Cardonaccum, The beauty of a thistle. Options

[haute ecole rider]

@Acadian: As I am telling this story from Lady Cora's POV, and she is a mere mortal Breton, I figured it was logical that the realization of the Nirnquake will dawn on the readers at the same time and in the same way it dawns on our intrepid Lady. And yes, the horse knew the Nirnquake was coming before the two-legged ones did.

@SageRose: I am departing from the Lore a bit in this exploration of religion. As I see it, there are many layers of religion in High Rock -- ranging from the ancient, near-forgotten worship of the fundamental elements such as the Nirn Goddess, to the self-deification of the High Elves, to the worship of the Divines now prevalent among the mortals. We will see more theological bits as we go along, but for now, let us accept that there is something more fundamental and ultimately more powerful than the Eight Divines led by Akatosh. You are right in that the Goddess is implacable, and that mere prayers can't really change the course of events. I knew you would like seeing my own Do'saka. Perhaps he and Doh'sakar are cousins?

@all: As we enter the official Northern Hemisphere winter, Julian, Lady Cora and I wish to take a moment and wish all of our readers a very merry Winter Solstice (Summer Solstice Down Under!) and happy Holidays! Not only do we celebrate the birth of Jesus, but also the turning of the year and the beginning of awakening and renewal inherent in the lengthening of the days now beginning.

The story so far: Lady Cora and Legion Healer Servius have been captured by outlaws in the pay of Sir Broc, but have now escaped thanks to a timely Nirnquake. A mysterious Khajiit has provided them with first aid and shelter. Now they make their painful way back to Cardonaccum.

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Chapter Twenty-six

“This is as farr as this one goes,” Do’saka stopped. Servius and I glanced at him, the wind bringing tears to our eyes.

“You are welcome in C- Cardonaccum, Do’saka,” I protested. “No one will harm you.”

He shook his head. “This one has orrders,” he hissed softly. “Stay invisible.”

“Orders?” I repeated. “From whom?”

Do’saka bowed elegantly. “From one who holds the Lady’s safety close to one’s hearrt.”

I reached out with my good arm and touched his elbow. “And who is that?”

He only smiled, and tossed something into the air. Invisible flakes showered around him, obscuring his form, until even that feral grin disappeared. “That is not forr this one to say,” his disembodied voice drew away from us. I saw the shaggy heather parting from his passage, tracing a curving line toward the rising sun.

“Come on,” Servius said to me. He was somewhat stronger today, though I still didn’t like his breathing. However, his healing progressed faster than mine.

Last night Do’saka had brought us to a small cave high in the foothills south of the outlaw camp. He had cleaned and bound Servius’s wounds, and found more healing plants to give the legionary every possible advantage in his recovery. The blood loss had ceased, and by morning his arrow wounds showed signs of advanced healing. However, the talented Khajiit was unable to provide me much relief from the constant pain in my shoulder and ribs.

“This one is sorrry he can not help the Lady,” his purr drifted over my shoulder. He sat behind me, examining the arrow wound in my shoulder. “The arrrowhead is deeply embedded, and much of the surrrounding tissue is torrn. Yet the wound is alrready closing over the steel. It is beyond this one’s meagerr skills to rremove.”

Gently his hands sponged away the dried blood. In spite of his care, I gasped from the agony stirred up by his ministrations. “There is nothing you c- can do, Do’saka,” I murmured. “Unless you are a t- trained chirurgeon?”

“This one is not,” Do’saka’s purring accents held genuine regret. “This one knows the pain is grreat and wishes he could at least take some of it away.”

“You have been a t- tremendous help, Do’saka,” I gestured toward Servius, resting on the opposite side of the fire. “I want no more deaths for my s- sake.”

Do’saka’s hands fell away. I glanced over my shoulder at his green gaze. Though I had never met Khajiit before, I could read his expression, thanks to my experience with Cinnie, the moggy who slept on my sleeping furs. He possessed the same thoughtful look she had when debating whether to chase a mouse or remain curled up on the bed.

“This one knows therre are those who would betrray the Lady,” he said finally. “Though this one has no prroof of such conspirracies. The Lady must show no merrcy toward those who would betrray herr.”

“Let such people sh- show themselves to me,” I heard the obsidian edge in my voice. “I hold Thistlethorn for s- such purposes.”

Do’saka withdrew to crouch next to the fire, tossing the bloodied rags into its flames. As hissing smoke and steam wreathed his form in grey clouds, his emerald gaze met mine. “The Lady would do well to be prrepared to use the long knife on herr rreturn to the big castle.”

I considered his words with some alarm. “Do you know s- something I don’t?”

“Only that those who would betrray the Lady are alrready on the move tonight.” Do’saka ignored the glances Servius and I exchanged while he put another log on the fire. “Rrest tonight. This one will see to it that the Lady and herr champion will rreturn in time.”

“Well,” Servius’s voice brought me back to the chilly morning. “We’d best continue on,” he turned his face back southward. The high walls of Cardonaccum rose out of the moor ahead of us. To our left the stream burbled its way toward the wide moat of the castle, dry once more. Only the small postern gate relieved the sheer expanse of stone that comprised the bailey walls.

Though Servius’s condition was much improved, he still moved slowly. I was grateful for his careful pace, since any movement aggravated the pain in my shoulder and side. My right hand supported the broken ribs in my left side, while I cupped my right elbow in my left hand to ease some of the pressure from my torn shoulder. The vertigo I had suffered since striking my head on that tree had eased somewhat, but every now and then I would lurch against Servius’s side.

The sun stood several degrees higher by the time we reached the far bank of the moat. Here the stream had carved itself a deep bed. We stopped beside it and looked across the ditch toward the palisades atop the bailey walls. I could see thistlemen clustering above the postern gate, though they were too far away for me to recognize any of them.

“Do we simply walk across the moat here?” Servius asked uncertainly. Silently I nodded, filled with dread at the thought of clambering down then up the steep slopes. Snow still lay along the bottom, and the sides remained damp with dew and snowmelt.

The postern gate opened when we reached the bottom of the moat. I looked up to see six men sally forth. Four of them fanned out, their eyes scanning the moor behind us. Two slipped and slid their way down the near bank to meet us.

“Say nothing of the Khajiit,” Servius whispered to me as the two men approached. Startled, I glanced at him, but his eyes remained on the others.

It wasn’t Robert who led the little contingent, as I had expected, but Captain Enrick and Lieutenant Alorius. They stopped before us, trying and failing to hide the dismay in their expressions as they took in our injured condition.

“Lady,” Enrick spoke first. “We are glad to see you again! But what happened?”

“We were attacked by outlaws,” I answered, short of breath. “Mungo and R- Rory are dead. Both S- Servius and I have been injured - we spent the night h- hiding in a cave.”

“Where are those outlaws?” Titus showed less consternation than Enrick.

“I - I don’t know,” I shook my head. It was a mistake. I managed to catch Servius’s left arm when the vertigo threatened to subdue my balance. Enrick and Titus reached for me, but I flinched away.

Enrick turned to glance up at his men. “Tarn, go find Siné!” The one nearest the gate whirled and disappeared into the bailey. The captain stepped to my left side and touched my elbow hesitantly.

“Where is R- Robert?” I asked. “Why isn’t he here?” Dread moved through me at the grim glances between Enrick and Titus. I drew myself as straight as my broken ribs would allow. “T- tell me.”

“Sir Broc has called an Enclave,” Titus ignored Enrick’s quelling glare. “Sir Rodric and Dame Edine are also here. Sir Broc claims that you are too weak to defend Cardonaccum, Lady, and that he should take the Thistle Seat.”

I closed my eyes against the bats again swarming in my vision. He would never dare as long as Wallace is alive. But after Sir Laird and Onchu rebelled against Wallace’s wishes to support me, he now has the courage to unseat me? Wallace, what is the best way to answer this? General Talos’s words from last fall echoed in my memory. “If anyone challenges your right to hold the seat of Cardonaccum, my men will augment yours and defend your position.”

“If I may, Lady,” Titus interrupted my whirling thoughts, “I would like to remind you of the terms of your truce.”

“I was just th- thinking of that,” I replied, opening my eyes to meet his steady gaze. So tempting to let him step up. But if the Legion were to put down Broc’s rebellion, how would the folk of Cardonaccum see it? Would they see me as a mere puppet lord, in complete thrall to Talos and his Legions? “But I must d- deal with this on my own.” As he nodded his acquiescence, the answer emerged with sudden clarity. I turned to Enrick waiting at my left shoulder.

“Captain, please get five of your fastest t- troopers and have them ride to Northside Manor. I want them to find young T- Tywin and bring him here as quickly as possible. S- safely and respectfully, Enrick.”

“Yes, milady!” Enrick turned and ran up the near bank toward one of his men.

I turned to Servius. “I thank you for your assistance, sir,” I said to him. “Please let S- Siné tend your wounds and ensure your continuing r- recovery.”

“But I don’t think Captain Enrick sent for Siné on my behalf,” Servius protested weakly. I shook my head firmly at him.

“She lacks the power to h- help me,” I said quietly. “And Lieutenant Alorius needs you back on your feet as soon as possible. I need you back on your feet as quickly as possible, for what I am about to do may stir the h- hornets’ nest.”

“I will be happy to tend Servius,” Siné’s cool voice interrupted Servius’s protests. “But afterwards, you need to let me examine you, milady.” Without waiting for a response from me, she stepped past Titus and took Servius’s left arm to coax him toward the postern gate.

“And I, Lady?” Titus brought my attention back to him. “What can my century do for you?”

“Two things,” I replied. “First, h- help me up this hill. I’m not certain I can manage by myself.”

“Of course,” Titus moved to my left side and offered me his arm. Gratefully I accepted his support and moved after Servius.

The near bank was more of a struggle for me than it was for Servius, but we made it safely up the slope without too much loss of dignity. As Titus and I drew near the open postern gate, I stopped and turned to him.

“And the second th- thing is, if you would please s- send a squad of your men to the outlaw camp and see if they c- can recover the body of Broc’s man.”

Titus called up one of the nearby legionaries waiting beside the postern gate. I recognized the senior pilus, Quintius Fannius. “Tell him where to go, Lady.”

Quintius listened intently as I described the location of the camp and the condition of the Northsider’s body. When he repeated everything back to me, I found myself impressed by his attention to detail. He glanced once at Titus, then turned and disappeared through the gate.

Titus met my gaze. “General Talos warned me that you may not want to be seen as leaning on the Legion for your support. So I will rely on your judgment concerning how our aid may best help you, Lady.”

“I shall c- count on you to support Robert and C- Captain Enrick,” I said. Again I fought for breath, in an attempt to calm my racing heart. But the pain of my broken ribs constricted my chest and gave me a claustrophobic feeling. The bat swarm returned with a vengeance. I managed to reach a stone mounting block and sit down before my vision was once again obscured.

“Milady!” Jannet’s voice hissed before me. I opened my eyes and looked up into her concerned face. “Just how badly are you hurt?”

“Never mind th- that,” I shook her away. “I just need to r- rest a minute.”

“You need to rest more than a minute!” Jannet scolded me. “Let’s get you to bed, milady!”

“No!” Somehow I managed to put the edge of command into my voice. “I must c- confront Sir Broc first!” I met her gaze with all the will I could muster. “I can not rest in peace so long as h- he is agitating for my seat.”

“Milady!” Jannet’s tone turned despairing.

“Get me some of Machara’s strong t- tea,” I whispered. “Bergamot. Now.”

Jannet gave me one last desperate look, then gathered her skirts and disappeared as fast as her old legs could run. I closed my eyes and fought to still the pain. Beneath my feet Nirn pressed against my soles, cold and wet with snowmelt. I welcomed the sensation, for it numbed my agony somewhat. My fingers twitched in an innate desire to bury themselves in the mud. I resisted it, and instead dug my toes deeper.

The slow surge that I recognized as the energy of Nirn thrummed up my shins. My heartbeat soon followed its pace, and the constriction around my chest eased a little. Each slow, careful breath pushed the limits of the pain an infinitesimal bit.

After several such breaths, I heard Jannet’s panting return. She handed me a cup full of steaming brown liquid. I inhaled the fragrant steam gratefully, then drank the tea down in a single draught. The strong taste beat back the bat swarm, and I felt strong enough to stand once more. My right arm moved a little of its own volition, but could not take the weight of my body as I pushed myself up from the mounting block.

Jannet reached for my right hand, but Titus stopped her with an outstretched arm. “Wait, ma’am,” he said to her. “Lady Cora hurts everywhere.” He nodded at me. “Best let her decide whether or not to lean on you.”

Jannet rounded on him, her arms akimbo. “In case you haven’t noticed, Mister Legion, milady is not in the habit of asking for help, even when she needs it!”

“I’ve noticed,” Titus’s quiet tone was dry, and I glanced sharply at him. “I’ve also noticed that milady will accept help that is offered if she so chooses.”

“Enough, you t- two,” I muttered. I waved Jannet to my left side. “Come here, let me have your arm, Jannet.” I turned my gaze away from Titus’s slight smile as we made our way through the stable yards toward the front of the donjon.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Dec 23 2013, 09:30 PM

[Grits]

Do’saka disappeared grin-last, like the Cheshire cat! His appearance after the dramatic Nirnquake was just captivating. I loved his confident and mysterious air.

The slow surge that I recognized as the energy of Nirn thrummed up my shins. My heartbeat soon followed its pace, and the constriction around my chest eased a little. Each slow, careful breath pushed the limits of the pain an infinitesimal bit.

This was the highlight for me in a marvelous chapter.

I was a little worried about who would come out the postern gate, guessing that Sir Broc was moving forward with his plan. Then Lady Cora made one of her own before they made it through the stable yard! No, Lord Wallace did not choose her just for her sewing. Titus and Jannet jockeying for position made me smile.

[SubRosa]

“And who is that?”
I wonder now too. General Talos perhaps? But if so, why the mystery? Or does Lady Cora have a secret admirer?

Like Grits, I too appreciated the Cheshire Cat-like grin at the end of Do'Sakha's disappearing act. I also liked your invention of the 'vanishing dust' that he used. It is more interesting than simply drinking a potion.

I am going to guess that Sir Robert might be out looking for Lady Cora, and that is why he was not the first man out the postern gate? I see Lt. Alorius there. That is a good thing. The irony of him being an Imperial is that being an outsider, he is completely free of High Rock politics, and thus someone Cora can trust. Oh now I see Broc is inside stirring up trouble. I bet Robert is not letting that naga in the grass out of his sight.

Would they see me as a mere puppet lord, in complete thrall to Talos and his Legions?
This is what I was thinking too.

for what I am about to do may stir the h- hornets’ nest.
Of that I have no doubt. Now that Sir Broc has thrown the dice and come up dragoneyes, I get the feeling he is not long for this world.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Dec 23 2013, 09:03 PM

[Acadian]

A Merry Christmas to you and warm wishes for a Joyous Saturalia and New Year!

As has been mentioned, a purrrfectly fantastical departure by Do’saka. And quite the mysterious one! I too, am wondering under whose orders the Khajiit is conducting his fairy godcat operations.

So Broc is making his move. Off with his head! Seriously, between her physical condition and concerns about being a Legion puppet, she has a bit of a complicated pickle to deal with. I see she is going for physical proof of Broc's treason.

‘Titus met my gaze. “General Talos warned me that you may not want to be seen as leaning on the Legion for your support. So I will rely on your judgment concerning how our aid may best help you, Lady.” - - I love this guy.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Mister. Legion, milady is not in the habit of asking for help, even when she needs it!” - - This made me smile for its simple truth. Is the period after Mister an oversight? Heh, I can see myself drafting Mr. Legion, then deciding to spell out the title while overlooking the period.

[Colonel Mustard]

Interesting few chapters here, and I enjoyed them a great deal, especially Do'Sakha; he was an interesting character, and I suspect his presence may be something to do with a certain general.

It was quite a cool idea to have Cora call on what I take was Padomay itself when making her way out of there, bypassing the middlegods of the Nine to go right to the core/source of their power. Nice angle on the established lore.

[haute ecole rider]

@Grits: You did guess right indeed - Broc was moving forward with his plan. As of yet he did not know that the attempt to kidnap Lady Cora has failed. I'm glad you liked Do'saka. His Cheshire Cat disappearance came naturally, and it did not occur to me until the second or third read-through after writing that passage how much like the infamous Wonderland feline Do'saka was.

@SubRosa: That vanishing dust was actually the spell he used to disappear. I spent a fair amount of time wondering how casting an Invisibility spell would appear to an onlooker, and that is how I figured to describe it. As for who is Do'saka's boss, we will have to wait and see.

@Acadian: Oh, Do'saka will be a relatively easy mystery to unravel. But there is another, deeper one that has not yet begun to reveal its existence. We will see as the story unfolds. Off with Broc's head, huh? You are not the only one to think that! Thanks so much for catching that nit!

@Colonel Mustard: I enjoyed writing Do'saka too. He has his own entire backstory, I do not yet know if it will be revealed later in the story.

The story so far: Lady Cora and Legion Healer Servius have returned to Cardonaccum after their ordeal. However Lady Cora does not have time to rest--she has to address the issue of Sir Broc first.

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Chapter Twenty-seven

Agony accompanied each step up to the doors of the donjon. I fought for breath every footfall of the way. Only Jannet’s silent concern and the fate of Cardonaccum awaiting me within kept me from collapsing after the first few risers.

Finally we reached the top of the steps, and I leaned hard on the old woman, fighting off the bat swarm that threatened to obscure my vision. Abruptly the darkness coalesced into a well-remembered face, shrouded by shadows. “Mother?” I whispered.

“Remember, child, what I have taught you about finding your strength.” Her familiar voice echoed unfamiliarly through my mind, and the bats fell apart, revealing an ancient stone plinth on a windswept moor, snow swirling around it. I gasped as I recalled the lesson she had taught me at the old menhir so many years ago.

“Milady?” Jannet’s voice brought me back to the present. I found myself leaning on the stone jamb of the double doors, as if drawing strength from the standing stone of my childhood. I straightened my spine and drew away from her. The old power of Nirn surged up through my soles like a slow heartbeat within the rough-hewn stones themselves.

The pain and agony still persisted, but they no longer dominated my consciousness. Instead the immense mass of energy that comprised Nirn cradled me as I stepped back to face the portal. How could I have forgotten? I met Titus’s bemused gaze and nodded at him. At a gesture, two of his legionaries swung the heavy wooden panels open.

Within, I found a mass of sky-blue surcoats on the main floor of the great hall. Several of the Northsiders nearest us turned to glance back at the open doors. Over their heads I could see Rodric, fists clenched, standing beside Robert, both men facing an insouciant Broc. Edine stood between the younger knight and the two older men, her right hand braced on Rodric’s left shoulder. Her stance was that of separating two fighting roosters.

“So he brought all of his men, did he?” I whispered in an aside to Titus.

“Aye, most of them,” Titus answered. “But Castellan Robert and Captain Enrick have put their men on full alert. As are mine.”

“Jannet, find Niall,” I rationed my breath carefully. “Go to the study.” The shorter sentences helped eliminate my stutter. “Bring me Thistlethorn.”

She regarded me warily. Titus touched her thin shoulder gently. “I’m with the Lady. Go on.”

By this time several of the blue-surcoated soldiers had recognized me and began whispering among themselves. Two of them began shouldering their way through the mass toward the confrontation before the Thistle Seat. Jannet, Niall, hurry!

Enrick slipped through the doors behind us and took his place at my right shoulder. Bracketed by two military commanders, I took a step forward. Somehow I managed to keep my spine straight against the twisting pain in my body. Just as the two Northsiders reached Broc, I stopped at the edge of the top step. The men whispered urgently into the young knight’s ear, pointing in my direction. His eyes moved from Rodric’s angry glare to meet mine across the hall. Even at that distance I could see the faint waver in his gaze, then he turned away from the older knight.

“Milady!” Heads turned toward me as his voice, dripping sugary concern, greeted me. “I am so glad you are - alive!”

Rodric stepped past Broc. “Milady!” His own gruff tone carried more honest feeling. “You’ve been hurt! Who did this to you?”

“That is the question,” I answered, stepping carefully down the stone stairs. “Who indeed?” With Titus and Enrick at my shoulders like dark wings, I moved forward into the gathered Northsiders who stood between me and the Thistle Seat. At first they stared at me, accustomed to cowing lesser folk with those hard eyes.

My own gaze met theirs squarely, and I lifted my chin. “Shall I remind you?” I said to the two burly men-at-arms nearest me. “Whose castle this is?” Their expressions faltered, and their eyes shifted slightly. “Mine? Or Sir Broc’s?”

“This castle belongs to the Lady Cora!” Robert stepped to the edge of the dais, his roar stirring the rafters high overhead. “Does anyone dare to deny it?” His sword whispered as he drew it, echoed by the Cardonaccum thistlemen posted around the large chamber.

The Northsiders shifted uneasily, their hands wavering tensely over their hilts. Blades reached slowly toward them on either side of me, held by Titus and Enrick. They stepped up so that the bulk of their bodies sheltered me from any attack in front.

“There will be blood today,” I made my voice hard and pitched to carry. “Question is, whose shall it be?”

“Milady,” a quiet voice sounded behind me. “Thistlethorn.” My eyes still straight forward, I reached back with my left hand. Niall recognized my signal and set the leather-wrapped hilt of Wallace’s weapon firmly into my palm. The metal sang softly as I drew it from its sheath, still gripped by my loyal steward. Carefully I rested the tip of the long blade on the stones at my feet, its pommel before my chin.

“Shall I begin,” I addressed the uneasy Northsiders, “using this now?” Mutterings passed from man to man, and a passage opened before me. “Thank you, gentlemen,” I lifted the greatsword from the floor to float before me, its blade nearly horizontal. The wound in my right shoulder screamed as I set my right hand above the left on the grip to help steady it.

Fortunately for me, the traditional weapon of Cardonaccum’s lords was well-crafted, the long hilt and heavy pommel offsetting the weight of the mighty blade. Still, it took considerable effort to keep the blade steady before me as I walked through the parting mass of blue toward the dais and the Thistle Seat. The image of the menhir kept the swarming bats at bay and gave me the strength I needed to keep my injured self as straight as the blade I carried. I knew the blood and mud on my face, my dress and tattered cloak, betrayed the trauma I had suffered through yesterday. Yet I refused to let Broc and his people see just how much pain tore through me with each step.

Think I’m weak, eh? Still think so? My father’s sole legacy stirred within me and surged up my throat like boiling acid. His black rage, the rage that had destroyed my mother, that had cast me out onto the careless mercy of my uncle, propelled my bare feet across the stone floor of the hall.

I had fought for years to kill that rage, that inheritance of my father’s. He had given me his worst quality, not his immense magicka. Terrified of the power of that rage to transform the father I had once loved, I had always suppressed even the slightest flicker of offense. But in this instant, I welcomed it. I needed it, the energy it gave me. I knew it would cost me in the end. But I had had enough from this insolent knight who thought he could wheedle, cajole, seduce and even frighten me into giving in to him. Time to end this.

As I reached the dais, another of the blue-surcoated men leaped to Broc’s side, his hand on the hilt of his own greatsword. I turned to him and met his gaze. “Who are you?”

“This is Captain Sholto of my Guard,” Broc set a calming hand on the other’s right elbow. Sholto’s stance didn’t ease, and he continued to stare me down.

“Captain Sholto,” I returned that gaze coldly. “How many men under your command?”

“Eighty-seven,” the captain responded stiffly.

“And how many,” I paused to take a slow breath, “of your men are here today?” Sholto’s jaw clenched at the question, but he remained silent.

“We count eighty-two, milady,” Robert had now moved to stand beside the blue-coated captain, his own hand ready on his weapon.

“Step back, Robert,” I said. “There is no need for your weapon here.” I tipped my head at Sholto. “Seems to me,” I addressed his glare again, “you’re short a few? Where are they?” Again he did not answer. “I know for certain,” I continued, my voice still pitched to carry, “one of them,” now I smiled, though I felt no warmth toward this man, “never returned last night. Correct?”

The flicker in his gaze told me he had known of the outlaws’ plan to attack me. He’s not the sort of man to act on his own. Broc wouldn’t tolerate any ambition around him. “No need to answer that, C- Captain.” Thistlethorn wavered slightly in my hand. “But answer this-” the long blade grew steady again, “Do you serve Sir Broc,” I shrugged my right elbow toward the knight standing at the captain’s left shoulder, “because you feel he is the best man?” I paused as a flicker of bemusement crossed Sholto’s features. “Or because you are honoring your oath to the Knight of Northside?” He frowned at my question. “Think carefully,” I managed to keep my left arm from trembling from the weight of the greatsword. “Before you answer.”

The puzzled frown turned to a obstinate scowl. “I serve Sir Broc,” he growled at me. “Not some pipsqueak of a girl -“

Thistlethorn leaped faster than anyone could follow. Wallace’s family weapon dragged my left arm across my body as it swept to my right, upwards and out in a deadly arc. Sholto’s defiance ended in a gurgle as hot crimson sprayed across my face, my hair. Thistlethorn’s point stopped in the hollow of Broc’s throat as Sholto fell backwards off the dais. The spraying blood subsided to a bubbling foam, then a silent oozing across the stone tiles.

Shocked gasps and murmurs echoed around the hall as people backed away from Sholto’s corpse. On the dais, only Titus stepped to my side, his own gladius paralleling the long blade I held. I fought for my breath, as stunned as the others at the speed of my action. Gods! I never knew I had this in me! Slow as Nirn? Somehow I managed to keep Thistlethorn steady at Broc’s throat, a tiny red drop appearing beneath its keen tip.

Broc’s empty hands rose slowly as he stepped back. I matched him pace for pace, keeping Thistlethorn steady at his throat. His heel caught on the sturdy leg of the Thistle Seat behind him, and he fell clumsily into its hard embrace. I stopped short of slicing his throat, too. No. Not now. He has to declare himself against me as clearly as Sholto did. I need evidence. Then I shall execute him right and proper, before the eyes of all of Cardonaccum. I blinked, startled at my silent decision, as cold-hearted as anything my father did in his rages.

And his rage still burned, still carried me straight against the resurgence of the pain in my left side. But I knew it wouldn’t last much longer. “Enrick,” I grated between clenched teeth. “Arrest all of the Northside men.”

“Yes, milady!” Enrick recovered quickly. “Where shall we hold them?”

“Lock them in the guest barracks,” I described the quarters where the knights’ men had quartered last fall.

Robert stepped to fill his place as Enrick turned and stepped off the dais, shouting orders to his men. I stared at Broc’s face, barely aware of Rodric and Edine standing off to one side, as frozen in place as I felt. The young knight gaped up at me, his eyes wide in a pasty-white face. “Milady!” he gasped. “I - I have done you n- no harm!”

“We’ll see.” I said shortly, my own breaths coming hard with the effort of holding Thistlethorn steady. “Robert.”

“Yes, milady,” the big castellan echoed Enrick’s response.

I took a step back from the chair, still holding Thistlethorn toward Broc’s throat. “Escort Sir Broc to his guest quarters.” I gulped for air. “Make him c- comfortable - in the salt cellar.” I stepped back again to give Robert room. He called up some of the castle thistlemen and hauled the younger man out of the chair. As Sir Broc was roughly manhandled away, shouting protestations over his shoulder, the rage left me as suddenly as it had surged.

I nearly dropped the blade when the pain twisted me to my left. I managed to keep hold of the hilt as the tip sparked against the stone floor and leaned my elbows on its wide cross guards. Thistlethorn wavered under this unaccustomed use, then steadied when Titus grasped the pommel in his left hand. With his gladius he waved the others back and turned to block them from my vision. “Lady Cora?” He bent down to whisper into my ear. “Tell me what you need.”

“C- courage,” I gasped. “To finish this.”

“You already have it, Lady,” his voice assured me. “What else?”

“Your arm, Lieutenant,” I managed to spit the words.

“Here,” Titus offered me his shield arm. I straightened up with an effort and looked around at the frightened faces around me. My hand through the Legion officer’s elbow, I met the others’ gazes.

“Robert,” I met his concerned gaze. “T- take this,” I stretched my left arm, tipping the pommel of Thistlethorn toward him. “To the study.” Again I looked around at everyone. “Niall, I sh- shall need -“ I gasped as bats swarmed between me and his lean visage. “- wine in th- the study.” My head spun when I tried to shake the bats away. “Sir Rodric, Dame Edine, R- Robert,” I swallowed moisture back into my mouth. “Let’s go there.” Now I met Titus’s gaze. Though his face remained impassive, I could see the dark flicker in his gaze. “Lieutenant, if I c- could have your man Servius meet us th- there as soon as h- he is able.”

[Acadian]

Damn. Broc yet lives. Hopefully, Lady Cora will soon remedy that.

She had a lot going on inside her during this captivating showdown. Once again, we see the power of Nirn herself rising through the stones to aid Cora. I just wish she could coax a bit more healing power from the ground beneath her.

[SubRosa]

It nice to see Cora remembering the lessons of her childhood, and reconnecting with her Witch self.

I like how Broc's men are Northsiders. It has both a nice ring to it, and it also clearly differentiates them from the rest of the Thistlemen.

I have to confess that whenever I see Jannet's name, I keep thinking of Janette from Forever Knight

Sholto’s defiance ended in a gurgle as hot crimson sprayed across my face, my hair.
W00T! Lady Cora has stepped up to the plate!

That entire scene was riveting. On one hand we knew the pain of Cora's injuries, that threatened to overwhelm her, and on the other her righteous fury driving her onward. She really shows her quality here, standing on her own as the ruler of Cardonaccum.

[Colonel Mustard]

And it looks like Cora's ready to come down on top of Broc like a ton of bricks as soon as he makes a false move. Good thing, too; didn't think she should have ever kept that misogynistic little arsewipe around.

I found some of the stuff you were doing with Cora's dialogue when she was passing judgement on Broc and his cronies really interesting; the way her stammer abated when she was in proper full-on angry mode, and when she gets Broc locked up how he starts stammering when she's not doing it at that time. Interesting touch, and a great way to show just how angry she is.

kept the swarming bats at bay

I really liked this segment; a really good, poetic description of one of the effects of extreme fatigue.

[ghastley]

I liked the implication that Thistlethorn is doing some of its work itself.

Thistlethorn leaped faster than anyone could follow. Wallace’s family weapon dragged my left arm across my body as it swept to my right, upwards and out in a deadly arc.

Any relation to Umbra? Is Umbra its evil twin?

[Grits]

I’m intrigued by the way Lady Cora’s rage seemed to feed Thistlethorn, and her thoughts about the blade made it sound to me like an entity more than an object. What a showdown!

“There will be blood today,” I made my voice hard and pitched to carry. “Question is, whose shall it be?”

That’s a line that will stick with me. What a captivating scene!

[haute ecole rider]

@Acadian: I'm sure Lady Cora wishes the healing powers of Nirn would work just a little faster, too!

@SubRosa: I've always written strong, self-reliant, confident women like a certain Redguard pilus. Lady Cora was a bit of a departure for me, as her strength comes not from her physical abilities but rather from sheer willpower. So it was a relief for me to finally show that she, too, can be physical when the situation calls for it. It was a delight for me to show her strength in this installment. It's funny that you should point out the Northsiders. I kept thinking of the traditional crosstown rivalry that takes place in Chicago every spring (Cubs vs. Sox). As Cubs fans, my family are strict Northsiders. I suppose I'm the lone non-fan in this situation - I couldn't care less!

@Colonel Mustard: So you noticed what happened with her stutter? I'm glad someone pointed it out. I have spent considerable time monitoring that stutter and making sure it reflects her emotional state. Yes, we have seen it disappear before, when she was angry at Broc and Laird for leaving Wallace's horse and gear behind for Talos to claim.

@ghastley: No, Thistlethorn is not magical at all. It is merely a well-crafted weapon. What you are referring to is actually Nirn giving Lady Cora the physical strength she needs to wield it so effectively.

@Grits: Thistlethorn means much to Lady Cora. It is the symbol of Wallace's rule as Lord of Cardonaccum, and her grief and memories of him still imbue the weapon with his spirit. We will see just how much so in upcoming chapters. I do hope you will feel better, and that the MRI will finally give you the answers to your spinal woes!

The story so far: Lady Cora has returned to Cardonaccum to find Broc in the midst of an attempted coup. She has nipped it in the bud and arrested him and his men. Now it is time to decide on the next step.

******************
Chapter Twenty-eight

I sat down carefully in the high-backed chair behind the desk. The toasty cushion felt good on my bottom. Out of the corner of one eye I spotted Cinnie's striped tail as she disappeared behind one of the bookcases behind me. Thank you for warming my seat for me, I thought silently at her. Wonder how Do'saka is doing?

Niall appeared with the silver flagon as I settled back, mindful of the arrowhead still buried against my shoulder blade. Leaning my left elbow on the carved arm of the chair gave my broken ribs some relief, but it still hurt to breathe.

Silently Niall filled the pewter goblet I favored with the wine and brought it to me. I recognized the question in his eyes and nodded silently. He carried the flagon to the sideboard and began filling several of the goblets sitting there.

Titus and Enrick refused the proffered wine, but Robert, Rodric and Edine accepted the cups. Edine seated herself in one of the two chairs beside the fire. After a moment's consideration, Rodric did the same. The fighting men remained standing.

"If you were trying to make the point that you are indeed strong enough to lead Cardonaccum," the big knight began, slowly twirling the wine in his goblet, "there was no need for that demonstration. Not with us."

"It wasn't for your benefit, S- Sir Rodric," I drank deeply of the wine. "Th- those men in blue do not know me as you do, or even as Dame Edine does." I tipped my head toward the older woman, and received a slight nod of agreement from her.

"Do you hope to convince them to choose you over Sir Broc?" she asked softly. "As you did with Laird's men?"

"I c- convinced them of nothing," I replied. "Only asked them th- their motive for following Sir Laird.”

"I remember," Edine nodded again. "You asked them if they followed my husband because they felt he was right, or because they were sworn to."

"And they were happy enough to t- transfer their fealty to you, Dame Edine." I held her steady gaze as she sipped her wine. "Most of th- them in any case. I hope for a s- similar result with Sir Broc's men."

"So you will depose Sir Broc?" Rodric pounced, though his big frame remained motionless in his seat.

"Depose h- him?" I could hear the irony in my voice. "After he just made a blatant attempt t- to depose me?" Rodric nodded to himself as if I had just confirmed something in his mind. "I think it's t- time for young Tywin to take over that manor. I will need to s- send a trustworthy man to mentor him, as he is still so young." Only nine years old. Fifteen years younger than Sir Broc. But hopefully without the vain ambition and arrogance of his older brother.

"Do you have someone in mind?" Rodric drank half of his wine.

Before I could answer, Servius entered the room, Siné in tow. As the legionary paused in the doorway, Siné slipped past him and moved to my side. I waved her away. "Later."

"I'll give you a few minutes, milady," Siné's voice held firm command. "But your wounds need tending."

I ignored her admonition and eyed Servius. He had changed to clean clothes, and his complexion no longer possessed the paleness that had so scared me last night. His posture was straighter, no longer hunched by pain. He caught my gaze and bowed slightly to me in respect. I pointed him toward the window seat. After a moment’s pause, he made his way over to the indicated place.

“Servius, h- how do you feel now?” I asked the Legion healer when he had settled himself against the tall panes.

“Much better, thanks to the excellent ministrations of Siné,” he nodded in her direction. “And I wish you would let her see your own injuries, Lady.” He refused Niall’s offer of wine with grace.

“Jannet, Niall, Siné,” I said as the three castle folk moved to the door. “You need to s- stay, too.” I turned back to Servius. “You are in much better s-shape than I am. Please tell th- these good people of our adventures.”

The Legion healer threw me a startled look, then drew a deep breath. His gaze moved to Titus, his commanding officer, and he moved to rise to his feet.

“No, stay there,” Titus shook his head. “The Lord commands it.”

After a moment’s pause, Servius began his - our - tale. As I listened, I realized that he had adopted the manner of an officer reporting to his superior. His words were brisk, neutral, and professional. Of course, he is giving a report to his superior - Titus. The rest of us don't matter. But I had to reconsider my assessment of our importance to the man when he faltered in his description of the rough handling I had received at the hands of the outlaw leader. Somehow I managed to keep my face impassive as everyone except Titus glanced at me.

Finally Servius finished, his voice showing the exhaustion from the past twenty-four hours. He slumped back, his eyes on the floor. Edine sipped thoughtfully at her goblet, while Rodric drained the last of his wine. Niall topped their cups and met my gaze. At my nod, he moved to the desk and refilled my own receptacle as well.

Siné broke the silence first. “Servius,” she said quietly, “does milady still have that arrowhead in her shoulder?”

He nodded, his lips drawn tight. Siné turned back to me. “It has to be removed,” she continued. “It will only cause pain if it stays.”

“I do not have t- time for that now,” I tossed back the wine, desperately seeking to numb the pain with its effects. “There is much that needs t- to be done before I can rest.” I gestured with the goblet toward Thistlethorn, its blade wiped clean, now resting on my desk. “That blade will s-see more use before I am finished.”

Edine set her goblet down carefully on the small table beside her. “Do you mean to see more people executed with it, milady?”

“If I must,” I answered. “Sir Broc claims I am t- too weak to hold this seat. He has s- sown doubt in the minds of many. Many of you c- consider me kind and merciful, which is well and good in times of peace.” I drew breath against the stabbing pain in my side and curled my toes against the cold stone floor. Again I felt the power of Nirn surge through me, and the pain eased an infinitesimal bit more.

Edine and Rodric exchanged glances, but remained silent. The fighting men - Robert, Enrick, and Titus, stood still, their eyes unwavering on me. Siné stood quietly at my shoulder, a comforting presence. Jannet and Niall watched me from the shadows across the room, their expressions unreadable. Servius lifted his gaze to meet mine, and gave me a small smile of encouragement.

“But we are not at peace,” I continued. “Wallace h- has been betrayed in his grave by his own people, people whom he t- trusted deeply.” I set the goblet on the desk beside the hilt of Wallace’s family weapon. “Betrayal has cost C- Cardonaccum two knights and a priest. We h- have lost fighting men because of it. Women and children are being forced to t- take on responsibilities they are better off without.” I met Edine’s gaze, and she closed her eyes. “Especially the children.” She nodded in silent agreement.

“It is for th- that reason I executed Sir Broc’s right hand man in front of everyone,” I drew breath against that persistent pain. “I must make it c- clear - beyond a doubt - that I am strong enough to hold this seat!” Now I met the eyes of each person present. “Each of you,” I took my time working around the room, “is a person I t- trust. But if one of you were t- to betray me,” somehow I managed to harden my voice against the agony in my ribs and shoulder, “be c- certain that you will pay the price as well!”

Only Titus remained silent in the eruption of assurances that followed. As I listened to each earnest vow of loyalty, I met his unwavering gaze. It is as it should be. He is loyal to General Talos first and foremost. As far as I can trust the General, I can trust Titus. But just how far is that? As long as I am of value to the General, he would not betray me, and thus Titus wouldn’t betray me without betraying Talos.

“As I h- have already said,” my quiet voice stilled the hubbub, “I have s- sent for young Tywin. It is my intention to knight him, then place a more experienced man at h- his side to help him manage his new r- responsibilities.” I turned to Edine. “Do you feel that your son T- Tevan is ready to take over, or do you wish him to h- have more time?”

Edine sighed. “I’m certain you recall that he is much like his father - hot-headed and opinionated at times.” She paused, her eyes thoughtful. “Yet I feel he is now loyal to you, and will take his place at your side. Still, I’d prefer to see him married off to a sensible girl who can keep him in check. The manor does not need another firebrand, nor do you, milady.”

“True,” I nodded my agreement. “Then I will c- concede to your judgment.” I stifled a sigh. “If I meet a s- sensible young woman, I will be certain to s- send her to you, Dame Edine.” Now I turned to Rodric.

“Sir Rodric.” He drew himself up in the chair, his chest puffing out. “I thank you for your unwavering s- support these last few months.”

The older man harrumphed in overt modesty. Then he grew somber. “I have t’admit,” he murmured. “When Lord Wallace passed, I supported you in order to honor our lord’s memory. But over time, you’ve shown yourself to be quite capable in your own right.” His full mustache curved over his grin. “Now I support the Lord of Cardonaccum, not the Lord’s widow!” Now he gave me a sly glance. “But I suppose you’d want to replace me with younger blood, no?”

I found myself smiling back at him. “Only th- the fighting man you were,” I answered. “But you r- remain my knight, in charge of Three Rowans Manor.” I sighed. “If only for your expertise in estate management. I may c- continue to seek your advice.”

“If there is any way I can assist milady,” Rodric lifted his empty goblet in salute, “you have but to ask!”

“I regret that Sir Broc has c- called both of you all the way here for his overreaching ambition,” I continued. “But now that you are here, I ask th- that you stay a little while longer, until I decide what t- to do with him, and have T- Tywin knighted in his stead.” Both knight and widow nodded their acquiescence.

A clattering of steel in the corridor alerted us to the approach of another person. I fought the urge to reach for Thistlethorn as Robert, Titus, and Enrick laid their hands on their sword hilts and turned for the doorway.

One of the castle thistlemen dashed into the room, his face pale. “Milady, Lieutenant,” he saluted me and Titus in turn. “Your men have returned from the outlaw camp. They have the body of the traitor.”

“Good,” I moved to rise, but Siné clamped her hand onto my left shoulder, firmly pressing me back down. “I need to see him, sh- show him to Sir Rodric and Edine. Perhaps one of us knows h- his face.”

“I know him,” the thistleman shook his head. “One of Broc’s most trusted men - Fingal.”

“Fingal?” Sir Rodric rose to his feet. “I know him, too.” He turned to me with a bow. “Stay here and rest, milady, I will go see for myself.” He left the room, trailed by Edine and the fighting men. Servius turned to me and considered me a moment longer.

“If he is indeed Broc’s man, what does that mean for you, Lady?”

“It means I now h- have the grounds I need to exile S- Sir Broc from Northside.” I nodded toward the doorway. “And it will make it easier for Sir R- Rodric and Edine to support my decision.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Jan 12 2014, 08:46 PM

[Acadian]

Loved the kitty seat warmer!

So much for Lady Cora to sort through. At least she now has some blue-clad proof of the extent of Broc’s treachery that all can see. Good move to have Servius relay the tale of their captivity, and I’m glad he’s doing better.

Gee, what is Sine going to have to do? Sneak some 'keep her still long enough so I can remove that arrowhead’ drops into the stubborn Lady’s wine?

So is it to be exile for Broc instead of execution?


Nits?
"I c convinced them of nothing," I replied.’ - - Since it has been your convention to incorporate hyphens/dashes into Cora’s stuttering, this stood out as lacking that.

'The rest of us doesn’t matter.' - - Is the subject of this sentence singular (requiring ‘doesn’t’), or is it plural (requiring ‘don’t’)? Although my gut tells me to view it as plural (several individuals), perhaps you’ve chosen to view it as singular (a collective group as a single entity). Honestly, I’m not completely sure.

[ghastley]

Let me see if my analysis holds: Cora can't execute Broc, as she doesn't (yet?) have the evidence that he personally ordered the events. She has enough evidence that he didn't prevent it, so she has a case for incompetence, and replacing him. He needs just a little more rope to hang himself.

Cinnie stars in her absence! (well, apart from her tail.)

I expect a constant now/not yet battle between Cora and Sine for a few chapters. Some third party needs to engineer sufficient delay for Sine to succeed. Drops in the wine would make Cora think she's on Broc's side!

[Grits]

Siné broke the silence first. “Servius,” she said quietly, “does milady still have that arrowhead in her shoulder?”

It’s evidence! CSI: Cardonaccum. No, I think the dead Fingal makes more sense.

“It means I now h- have the grounds I need to exile S- Sir Broc from Northside.” I nodded toward the doorway. “And it will make it easier for Sir R- Rodric and Edine to support my decision.”

I particularly like the second part of Lady Cora’s remark. Though now I feel I should call her Lord Cora.

Exile for Sir Broc makes me wonder why Lady Cora wouldn’t keep him imprisoned. Or perhaps she will, and by ‘exile’ she means she has the grounds to replace him with his younger brother. Either way, I doubt he’s finished yet.

[SubRosa]

Like the others, I adored Cinnie's helpful seatwarming, and the way one feline made Cora jump to thinking about another, large cousin.

I wonder if Twyin will work out as the new knight of the Northsiders. Not so much his competence, but how loyal he might be in the future, given that Lady Cora is going to get rid of his older brother? But we don't really know anything of his character, whether he is a chip off his brother's block, or a completely different kind of person. I am guessing that the older mentor Lady Cora has in mind for the lad, will not only have the job of figuring out which, but also of steering the lad down the better path.

Three Rowans Manor
Rowan Atkinson, Grit's character Rowan,... but who is the third Rowan?

And the dead evidence was just carried in. I wonder what exile means in High Rock? Is it just being sent away on pain of death to never return? Or is it exile in the Norse sense, where it made your life forfeit of anyone who wanted to take it (basically a death sentence, as anyone could murder you without it being a crime)?

[haute ecole rider]

@Acadian: Kitty seat warmer indeed? How many times have I sat down on my dining room chair to discover that a cat is still warming it for me! At least Cinnie had the decency to vacate it for Lady Cora! Thanks for the nits: I had meant the rest of us in terms of this part of the group, i.e. singular, but your concerns are equally valid. After some consideration, I decided that it is more common to view us as a collection of individuals, much like we. So I will go back and fix it. And thanks for catching that missing stutter/dash! As for slipping a heavy-duty potion into the Lady's tea, it may not work, as she is so resistant to magicka.

@ghastley: Don't worry, ghastley. Our Sir Broc will have plenty of rope soon! And yes, there will be a battle of wills between Siné and Lady Cora, and yes, a third party will bring about a *ahem* rather surprising resolution. I will say no more.

@Grits: Lady Cora doesn't want to keep Sir Broc around, and so imprisonment is not an alternative for her. Do you know how much it costs to feed and shelter prisoners? As far as Lady Cora is concerned, imprisonment is a temporary situation, suitable for minor offenses such as theft or fraud. She is looking for something more permanent, and exile is the punishment of choice. For now.

@SubRosa: It would be a challenge for a nine-year-old boy, and a junior son at that, to take over a rather prosperous, good-sized manor. We will soon see what sort of person Tywin is. It's interesting that you should ask what exile means in High Rock. I was thinking more along the lines of "Get out of here and don't ever come back again, or I'll kill you." Perhaps I will use the Norse version later in the story, when we are dealing with exile from another location. Thanks for refreshing my memory about that one.

The story so far: Lady Cora, Lord of Cardonaccum, now has the grounds she needs to exile Sir Broc. Yet more evidence of his nefarious plotting will appear, however, and cause Lady Cora to reconsider her decision.

********************
Chapter Twenty-nine

“The flesh has already healed over that arrowhead.” Siné’s fingers were gentle on the shoulder wound, but I still gasped into the pillow from the agony that flared in response. “I will have to cut it out.”

“No time,” I panted. “Later.”

“Milady,” Siné remained patiently insistent. “It will only prolong your pain.”

I struggled to sit up on the bed, turning to face the chapel healer. “Siné,” I breathed against my broken ribs, “it’s going t- to hurt to cut it out. I’d r- rather wait until our guests are gone. I won’t be able to withstand th- the pain when you do remove it. And you know there are no potions or s- spells that can numb it for me. Not even wine.”

Siné’s gaze remained obstinate, but finally she sighed and nodded. “As soon as they’re gone, then,” her voice brooked no further argument.

“As s- soon as they’re gone,” I promised. Siné picked up a clean kirtle and eased my arms into the long sleeves, then settled it over my head and onto my shoulders. She repeated the same with my green cotehardie. Grateful for her help, I caught her hand as she moved away. “Th- thank you for understanding.”

She smiled and squeezed my hand in return. “You and Lord Wallace are the same,” she murmured. “You will not show your weakness to the folk who look to you for leadership. But it is difficult to see you in so much pain, milady.”

Jannet entered the bedroom, her lined face anxious. “Captain Enrick’s party returns,” she reported. “But they are not moving fast on the road.”

“It’s late,” I murmured, glancing out the window. Already the sky had turned dark, with only the faintest glow in the west trailing the sun. Beside me, Cinnie rose to her toes and stretched in an arch that echoed the shape of the window frame. I ran my hand from her ears to her tail, then stood. “Let’s go s- see why.”

“Best you stay here, milady,” Jannet protested. “Captain Padriac and Robert are watching from the walls.”

“No,” I shook my head. “I’ve a sudden urge to sink my t- toes into some cold mud.”

For once, Siné took my side. “I think that is a good idea, milady,” she held her hand out to stifle Jannet’s protest. “Though it’s not ladylike, it’s best for your recovery.”

Jannet subsided into irritated muttering. As I approached her and the doorway, I caught a sliver of her complaint - “- though what’s the point of a bath if she’s only going to get muddy again?” She closed her mouth with a snap when I paused before her. Her gaze met mine with an obstinate set to her pointed chin.

I leaned in and kissed her on her weathered cheek. “I’m s- sorry, Jannet, for not being as ladylike as you’d prefer. But I do appreciate everything you do for me.” She flushed at my affectionate display and ducked her head, speechless for once.

As I moved into the passage, I heard a soft thump on the wood floor behind me. I glanced back to see Cinnie ghost through the doorway after me. She ran ahead of me toward the stairs and disappeared.

Siné accompanied me to the great hall, then departed to see to her other patients. Jannet caught up to me in time to throw a warm cloak over my shoulders before the thistlemen opened the doors.

Outside the soft glow of Masser and Secunda kissed my face as I stepped down to the courtyard. I made my way to the herb garden near the kitchens and stepped among the young plants, just making their appearance after the long winter. Careful not to damage their tender shoots with my trailing skirts, I paused to dig my toes into the dirt between the rows.

Once again I felt the cold, slow power of Nirn well up into my feet. I shivered beneath the cloak, and winced again at the pain in my shoulder and side. Goddess, give me the strength I need to deal with Broc. I can’t have healing until this crisis is done.

Where were you, Arkay, Kyne, when I called on you? I wondered why I had sensed no response from the Divines that had guided my life these past twenty years. I have tried to be faithful to your teachings. Arkay, haven’t I always sought balance in all I do? And Kyne, have I not always celebrated the rain and the life it brings our harvests?

But I have no magicka of my own. Does that mean the Eight will never answer my prayers? Is that why I remain barren? Is that why my mother taught me about the Goddess? Because she knew the Eight would never protect me?

My thoughts returned to the nirnquake that had saved Servius and me. That was the Goddess. I felt Nirn’s power very strongly in that moment. Does that mean I should abandon my faith in the Eight? They seem to protect other mortals, I alone stand outside their protection. But the Goddess is older, much older than the Eight. Nirn is only her most recent manifestation, if I remember Mother’s teachings aright.

So then how should I live my life? How do I know what is right and what is wrong? Is there even a right and a wrong?

“Milady?” Calum’s voice interrupted my thoughts. He stood beside a seated Cinnie at the edge of the planting bed, his head bare in the cold night, her tail wrapped around her feet. “Castellan Robert sent me to let you know that Captain Enrick is on the drawbridge.” The groaning of the main gates beyond underscored his message.

“Th- thank you, Calum,” I picked my way out of the herb garden. He fell into step beside me as we headed for the front of the bailey. I felt something brush against my skirts and watched Cinnie dart ahead. She’s following me? Why?

All thoughts of the mystery wrapped in enigma personified by the moggy disappeared at the sight of the burdened pony trailing after Captain Enrick’s horse through the gates. Unable to take a deep breath, I drew my skirts higher and ran forward.

Captain Enrick halted his mount and swung off into a pool of torchlight from the walls. Shadows cast a grim set to his lips as he turned to face me. “Milady,” he bowed. “Robert,” he greeted the castellan as the big Nord joined us. “We bring grave news.” He nodded at the pony, being relieved of its burden by two thistlemen. “Young Tywin is dead.”

“Dead?” I repeated, my broken ribs stealing my voice. “H- how?”

“The manor’s steward told us it was a accident,” Enrick nodded toward the rear of the party, where soldiers surrounded two figures on horseback. “He was practicing swordplay with one of the men-at-arms when the blades slipped.” He shook his head. “Boy’s too young to be playing with sharpened blades, if you ask me.”

“Bring h- his body to the ch- chapel,” I spoke between agonized breaths. If Tywin is dead, who will manage Northside for Cardonaccum? “I must examine h- him.” I turned toward the two Northsiders. “Who are th- they?”

“Steward Mercutio,” Enrick motioned for the men to dismount. “The other is the younger brother of the man named by Mercutio.”

“The man who killed Tywin?” Robert rumbled. “Where is that one?”

“He was executed,” Enrick’s answer held grim disapproval. “But the brother tells a different tale.”

“Bring th- them to the h- hall,” I drew my cloak closer around myself and turned for the donjon. Behind them, I heard the steward grumbling threats at the younger boy until one of our thistlemen cuffed him into silence.

Gavin met us within the keep. I instructed him to fetch Rodric and Edine, then made my way to the Thistle Seat. The effort to keep my spine straight against the broken ribs in my left side left me struggling for breath as I sat down.

Siné appeared from the hallway leading to the infirmary in time to see Tywin’s body carried toward the chapel. Her gaze moved from the burdened thistlemen to me with a question. When I gave her a nod, she turned and followed after the men. Good, Siné will examine the boy. I’ll do the same. First I want to hear these men tell their tales.

[SubRosa]

Lady Cora's green cotehardie makes me think of the Alison on this page. I just love Ren Faire clothes!

“I’ve a sudden urge to sink my t- toes into some cold mud.”
This sounds so strange. Or it would if it were anyone else. But from Cora, it sounds even better than chicken soup.

As someone who has changed their religious beliefs from what they were taught as a child to something radically different, I appreciated Cora's religious quandary. Have the Nine turned their backs upon her? Or is she just not seeing their influence in her life? The Nirn Goddess OTOH, seems like such an overt force in her life. Aela would tell Cora to follow her Bliss, wherever that took her.

I was noticing Cinnie's shadowy presence around Cora from the start. Now I see Cora herself has noticed it. I wonder if this presages another meeting with Do'Sakha? Hmmm, looks like not.

Mercutio? Was the man who accidentally killed Tywin named Tybalt I wonder?

My, this plot does thicken. There is just no rest for poor Cora. Like her, I wonder if young Tywin was truly slain by accident or if it was murder. A nobody man-at-arms is easy to blame, especially when he is conveniently killed himself immediately afterward. The latter really screams 'patsy' to me.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jan 13 2014, 06:02 PM

[Acadian]

Cinnie’s actions clearly foreshadow significance, although her role is tantalizingly unclear at this point.

And now a suspicious death! This is feeling like a rich gothic murder mystery!

Ladylord Cora has so much going on, between her wounds, Broc, deaths and wrestling with questions about her own beliefs. I’ll hope no Daedric Princes emerge to further cloud the mud between her toes.

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

Since I was away for five months, I have just read Chapter 6. I am now 23 chapters behind in this one, so I will be posting comments in The Big Commentasaurus Thread until I get caught up. After reading the chapter this morning, I don't think it will take very long because this is a real page turner!