"Cel!"
Voices cried in tandem as I collapsed upon the rugged paving, falling first to a knee then following with a scratched and bloodied palm. My heart's palpitations resounded in my breast, thundering through my shuddering frame before bolstering the broken hum of my eardrums with a wardrum's rhythmic pulse.
Through mine swimming eyes I saw both Elias and the Order's man reaching for me; the latter remaining aright, one armoured mitt extended, as my bodyguard and friend sank alongside me. His smell was a familiarity to which my senses clung desperately, a piece of driftwood in the endless ocean of adrenaline-soaked fear. I saw his concerned frown as a distant thing, through the motes of magick still dancing about my pale skin.
"What happened?" The basso thrum reached me through the haze. I turned my face upward, drawing breath in fits, my eyes narrowing as I tried to piece together some lost semblance of sense.
"I..."
Could not speak. Past the Redguard's leather-entrenched shoulder I glimpsed the knight shifting posture, arms folding about his chest as though we were irritated, though his expression betrayed it not. It's odd, isn't it? How in our most tortured moments, we become somehow capable of reading deeper truths within those that surround us. That lifted shadow in which I had stood an hour before, prey to that mysterious woman's sinister treacle, seemed to have settled - in that moment - like a black halo upon the bondsman of the Hour.
"I am hunted," I spoke at last, all but spitting the word, astonishing myself with the power of my vitriol.
I poured forth the events of the hour past, each spoken word relayed, along with a description of the dual menace I had faced - dark-furred, long-fanged, fast in fury and slow in death. I told also of mine hasty defence, the instinctive power with which I had brought to bear the vengeance of my budding talents. The long-serving military men fell unimpressed by this display; though Elias, I thought, perhaps knew at least how meaningful this had been to me. His coloured hand tightened upon my shoulder, reassuring and strong.
"You are hunted, milady," confirmed the watching knight, "By no less than a Prince of the Daedra. This ruinous stone to the east was no mere mason's plaything; that statue was a shrine to some devil. Long abandoned, it seems she reaches now for a kindred to employ her nefarious purpose. You should not have travelled this night."
I turned my eyes to him, feeling my gaze harden and my quivering shoulders in defiance square. His voice had been careful, possessing the gentle lilt of a loving matron's ministrations, the tone of a pious priest enlightening his flock. From what you know of me, stranger, would you believe I appreciated this?
No. You can be sure I did not.
"And what purpose, sir knight," My voice held an edge of screaming steel, "Would the Daedra have with me?"
"If I miss not my guess, I would say it is Namira that targets you."
"Namira?" This, however, came quietly. I knew the name; of course I did. But my memory failed me.
"Patron of the accursed, the afflicted, and the outcast."
I almost surged forward, the volcano-spark of pure rage subsuming my savaged form at these words. It was the firm grip of Elias that stopped me, with but a single hand even, his other reaching about to snag from the frosty air my extending digits. The crackling glow of thunder died before it could rightly begin, inglorious cerulean motes dimming away into the ethereal fade; from whence they came. The one thing he could not prevent was my mouth, cracked lips forming once more the disdainful words of disbelief.
"I have no curse! I am no outcast! I am..."
In my mind's eye once more, the flash of fire. The cavernous maw. What was I?
"You are Celandine Venande, daughter of Wayrest. You are not what they make you."
This came from my friend, his piercing eyes flickering cautiously between the knight and I until they came to rest upon my own unruly stare. I examined him closely then, for lack of any alternative - seeking safety and meaning in at least one aspect of this wild winter's evening. Instead, I found a brooking insight. Elias' assurance had not been given blindly, a faint and uncharacteristic warble betraying - in his quickly chosen syllables - a depth of experience that shook me to the core. His core. Was he a hired sword alone, or a 'made man' to echo his own words? I avowed to question him on this. I tried to do so...
Alas, I weakened. A damp cough erupted from my throat, harsh enough that I felt my very lungs heave. Elias bit off a curse in his exotic tongue, shifting away from me as he scrabbled into a waist-pouch for his flask. An ever-present feature upon his person, I had always put his drinking down to a warrior's foul habit. I had never noticed, until then, how he handled the battered old thing like some holy relic. It held meaning to him.
As he uncapped the worn bottle, I saw my fellow of Wayrest move forward also. I felt a sudden, panicked anger resurge, and drew my head up as boldly as I could. He stopped, that man who had injured my pride. He whom had seen me in my weakness; and had serenely preyed upon it. My lips parted in a pained hiss.
"Stay away from me."
I cared not for the disappointment 'pon his reddened face. As he turned away, I fell with far greater ease into the company of my one and only kindred. I allowed him to water me with his odious spirits, and to carry me away unto a quiet resting place within the castle's thick walls. You're thinking now that I loved him, this mysterious mercenary from Hammerfell, and with the possession of hindsight's wit I must admit...
Yes. A part of me cared for him, and still does. Yet fools speak too readily of 'love', proclaiming their emotional egress by fluttering a banner that caps not oaken beam nor iron post, that drifts instead 'pon a weakened wind of poetic promise. I told thee before that I am no man's wife; and this has not changed. My heart is as much my possession as my destiny. If anything, this must ring now with greater truth than ever it has before, as the desolation unfolds before my feet. As it did before my inner eye that night.
"Cel?"
Once more 'twas my assumed moniker should jar me from thought. Within a warm chamber I sat then, hunched upon a small table bearing the full, gore-smeared length of my brother's blade. What enchantment it carried had been extinguished as I had struck time and again at impenetrable beast-hide, scoring crimson lines in twisted flesh, drawing forth what a cacophony of seeming endless rapaciousness. I know not how long I had stared at the tainted, silvery glow of tarnished metal, but Elias pulled me from my revery.
"It's late. You should rest. Do you need me to stay?"
He was right; it was late. Within the walls of Bruma, only the patrolling guard remained wakeful. He, and us. I considered my friend for a moment or two - perhaps, in truth, it was three or four - before rapidly I shook my head, sweat-entangled locks flapping against my taut neck. His lingering frown lasted just long enough to be seen, before he dipped his unshaven chin in a brisk nod, drifted a hand across my shoulder and slowly departed the room. I listened to each firm footfall pass from the torchlit halls, and then I rose.
But not to bed. I had other occupation in mind. That surge of power I had felt upon the hillside, that quickening prickle of a summoning complete, had left a dancing flame inside my spirit. Recalling the incantation, I spoke it once more, drawing into the candle's light a whiplash aura of coalescing magicka. This in turn brought the creature back, her claws balanced upon the mantle of my otherwise disregarded bedsheets. I held my breath, awaiting ten full heartbeats afore I sank to my knees, reaching out to the little beast.
Emitting a low, rumbling purr, it sprang gracefully and easily into my arms. I should have muttered apology to a departed friend; Elias later spoke ardent regret that he had left me alone. How could he know I would not be?
I fell asleep upon the rug that night, embracing warmly the embodiment of mine newfound strength...
And the dragon of my dreams? He, I held at bay.
