it could stop the rain, at least around your group. Or perhaps an undine might bend the raindrops around everyone?

Is she reminding me that she’s prettier?
As soon as I read this, I thought of Abiene's sister. Then reading her own thoughts of the same a few sentences later was excellent.

Lildereth’s hair was as glossy and smooth as the Niben on a moonlit night.
This was a wonderful passage.

[Acadian]

Yes, kind of a bittersweet afternoon with Jerric as you show us Abiene's perspective.

'She hugged her knees, cradling his seed inside her. It was folly, her precautions had already been taken. No child would spring from their loving. Still, part of her held a voiceless wish.'
I liked this for a variety of reasons (including those mentioned by SubRosa). Abiene is a thinker and a planner, but her thinking doesn't always nudge her heart and body in the direction she thinks she wants.

'Moments later she was out in the rain, her spells speeding her steps and concealing her passage.'
Another easy to visualize and beautiful Grits passage.

Then a delightful time at the guild. All your mages are wonderful, but surely Abiene and Lildereth stole the show here as they prepared for the ball.

“You must see me take a turn about the floor with Carahil. It is the dance of the chaffinch and the crane.” Thaurron spun around as he departed,'
Not only is this a hoot, but you truly make us love Thaurron!

It was interesting to hear Abiene's perspective while having to only guess at Lildereth's. It was great however to see Abiene squirm a bit as she wondered if Lildereth was silently singing the refrain from, 'I'm just like you only prettier.' I suspect however that Lildereth does see Abiene as a friend; in fact I'm sure the wood elf has plenty of insecurities of her own.

'For a moment she was stymied by Lildereth’s ears. They have their own fragile beauty, she mused, smoothing the hair behind them. When she carelessly brushed one with her knuckles, Lildereth jumped in her seat. That answers that question, thought Abiene. She made her movements more cautious.'
Those wood elf ears are actually quite the erogenous zones. No wonder Lildereth jumped nervously.

I'm so glad you lingered here with Abiene and Lildereth. Well done - as ever.

[haute ecole rider]

How wonderful this was! It makes me want to write a bit of girly-girl talk for my old warrior Julian. Someday, someday! She and I particularly related to this:

Abiene showed some mercy with the laces. “Is there anyone in particular you have your eye on?”

Lildereth sighed. “Not for some time. Such matters have not held my interest lately.”

Ach! We hear you, Lildereth!

[mALX]

I can't read the new chapter tonight, but will asap - sorry for the delay !!!

[mALX]

The undertones woven throughout this chapter were all nearly crushingly heavy, Abiene seems to have mopped herself into a corner with her plans, but her heart doesn't seem to really know what it wants.

Another thing I've felt all along, Abiene does not seem to realize the effect (affect?) she has on men in general. She seems almost too comfortable around them overall (as if she grew up with many male siblings or kin), possibly giving the men the appearance that there is reciprocation of interest going on (when in truth her actions are completely innocent in thought - except for with Jerric, of course).

My biggest curiousity is Lildereth. She is an enigma, secret shadows unrevealed. Then Abiene's instinctive caution around her that is totally unlike how she is with the others - I am intrigued to find out if her instincts were right to be wary or if she was just reacting to her nerves of leaving Jerric.

Since the addition of Lildereth your story seems to be moving at a different pace, as if it is heading toward something that is going to happen, but it is such a subtle change that I could be wrong on that. It is like watching a racehorse reaching its stride, they almost appear to be going into slow motion as their strides lengthen, and then suddenly you notice they are passing the field at breakneck speed.

This chapter was huge with places I should be quoting, too many to actually do it. Absolutely AWESOME Write !!!

[hazmick]

Greetings! First of all I must say: Your story is good. Very good. Very, very, very good. It was so good that I paused my fortnightly viewing of Lord of the Rings in order to read it, and I am pleased that I did.

The way you introduce and build your characters is wonderful, they seem real with their emotions and actions. The way you write dialogue is astounding, keep it up!

Darnand is a personal favourite of mine, I love his quiet nature even though he is an incredibly powerful mage. I have enjoyed seeing his friendship with Jerric grow, as well as his abilities in combat (and unknown to him, Abiene's fondness for him)

Then there is the adition of a Bosmeri bowgirl! They are becoming quite common these days (which is a good thing of course) and Lildereth is a wonderful addition to your story, filling the female-Bosmer-Rogue-shaped hole next to Darnan the mage and Jerric the warrior-mage-lion.

I can't comment without mentioning Jerric of course. It's very refreshing to see a character who enters the story with the ability to fight well, it allowed you to introduce the character before he had to do any quests which in turn allowed you to bring some of your considerable writing talent into the deadlands descriptions and beyond! The Nord himself appears very smooth, slick and always seems to have his sword in hand ...erm, anyway...his relationship with Abiene tugs at the heartstrings and he always adds some well needed comic relief if the situation turns sour.

I am pleased to say that you can now consider me a regular reader. Three cheers for Grits!

[Grits]

SubRosa: I thought I’d preemptively mention that Abiene is not knocked up, since they’ve been going at it like bunnies. I’ve thought through birth control, lunar cycles, and female cycles both human and mer, along with various cultural views on the subject. So far no place to work it in, since my solutions (apart from the obvious) are employed by women. You’re right that Abiene would be right in the middle of it. Another subject to tackle when she drags the keyboard out of my hands again. In fact, I have an idea…

Acadian: You are absolutely right about Lildereth’s view of Abiene. Lildereth is too forthright to spend time with her if she didn’t want to be friends, it’s Abiene’s insecurity that makes Abiene wary. Now she knows what Jerric wonders about those fascinating ears! I’m so glad you’re enjoying Thaurron. His willingness to devote himself to an imp made me realize he had the capacity to befriend the humans, even though they pass through his life like hurricanes.

haute ecole rider: I’d love to see Julian have some girl time! As you said, someday. I sometimes wonder if Caroline and Jena slip down to Bruma on their day off for some klah and girl chat. Abiene could learn a lot about reining in her impulses from Julian.

mALX: mALX, your instincts about the pace are so accurate!! This chapter would be the end of Book One, if I was going to separate into different threads. (Which I might, I’m not sure if that would be better.) You’re right about Abiene being more comfortable with men. Her Anvil best friend is Thaurron, and even after a couple of years living there she is closer to the reserved Darnand than any Anvil women. Though she would probably be better friends with Carahil if she was not her boss. Abiene is wary of Lildereth until she decides that she is not one of the mean girls, and she is not planning a move on Abiene’s boyfriend. And you’re right about the stress making her unsettled, she has been recklessly falling for Jerric while she pretends she can handle leaving him. Now that’s here, and she’s struggling. She does tend to underestimate her appeal, since from the time she was little she was the smart one and her sister was the pretty one. Plus, her bust does not enter the room far in advance of the rest of her. Still, she knows what she knows, and that gives her confidence when it counts.

hazmick: Yay hazmick, welcome to the story!! I’m so glad you’re reading. Your kind words made me smile, thank you so much! I know when I’m watching Lord of the Rings, my household knows to tread lightly. I’m so pleased at the timing, since Darnand gets to come out of his shell a little in this update and show off some previously hidden skills. And wouldn’t every story be improved by a Bosmeri bowgirl?

Where we are: It’s the Eve of Saturalia. Abiene and her guild mates are making their way to the castle to celebrate.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 15

Abiene and Darnand followed their guild mates through Chapelgate. Warm light glowed in every window, and the streets were lively with folk in festive clothing. Jerric must be at Rhano’s by now, thought Abiene. It hurt him just to think about it. Then she mentally shook herself. Lildereth is right. Let him do what he must, and save your cares for tomorrow.

It’s a holiday, she reminded herself. She let her love for her friends lift her heart until a smile found her.

“I wonder how they celebrate Saturalia at Castle Anvil,” she asked Darnand. “Will they have the traditional sweets?”

“I do not know. I did not attend last year’s ball.”

“Really? Why?”

Darnand looked at her as if the question didn’t make sense.

Abiene didn’t press him. “I hope they have pinwheel cakes. Those are my favorite.”

“Mine are butter stars,” he said.

“Oh, butter stars! Perhaps there will be a gingerbread castle!” Abiene’s feet made a little skip, and Darnand chuckled.

“If there is not, you must still hold out some hope for tomorrow.”

“Why? Are you teasing? What do you know that I don’t know?” Abiene gave his arm a tug.

“You must wait and see,” Darnand said with an air of mystery. He gave her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Have you not seen Bertille standing out in Guild Square lately?”

“She’s made the guild hall!” Abiene squealed. The associates in front of them turned their heads, then turned back around at Darnand’s stern look.

“It is to be a surprise,” he said in a low voice. “That is why I did not tell you.” He arched a brow at her.

“Of course you didn’t,” Abiene declared. “And I didn’t guess, either. Oh, I love gingerbread!”

“I have a proposition for you. At the sweet tables tonight, we will both take an acceptable balance of confections on our plates. Then when each of us has eaten our favorites, we will switch plates, so that we might enjoy them all over again.”

“You’re a genius!” Abiene laughed. “But what if all of the choices are my favorites?”

“Then I shall offer you my complete selection, untouched.” His eyes smiled down at her.

“Aren’t you gallant. I hope you don’t expect me to be so generous!”

“I would never expect. But a man might hope.”

The bridge to the castle blazed with torchlight, and the castle courtyard seemed alive with small candles twinkling in the trees.

“I am certain that the castle footmen spent the day on their knees, praying that the rain would cease,” Darnand remarked.

“Isn’t it romantic!” sighed Abiene.

Cloaks were exchanged for dance cards in the entry. Each of them was announced by name as they stepped into the Great Hall. This feat was accomplished with a flurry of parchment checking and whispers as they approached, Abiene noted. Countess Umbranox’s elegant hand was evident in the decorations. Abiene smiled at the contrast between this grand lady’s interpretation of Saturalia and the young Countess Caro of Leyawiin’s gaudy excess.

The cluster of mages began exchanging and filling out their dance cards. Abiene looked up at Darnand, hesitating.

He held out his card to her with a questioning look on his face. “Felen has informed me that custom permits only two dances for each couple,” he said quietly. “Will you honor me?”

They switched cards. “You choose,” Abiene told him uncertainly.

“The Grand Parade. And if you are willing, the Dance of the Red Prince.”

The first and last formal dances of the evening. Abiene smiled as she filled in the card. “I hope I remember the Prince’s Dance. I’m afraid I haven’t seen a dancing master for years.”

“Nor have I, and I do not miss that tedium.” Darnand’s face filled with dismay. “Although certainly not— I mean to say— Any dance in your company—”

Abiene handed his card back, laughing. “I’m sure we will be a credit to our educations, with some focus and perhaps a little luck. Only one glass of wine for me until afterward, though.” The Grand Parade would be immediately followed by a reel. That meant three dances with Darnand instead of two. She smiled with anticipation.

Marc Gulitte appeared at her elbow. Abiene sighed and handed over her card.

Thaurron’s warning had not been an exaggeration. Within minutes of their arrival, Countess Umbranox stepped forward to make her speech and begin the ball.

Abiene’s eyes moved over the crowd as the Countess’ warm words flowed around them. She recognized many members of Anvil’s merchant class, indistinguishable from the nobles in their finery. Abiene supposed that the party would be much smaller if the Anvil countess was as discriminating as Leyawiin’s. County Anvil’s wealth comes through its port, Abiene remembered. That was as much thought as she was willing to give such matters. There were more Redguards than Bretons in the crowd, and of course there were many mer and Imperials. Only a few Nords’ heads were visible, and as few Orsimer. Abiene had to admit that a formal ball would not be Jerric’s barrel of mead.

After the Countess graciously accepted their applause, musicians began to play on the balcony over the throne. Darnand took Abiene’s hand and led her out for the Grand Parade. The steps were not difficult, as the dance was meant to be accessible to all revelers. She immediately felt how Darnand used his hands and the tension in his frame to communicate. Abiene smiled in relief. The Grand Parade was easy. He was using it give them practice for the challenging Dance of the Red Prince.

There was little time for chatting and laughter between numbers. Before long Abiene found herself confronted by Marc Gulitte. “I believe this is my dance,” he said smoothly. Gulitte’s eyes did not meet hers. Oh no, thought Abiene, did I spill something? She glanced down the front of her dress.

Darnand took her goblet, his haughty mask in place again.

Marc proved an accomplished dancer as he led her through the intricate steps. “There are few others taking the floor,” Abiene murmured nervously. The room seemed full of staring eyes.

“Most Imperials don’t know the formal High Rock dances,” Marc told her. “The countess enjoys a display of our traditions on this Breton holiday. The floor will fill later as the punch bowls empty. Many silks will be spoiled when they start the country dances. The menders must love Saturalia.” His eyes passed over her again. “Of course, I would never accuse you of anything so common as perspiration.”

You should have seen me a few hours ago, thought Abiene. Her cheeks warmed at the memory.

Marc leaned close to her ear. “Ah, the lady blushes,” he murmured.

The lady vomits, Abiene thought. His hand on her skin began to turn her stomach.

The music ended, and they performed the traditional courtesies. Abiene placed her hand lightly on Marc’s forearm. “I wish to return to Darnand’s company,” she told him.

The Dance of the Red Prince was announced before Abiene had the chance to worry about it. She and Darnand took the floor with perhaps a dozen other couples. Carahil and Baeralorn the castle mage were among them, Abiene noted with surprise. Then the music began, and Darnand claimed all of her attention.

The dance began slowly, with a series of complicated figures and blind turns designed to display the couples’ timing. Some part of their bodies was always in contact, and Darnand was able to tell her when to turn back to him even when only their fingertips touched. Abiene’s confidence grew quickly, and soon she found herself smiling. Whispers swelled to murmurs in the crowd. She could tell without looking that at least one couple was not performing well. Darnand’s obvious pride reassured her, and she let him see her own admiration. A musical flourish told them to begin the next part.

It seemed like only minutes later when they completed the honors ending the dance. The musicians immediately struck up a hornpipe, and trumpets at the end of the reception hall announced the opening of the dining chamber.

Thaurron appeared before them, grinning and clasping Abiene’s hands. “Triumphant, my dears! Abiene, you must give me this dance before you are swamped with suitors. Go and fetch her some punch, my lad. I intend to leave her breathless!”

Abiene was soon grateful that her figure did not require restrictive undergarments. Thaurron swept her through several energetic Gold Coast country dances before she found herself back at Darnand’s side. She had moments to down her punch before she sailed off again, this time in the velvet arms of the elaborately coiffed Felen.

Gambling over cards and dice broke out along the sides of the reception hall, made elegant by tapestry-draped card tables. The shouts of merriment rose in volume as the level of punch dropped in the crystal bowls. Darnand made good on his promise to share sweets, and Abiene did her best not to be greedy. The moons lit their slightly unsteady walk back to the guild hall.

A line of hanging cloaks told them that their guild mates had preceded them home. Abiene stood in the entry hall with Darnand, reluctant to see the evening end.

Darnand stood close, not touching her. “Shall we exchange gifts tonight, or wait for the morning?” he asked.

“My mother always says that Saturalia morning is for servants and children.” Abiene bit her lip, watching him.

A slight smile drifted across his features. “As did mine. However, I believe that no one is too mature for simple joys, and anticipation is a gift we can give ourselves.”

Abiene took his hands. “Tomorrow, then.”

Darnand’s reply was cut off by a crash at the front door. He opened it and stood to the side as two Anvil city guards angled their way in. They dragged an unconscious man down the steps and deposited him on the tiles without ceremony.

“Jerric!” Abiene gasped, dropping to her knees beside him.

“He’s dead drunk, miss, don’t fret yourself,” a guard told her. Abiene noticed dried blood on Jerric’s neck. Anxiety tightened her chest until a quick investigation revealed a scalp wound, already healed. She heard Darnand speaking to the guards while she worked. When Abiene glanced up at the men, she found she didn’t know them.

“That one’s no stranger to the prison,” the guard said with a slightly pompous air. “Nord, you know. Pays his fines is the best I can say about him. I would have dragged him there, but Marcellus said you’d know him. Lucky for him, your hall was closer.”

Go hump yourself, constable, thought Abiene. “Thank you for bringing him to us,” she said, looking at the other guard.

The second guard removed his helmet. “Marcellus Illio, miss. I don’t expect you to remember me, but you were a comfort last spring when my sister had her accident.”

Abiene looked at Marcellus more closely. She still had no memory of him. “Thank you, Constable Illio. I wish you a good evening, and may joy find you this Saturalia.”

“Good evening,” Darnand echoed, still holding the door. “And many thanks.”

Darnand spoke to Constable Illio for another moment at the door before he joined Abiene at Jerric’s side. She looked up, at a loss for words.

Darnand’s nostrils flared. “I do not think he soiled himself. And yet…”

“I think it’s ale, sweat, and pipe smoke. Well, that might be dung. There’s no telling what occurred tonight.” She hoped that was mud in his hair with the tree bark. His face looks as peaceful as a child’s, she thought with a private smile.

Darnand’s voice sounded dismayed. “We cannot leave him here to be found on Saturalia morning. I fear we may need to wake some associates. I have a spell to increase my strength, but this man weighs a solid ton. I doubt I can get him all the way up to the common quarters without disrupting the entire guild.”

Abiene sighed inwardly. “I know a feather spell, Darnand, and you learned how to fortify your strength from me. You take his feet, and I will carry his shoulders.” She caressed Jerric’s face once more before she started feeling his pockets. “Let’s get his weapons, I don’t want him to wake up disoriented and do any harm. Here, and check in his boot. Help me roll him. Look, under his shirt.” Belatedly Abiene hoped Darnand wouldn’t ask how she knew. ‘Healer’s matters’ explained away a world of knowledge, but not her familiarity with Jerric’s clothing.

Getting him up the stairs was more awkward than strenuous. They shifted him onto the bed closest to the door in the common quarters. Darnand helped her tug off his boots. She saw his shoulders sag as his spells faded.

“Should we cover him?” asked Darnand. He’s concerned, Abiene noticed with a surge of affection.

“No, he won’t take a chill. Let’s turn him onto his stomach. That way he won’t aspirate his vomit, if he should throw up during the night.”

They heaved him over with a mutual grunt, then hauled his arms and legs back onto the bed. “There,” Darnand said with some satisfaction. He glanced at his palms with a look of mild disgust.

“I think I’ll stay here tonight,” Abiene said. “I’ll sleep on one of these beds. Just in case.”

Darnand’s brows climbed upward. “He is merely drunk, Abiene. From memories of this summer, it is practically his natural state. He will rise in the morning regretful but unrepentant. You should get some rest.”

“I’ll sleep better where I can check on him. You know I can’t help it. This way I won’t be up and down the stairs all night. I’ll come back down in a few hours. He’ll likely sleep the morning away.”

Darnand walked around the bed and took her hands. “I wish you a happy Saturalia, Abiene. I shall see you in the morning.”

Abiene reached up impulsively and kissed him on the cheek. “May joy find you, my friend. I hope you sleep well, for what remains of the night.”

After Darnand had gone, Abiene knelt beside Jerric. She could easily reattach someone’s ear if the wound was fresh enough, but preventing a hangover still eluded her. It has something to do with the mundane toxins in his blood, she decided. Perhaps I could treat him with medicine instead of magic.

Abiene could hear the two resident associates and Lildereth breathing gently in their beds. Jerric’s hair was stiff under her fingers with only the gods knew what. She pressed her lips to his brow and found it somehow both cold and sweaty. Sweet Mother Mara, what a smell, she thought. Even now she wanted nothing more than to lie down beside him.

She stretched out on the next empty bed. This will have to do, she thought, closing her eyes and dispelling her light. A Breton’s shy smile drifted through her mind as she fell into sleep, entwined with the memory of strong arms around her.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jul 15 2012, 04:09 PM

[haute ecole rider]

A lovely description of the ball, and Darnand comes further out of his shell!

But poor Jerric! That dinner with Rhano's family must have stirred the bad memory pot a little too much! Of course he's a Nord, and that's what they do Drink. And drink. And drink a little more . . . Good thing the guardsmen brought him to the guild hall instead of the clink.

[SubRosa]

“I would never expect. But a man might hope.”
The story of Darnand's life I think.

“Felen has informed me that custom permits only two dances for each couple,”
I see I am not the only who reads Jane Austen... It was good to see some authentic medieval/regency era dancing, rather than the usual couples dances most people are used to today.

The lady vomits
And I am sure Abiene is not the only one.

And Jerric does what Jerric does best I see! Now Abiene has good look at the what else she is signing herself up for if she continues her relationship with Jerric in Chorrol.

[mALX]

Darnand is playing a dangerous game trying to come between a woman and her sweets!

Being a huge fan of period movies and books, I really loved your rendition of the celebration so much! (as well as the descriptions of the dances, dance cards, etc). The interplay between Abiene and Marc Gulitte was hilarious! You did a wonderful job of portraying Marc as oily, I could feel Abiene's skin crawling at his touch!

Uh oh, I don't like this new development with Jerric! He was with Rhano and the family, what could have happened? And who were those guards that brought him? Dried blood on his neck? GAAAAH !!! Sounds like some retribution for his unprovoked attack on that necromancer's lair ... or worse! URG !!!!!

Awesome Write !!!

[Acadian]

Loved it! I thoroughly enjoyed your wonderful recount of the ball through the eyes of Abiene. You did justice to so many characters here, particularly gallant Darnand, oily Marc and the wonderful Thaurron.

'Countess Umbranox’s elegant hand was evident in the decorations.'
I think very highly of Millona Umbranox and am delighted to be reminded that you do as well!

'Abiene had to admit that a formal ball would not be Jerric’s barrel of mead.'
Not only was this particularly 'Nordic', but it turned out to be very prophetic indeed.

'She pressed her lips to his brow and found it somehow both cold and sweaty. Sweet Mother Mara, what a smell, she thought. Even now she wanted nothing more than to lie down beside him.'
As dear Mazoga would say, "Girl, you got it bad!"


Nit: “Oh, butter stars! Perhaps there will be a gingerbread castle!” Abiene’s feet make a little skip, and Darnand chuckled.'
Mixing tenses here. I think you want 'made'.

[King Coin]

I've been away for a while and finally got some time to read more of Jerric!

Chapter 7.6

There was no way that was going to end well, but it’s still sad

Chapter 7.7
I find it fascinating hearing about the main character of a story through the eyes of some of the other characters in the story. This chapter is excellent.

Some resolve at the end by Jerric. At least he’s going to start moving again. It’s a start for him.

Chapter 7.8
The prison cell joke was good. Jerric is doing pretty well since his world was burned to the ground. Having a purpose seems to have helped.

In my game I used the Kvatch gear for quite a while. I found the cuirass to be extremely weak and broke after every battle. However the shield never took damage. The only thing that was able to break it was a minotaur’s head-butt.

All the stuff he received is very appropriate for a hero.

Off to lead Martin to the Priory. Glad Jerric’s back.

Chapter 8.1
Jerric mentioned a feeling of disconnection. Very appropriate for a man that just lost his family and home.

Jerric’s been to Gnoll’s camp several times before. He’s definitely changed since he decided to tell Carmia to take her children away from there.

Generosity from the Skingrad Mage’s guild?

Chapter 8.2
For a second there I thought Jerric was being an [censored], but I see what he’s doing. He’s tearing down Martin the priest and (trying) to put the emperor in his place.

AH! Jerric got tripped up like Aravi does, in front of a bear no less!

I had to laugh at Jerric yelling at Martin while his leg was healed.

More rat to eat? Yum. :puke:

Hilarious banter between Jerric and Martin!

Interesting bringing up the stones. Cool! Jerric’s got a new power to play with!

[Grits]

haute ecole rider: Yes, Jerric was not up to the reminder of all he lost, even with the family that still means so much to him. There’s a lot that’s still broken.

SubRosa: Jane Austin indeed. Jerric provides some more awkwardness for Abiene in this installment. Dragging her passed-out boyfriend up the stairs while still in her ball gown isn’t part of her ideal evening.

mALX: Don't worry, it was nothing more sinister than a friend with a Nord-sized bottle. (For now. ) I’m so glad you enjoyed the ball. It was fun to show a little of what goes on in Abiene’s mind under the manners.

Acadian: I’m glad you enjoyed our mages at play. I had a great time writing it. In my mind I can see Countess Umbranox and Abiene with their heads together over some community welfare projects, but I can’t see how we’ll ever get there!

King Coin: Welcome back! It’s great to remember that road trip with Martin. I’m looking forward to Jerric eventually getting back to Cloud Ruler Temple. Eventually. I think that’s why I enjoy Aravi’s fatigue mod so much. A lot of Jerric’s fights end up on the ground, but his game doesn’t reflect that. Hang in there, soon rat will be off the menu!!

Where we are: Jerric’s Saturalia.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 16

Jerric woke to pain and quiet darkness. He lay still for several moments before he tried to think. I’m in a bed, he decided. Boots off. He rolled gingerly to his back and felt the front of his trousers. Buckles and buttons still in order. That relieved a host of concerns.

He cracked his crusty eyes open. A dormitory. He was in the mages guild common quarters. Daylight glinted around the window coverings.

Urgent needs began to make themselves known. Jerric flopped out of the bed and staggered to the necessary. Once undone, his fly proved too complicated to close, so he let his shirt hang over it. In the nearby bathing chamber, his shaking hand couldn’t hold water. Jerric dragged himself down the stairs in search of a drink.

He stood in the dining chamber, bewildered. Why was he here? He closed his eyes against the stabbing light.

“How is your head, Jerric?” Abiene’s tender voice pierced him, and her footsteps seemed to shake his bones. She took his face in her cool hands. Darnand’s head popped up over her shoulder.

“Uh,” Jerric croaked. His mouth was the Alik'r Desert.

“This is the perfect opportunity,” Darnand whispered to Abiene. “You suggest it.” His wide eyes stayed on Jerric’s face.

“I can hear you, Darnand,” said Jerric. “What daedric trick do you two have planned?”

“Not daedric, alchemical,” Darnand replied in a voice like a cracking whip. “I… we have a hangover remedy to try out on you. That is, to offer you.”

Abiene gently brushed Jerric’s hair back from his forehead. He wished he could lie down with his head in her sweet lap and quietly die. “If it doesn’t work, I can try to heal you,” she coaxed softly.

“Why wouldn’t… ugh, too many words. Bring it,” Jerric groaned.

Abiene guided him to a bench and sat him down with his back against the table. He closed his eyes again and let his head drift in a sea of pain. He awakened to a pair of Breton faces, one curious, and one compassionate. Darnand handed him a mug. Jerric closed his eyes and drank the bitter liquid. He kept his eyes closed, waiting for relief.

After a moment he began to feel he was at the center of something he could not control. Sweat slicked his skin, and his stomach heaved. Vomit surged up his throat and burned his sinuses as he tried to hold it in. Abiene swiftly moved a basin under his chin and held his head over it, gripping him by the hair. The potion came out first, and he lost track of which way was up and which was down. He tried to cling to Abiene’s legs, but a spasm drove him to his hands and knees. Abiene followed him with the basin, bending over him as he emptied his guts.

He could see Darnand’s feet under the hem of his robe in front of them. “Do you feel the need to defecate?” Darnand asked with clinical interest.

“Kill you,” Jerric wheezed. He spewed out another burning mouthful. Sweat ran down his nose. Heat flashed over his skin, and then he started to shiver.

“Now is not the time, Darnand,” Abiene scolded. “I told you the emetic was too strong.” She let go of Jerric’s hair and wiped his face with a damp cloth. Jerric began to think she had been anticipating this kind of result.

“All right, but…” Darnand’s footsteps moved toward the dining room door. “But how does your head feel, Jerric?”

He locked his elbows, hoping to keep his face off the floor. “A cool bath, when you are able,” Abiene said softy, stroking his hair. He realized that it no longer felt like he was being hit with a hammer.

A noise began in his abdomen. That’s not my stomach, Jerric realized with growing horror. A painful cramp told him that Darnand had anticipated the next effect. Thank the gods his trousers were already unfastened. He scrambled up and ran for it.

“And I told you we should administer it in the necessary!” he heard Darnand say to Abiene behind him.

Eventually Jerric emerged into the hallway, exhaustively purged. Abiene waited there holding a lit candle. She placed it in the necessary and closed the door.

“A bath now, if you agree. I have it ready for you.” She reached her hands out to him. It was all he could do not to collapse on top of her. With minimal cooperation on Jerric’s part, Abiene got him ensconced in his bath.

The lukewarm water eased some of his suffering. Cool air flowed down over his head from the open window behind him. Abiene had tucked a linen towel around his hips under the water. He was certain that his own modesty did not require preservation, but her reasoning quickly became evident. A fallen Nord battlemage recumbent in the tub proved an irresistible curiosity to his guild mates. He was soon subjected to a parade through the bathing chamber.

Felen was his first visitor. He stood at the foot of the tub, aglow in dark orange velvet. Crimson silk panels ran down the sides of his doublet, and more crimson was visible through the slits that decorated his puffed breeches and sleeves. Scarlet hose hugged his legs below the breeches. Jerric decided it would almost be worth the effort of moving to see what the mer considered appropriate footwear for such an outfit.

“Jerric, my lad,” said Felen warmly. “While you are indisposed, perhaps you would allow someone to trim your hair?”

“All right,” Jerric agreed feebly. He lifted a dripping leg and propped his heel on the tub’s edge. “You can start with my feet.”

Felen laughed heartily. Jerric winced, but he realized it wasn’t his head that was hurting. In fact, that was the only part that didn’t hurt. Felen patted the wet foot affectionately, his eyes slits of amusement. “You will soon be upright. I do not doubt the recuperative power of your stalwart race.”

As Felen left, Jerric spied Darnand hovering near the door. For safety reasons, Jerric suspected. “I wonder if the potion would affect the races differently,” Darnand mused. “They said they found Rhano with you, and delivered him to the Fighters Guild. Do you suppose we should offer him a dose of our cure?”

“Cure?” Jerric demanded, rising up a little in the tub. “Cure? Yeah, go ahead and give it to Rhano. Then I can watch you try to cough up your teeth.”

“You admitted that your headache has improved,” Darnand said defensively.

Jerric raised his hands out of the water. They still shook uncontrollably. “Yeah, my head feels better.”

Thaurron slipped past Darnand, bearing a steaming mug in his hand. Jerric eyed it warily.

“An offering from our own kitchen,” Thaurron announced with inexcusable mirth. “A restorative tea!”

“Bosmer tea?” Jerric asked, trying to keep his voice even.

“It is one of Hjordhild’s blends. I expect she is familiar with Nordic indiscretions. And this,” he produced a napkin-covered plate with a flourish, “is from Bertille.”

Jerric lifted the napkin with trembling fingers. “A bacon sandwich. May all the powers bless those women.”

Darnand drew closer to the tub. “What did she put in the tea?” he asked suspiciously. “I did not know that Hjordhild was an alchemist.”

Jerric tasted the thick brew. “She put tea in it, you madman.” He took a crunchy bite of the sandwich and washed it down with a scalding sip. Abiene’s hand helped him steady the mug. “Sugared bacon,” he moaned, closing his eyes. “I might need another towel.”

He opened his eyes to find Carahil standing at the foot of the tub, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. She looked splendid in gold and plum-colored velvet. Jewels glittered at her ears and throat. It’s Saturalia today, Jerric reminded himself.

“Greetings of the day,” he said to her, flushing. A shower of crumbs freed themselves from his sandwich and tumbled over his chest. He set it aside.

Carahil got right to the point. “I must ask you about last night, Jerric. Do you remember when the guards found you?”

“Uh…” Thinking was like trying to see through thick fog.

Carahil waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind, I will tell you. They found you on the ground under the evergreen oak in Westgate, leaning against the trunk. Singing. Before you passed out, you told them you were waiting for Rhano.”

That rang a faint bell. “Yeah! I was waiting for Rhano.”

“Only you were not waiting for Rhano. You were holding him in your arms like a babe.”

That rang another bell, this one more alarming. “He was cold. Just like…”

“Yes,” Carahil agreed. “Just like the last time. Was that ten years ago? A dozen?”

Jerric tried to form the question, but the words were stuck.

Carahil anticipated him. “No, this time you were both wearing trousers. Jerric, there is an important question I must ask you.”

Abiene’s eyes widened with shock. One hand crept up to cover her mouth.

“No!” Jerric said to her hastily. “It wasn’t like that. And anyway, it was a long time ago. We were thrown out of a brothel.”

Now her other hand came up to press over the first one.

“Just for fighting!” Jerric tried to explain. “There was a little brawl. We were hardly more than kids! That man is a hothead, it was all his fault.” He glared at Carahil. “I’m so glad you remembered that.”

Carahil’s face was solemn, her voice low and urgent. “Jerric, you must focus your attention. Last night…. Last night, did you drink brandy, or whiskey?”

Jerric blinked at her. “Whiskey.”

Carahil pounded her narrow fist against the edge of the tub. Felen’s voice came in from the hallway. “Whiskey!” he crowed. “I told you the boy would never learn!”

Carahil looked aggrieved. “That is fifty-five Septims you have cost me.” She swept from the room.

“Get your hair wet,” Abiene said gently, after a moment that seemed to last an hour. “I want to wash the blood away and see where it came from. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before you start questing in your chest hair for bits of bacon.”

Jerric complied. “I probably smacked my head on something. My hands aren’t busted up, I don’t think there was a fight.”

Thaurron perched on a stool, still smiling. Sparky sat on his shoulder. The imp tilted his tiny head to the side, looking between Jerric and the sandwich. Jerric warned him with a glare before he closed his eyes.

Abiene’s strong fingers worked over his scalp, sending shivers through him. This is better than most of what you pay for at a brothel, Jerric thought. He decided to keep that to himself. He wondered why Thaurron lingered. Then he realized that the mer’s presence might help give them the appearance of a healer and her patient, rather than an aedric spirit and her idiot lover. He resolved to maintain an appropriate expression.

Jerric rinsed his head when she told him. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Abiene had a sudsy cloth in her hand. “Lean forward,” she instructed. She began slowly scrubbing his neck.

Jerric held on to the sides of the tub and let his head fall forward. “Do you do this for all of your patients?” He had to stifle a moan. Thaurron began to chat with Sparky.

Abiene rubbed the cloth across his shoulders. “No, my love,” she murmured. “Only the ones who smell as badly as you do. You can wash your own— Hello, associates.”

Jerric looked up to find the grey-eyed Imperial lad and a stocky Khajiit in the doorway. They both wore their Saturalia finery.

“Hail, Master Jerric,” they chorused.

Jerric tried to sound happy to see them. “Well met, lads. I’m no one’s master this morning. I’m a cautionary tale. Stay…away…from the whiskey.”

“Mead before liquor, never sicker,” advised the Imperial.

“If it is brown, this one puts it down,” the Khajiit replied solemnly.

“The wisdom of youth,” said Jerric. “I thank you for sharing it.”

“Let us repair to the lower chambers, my lads,” Thaurron suggested. “Only a few moments remain of the morning. The parades should begin shortly, and Hjordhild has promised a midday repast to write home about.” The four of them made a procession of their own leaving the room.

Since they were alone, Jerric leaned back in the tub and studied Abiene. She rubbed her cloth against the soap again. Her gentle hand drew it over his chest and down his arm. When she met his gaze, he thought he might drown in her tender eyes. Her smile made him feel less of a repulsive spectacle. What is it about this woman, he wondered. Her portrait might simply be titled ‘Breton in Brown.’ Yet I would swear there’s never been anyone more beautiful.

Her cloth worked its way down his middle. She pushed up her sleeve as her arm went deeper in the water. Jerric moved his hand so that her breast slipped into it as she reached. He discovered that he was not entirely dead after all.

“Now I know why you gave me a towel,” he said softly. “You don’t suppose you could put your hand under…”

Lildereth appeared in the doorway, barefoot and tousled in a knee-length nightdress. She had her arms wrapped around herself and her eyes half-open.

“You look a little rough, mini-mer,” Jerric told her.

“And you’re in your prime.” Lildereth’s voice sounded like pine bark. She leaned against the door frame.

“Are you ill?” Abiene asked, instantly concerned. “I noticed you left early last night.” She rose and dried her hands as she approached Lildereth.

“I didn’t feel well. I don’t think I’ve ever been sick before.”

Abiene took Lildereth’s face in her hands. Jerric watched her feel Lildereth’s forehead, neck, and under her jaw. “You’ve caught something, Lildereth. Even a Bosmer can sometimes fall ill. How long have you been feverish?”

“Just since last night, if that’s what this is. I didn’t drink anything after our wine, so I know it’s not the Nord’s illness.”

Jerric was too worried to tease her back. A fever was no laughing matter. Some diseases couldn’t be cured or healed away.

“How long have you been feeling poorly?” Abiene asked. She had Lildereth’s wrist between her fingers.

“I thought I was just tired. Perhaps a week?” Lildereth sounded uncertain.

Jerric sat up in the tub. “The zombies. I didn’t think you touched them.”

“When we buried Darnand’s meat,” Lildereth said weakly.

Abiene put an arm around Lildereth’s shoulders and a hand under her elbow. “I don’t want to take you over to the healing hall, and I don’t want to put you back in the common quarters. Will you rest in my chamber?”

Lildereth nodded. Abiene shot Jerric an apologetic glance over her shoulder as she led Lildereth into the hall.

Gulitte took their place in the doorway. “Now I know what I have to do to get into her bed,” he remarked. He stood looking down the corridor, Jerric guessed at the two women.

Darnand elbowed past him back into the bathing chamber, looking cross.

“Ah,” Gulitte continued. “The two of them together in there. That Bosmer looks like a nice little handful. And Abiene might not fill up her blouse, but she’s as flexible as a willow branch.” Gulitte sighed. “Now I won’t be bored for weeks.” He gave Jerric a smug glance. “You know what I’m talking about, Nord.”

Jerric couldn’t disagree, but Darnand’s face looked like a thunderstorm. His hands were clenched into fists. As long as he doesn’t open them full of fire, thought Jerric.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never looked through the wall with your life detection spell,” Gulitte said to Darnand. “You’re missing a treat. Every morning our esteemed Restoration trainer bends herself in all directions before breakfast. You can’t tell what she’s wearing, but she’s bare the way I picture it.” He shook his head. “I’d wager she can cross her ankles behind her neck.”

Jerric took a moment getting his feet organized. By the time he lurched upright in the tub, Darnand was speaking.

“Spy on her again, and I shall pluck out your eyes. Then a faint glow is all you will see of anyone.” Darnand’s voice held an icy calm. Marc looked too terrified to move.

Jerric found himself at a loss. First he was disappointed by Abiene’s abrupt departure, and now he wouldn’t be killing Gulitte. There was no telling how long this standoff would last. Jerric decided he had seen enough.

“One of you come over here and give me a hand,” he said affably, reaching an arm out toward the door.

The chamber was suddenly empty of Bretons. Jerric sat down in the cool water and reached for his sandwich. “Gods save me from the attention of mages,” he muttered.

This post has been edited by Grits: Aug 1 2011, 02:19 PM