Mercy for the Chosen – Ch. 1 – 1: Blinded by the Light

  • "I used to dream of fighting in battles like my Father. He had begun teaching me to fight the moment I was able to pick up a blade. Mother had argued that I was too young, but he paid her no mind. I can still remember the elation I felt the first time I bested Father in a match and the look of pride on his face."

    -Mirtil Angoth

    "You may rise and address the jarl."

    Arnau Jurard rose to his feet, knees popping from one-too-many tears to the cartilage and shattered kneecaps.  The plush carpet, however, had been soft and welcoming--a decadent statement in the jarl's court.  On a throne at the far end of the rug sat Jarl Elisif, contained in a polite posture that belied her natural anxiety.  When she thought no one was looking, her fingers would twist and wind like serpents, seeking out the lavender next to her in comfort.  As Arnau met her gaze, he found her doing just that, then she remembered the flowers came at regular intervals from his lord and her hands returned to her lap.  

    Courtiers lounged in the corners of the room in vague ennui.  They all knew what the Breton knight was here to say; he'd been crowing about the same matter week in, week out, in spite of his constant, and well reasoned, opposition.  In fact, he was right on schedule:  It was Morndas afternoon just prior to lunch, the hearing likely to hold them all there until they felt prepared to eat each other in their spoiled hunger.  It most always made for a terrible day, really, and the courtiers had begun to distinctly loathe Morndas to the point where they'd regularly feign, or induce, illness.

    At last, Arnau look a deep breath and offered the jarl a winning smile.

    "My lady, it's wonderful to see you in such radiance during this trying time for us all.  I apologize for monopolizing your precious energy this afternoon, but this is an important matter."

    The tall woman's eyebrows raised politely, though the corners of her mouth pulled her face downward.  She looked far older than she ought to, Arnau thought.  "And what have you come to report this week?"

    For a moment, the knight's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.  He pressed on.

    "Lords and ladies of the court, I call your attention to Taarie and Endarie, owners and proprietors of Radiant Rainment.  Once again, I have observed their business, purchased their wares, inquired about certain patrons."  He paused, counting to three for what he deemed was dramatic effect.  No one was moved.

    "It is here where I have observed grossly inappropriate relations with the Thalmor Embassy."

    One noble sighed and waved his hand dismissively.  "The Thalmor have every right to purchase whatever they may.  Their business means a fatter treasury for the city."

    "Yes, but I'm sure you're aware that the proceeds of any Thalmor purchase are placed reverently into a separate coffer behind the counter.  That our Elven shopkeepers whisper incessantly together over charters and order forms that possess no resemblance to anything involving textiles or clothing.  That said coffer is emptied each Sundas into your physician's hands, Erikur!"

    "Nonsense," spat the man, whose many rings winked in the sunlight streaming through the frost-encrusted window.

    "Tell me, my lord, do you see any of that gold?"

    "If you're accusing me of stealing city funds, you've got another thing coming!" he cried, rising in anger.  His face turned a blotchy, uneven red.

    "I meant no implication, my lord.  My point is, do you know where your 'physician' goes each day?  Do you monitor him?  Is he not meant to always remain by your side with your condition?  Where is he at this very moment?"  Arnau paced the room, his boots clacking on the stone tile and worn cape drifting behind him like an errant ghost.  To Erikur, he looked like a bear he once kept as a pet.

    "Sir, I trust Melaran with my life.  I must."

    The Breton opened his mouth to continue, but the tight look on the jarl's face shut his jaws with a click.

    "That's enough, Sir Arnau."  Then, with a long-suffering sign and a delicate hand pressed to her forehead, "Do you have any evidence supporting this claim?"

    "I have already given you evidence, my lady.  You need no other."

    "Petty observations and empty conclusions do not, and will not constitute solid evidence.  I have told you this before.  Your accusations, as always, are very grave, but I cannot afford to waste time on frivolous investigations."

    "Frivolous!  This is no childish supposition.  I am not some foolish peasant crying over a lost sweetroll! We cannot permit Elves to live at or above our station.  The moment they begin to do so, the moment they will fill our nobility with infectious ideals and stagnant, obsolete ways.  Progress begins only when our world is perfectly influenced by those who support change, not fight it as if it were a disease!"  The last words came out in a harsh hiss that accompanied the knight's slashing palm, whispering through the air like a headsman's axe.  

    Erikur's already pale complexion drained of color until he seemed gray and translucent.  Arnau had never displayed this level of contempt before, and the sallow noble found fear of this man creeping into his heart.  Even the other courtiers had ceased their idle conversation to stare openly at the raving man.

    Alternatively, the housecarl's face burned black with fury, more at this newcomer' disrespect to the jarl than any prejudice against the Elves.  In fact, Bolgeir quite agreed with the foreign Breton and his strange accent.  Still, his behavior was unforgivable.  The jarl placed a hand on the Nord's arm, gently pulling his fingers away from the haft of his axe.  There was a minute shake of her head and a few mouthed words.  With her lips practically disappearing into a thin line, she turned to face Arnau once more.

    "I think it's time for you to leave," she said in a soft, almost inaudible voice that was full of finality.  Bolgeir shifted on his feet, drawing himself up to full height, which amounted to half a head above Arnau, who had always been considered tall among his peers, and took the man by the elbow.  Wincing, Arnau complied, knowing when a fight could not be won.  He walked with as much dignity as he could command.  I'll be back again, he thought.  Nords are stubborn, but hit them on the head long enough and they eventually take notice.

    With a shove, the housecarl left him at the bottom of the gracefully curving stairs that marked the grand foyer.  Several of the palace guards eyed him warily, but made no move to further eject him from the premises.  He was, after all, a noble in his own right, and was as welcome here as any other high-ranking individual.  Light tumbled in from the windows, weak and pale in late winter afternoon.  Outside, the wind was rattling the windows of the dome, hurling snowflakes against the panes at suicidal speeds.  Before he headed to the inn for the evening, he needed to visit his lord, but the prospect of heading out into the cold was unwelcoming.  Wavering under the high dome of blue slate, he waffled in where to go next.

    "That was quite a display up there," said a sultry, but cultured, voice.

    Arnau turned to see a noble he'd never seen or met before sauntering toward him.  She was beautiful, he supposed, in an unforgiving kind of way.  Her hair was dark, like his, and her skin took on the same olive tones.  The nose was aquiline, straight and narrow between hazel eyes.  A Breton from Wayrest or Camlorn no doubt.  Born of nobility.  Probably in the province looking to boost her trade or station or relations--anything to gain a higher foothold and larger network.  Arnau knew how such people worked.  Had he not been raised under similar circumstances?

    "I got carried away and lost my audience.  If only they would try to look past their incessant focus on what they know toward what they don't know, I'd have a better time getting them to understand."

    "I see."  She walked parallel to him, drawing him toward the front door.  "Do you really believe Elves deserve to be no better than peasants or merchants?"

    "Of course.  Otherwise, I would not have dared to speak so strongly before the jarl.  Otherwise, I would not be here today, seemingly wasting my time on thick-headed, heavy pocketed courtiers.  Not that you are one, my lady."  With that recovery, the knight smiled, which the woman returned.

    "Well, I think you're quite right," she said, alighting a hand on his.  It felt warm and pawlike compared to hers.  "If you'll excuse me, I have other matters I must attend to."  Adjusting the hood of her furred mantle, she waited by the door.  Arnau reached for the handle and held it open, motioning her out into the frigid weather.

    "Then I bid you good day, my lady."

    "My name is Veralene, by the way."  With that, she slipped out the door and down a side passage in the courtyard.

    After a moment, Arnau followed, stepping out onto a walk that insisted on gathering ice no matter how many spells the custodial staff threw at it.  The guard tipped his helmet at the knight as he passed, remembering the advice given to him when he found his joints locking up in training.  Unfortunately, this went unseen by the Breton as he shivered and pulled his cape about himself, cursing under his breath and swearing he would purchase a warmer cloak some day if the damn cold didn't kill him first.  Nodding absently to the guard, he stalked away from the palace toward the home of his employer.

Comments

4 Comments
  • Shimazu
    Shimazu   ·  July 17, 2013
    I must take more time searching for posts, if it wasn't for 'the blog of the week' I would have missed this!
    Quality writing and I love the use of screenshots. I see that you had exact scenes set out in your head and you did well translating that in...  more
  • Vazgen
    Vazgen   ·  May 22, 2013
    Interesting to see that kind of prejudice from a Breton  Also, love Bolgeir's reaction. The way how housecarl should act, weighted words and actions that don't leave place for discussions.
  • Bryn
    Bryn   ·  May 22, 2013
    I was asleep when this was posted... I'm glad I too the time to find it
  • Matt Feeney the New Guy
    Matt Feeney the New Guy   ·  May 22, 2013
    Yes, Arnau has arrived! And he's kinda of an asshole...I love it!