When Arnau next awoke, the light hadn't changed much. It streamed in through the windows at a higher angle, filling the room with a diffuse, pale light. From what he could recall, the window had never actually been cleaned--he could only make out the foggy, brownish shape of the adjacent building. Voices called from the street: dogs barking, children playing, guards shouting commands, vendors hawking, and the town crier announcing the latest messages from the palace. Drowsy, the Breton clambered out of bed. His head pounded dully.
A platter of food sat on the sideboard near the door, and his armor sat arrayed on a nearby chair. When he inspected it, the padding and metal had been cleaned and oiled. I told him not to. Suspicious, the knight prowled about the room, searching for any other of his effects out of place, but everything was in order. The only new item, apart from the food, was a parchment envelope, which he know contained the invoice for the night's rent. Arnau left the appropriate coins in the envelope, turning it seal up, then started on the food.
A brown eye stared back at him when he plucked the bread from the sideboard. It looked slightly bloodshot and puffy as if he'd slept too long. Arnau shifted and the blue eye flashed back at him, ever distant and cold like a blue flame. Donning his cape and boots as he ate, Arnau eventually ambled out onto the loft overlooking the inn's main room. Lisette and her bright hair plucked a lute below, instructing her apprentice Fironet on each note and chord. No doubt the two would be provided the evening's entertainment. From the loft, Arnau could almost see down her blouse. If he leaned just a little more to the left...
"Oh, hello, Sir Arnau!"
"Shit," he swore as he jumped back into a more upright position. Then, clearing his throat, "Good morning, Fironet."
"Morning! It's half past noon. May I ask why you looked like you were about to fall over the railing?"
"I was...I was stretching. Yes, stretching. I think I've overslept, you see. I'm so very stiff." The knight's mouth twitched in a smile at the pun. Fironet, however, failed to notice and the Redguard's brown hands kneaded each other in her lap.
"Arnau, go find prey somewhere else. I need her here for the evening; not blushing after some noble." Lisette crossed her arms, staring the Breton down, until he eventually sighed and made his way down the stairs to the main room. There, he bowed apologetically.
"Of course, my dear. I had only the most honorable of intentions in mind." He paused. "Have you seen that Argonian around? I need to have a word with him about something."
"No, come to think of it I haven't. He's usually bustling around here somewhere," said Fironet.
"I see. Well, I suppose I'll have to find him later. My lord is likely waiting for me, and I doubt he appreciates my being tardy. Good day, ladies."
The bards nodded, and Arnau strode out of the inn. Corpulus shoved him aside as he exited, his face was white as snow. Arnau excused him. Once on the street, he slammed his eyes shut against the bright sun. They ached as if he'd never used them before. How long have I been asleep?
In the plaza on the higher levels of the city, the Temple bells tolled. It was the Middas service by the sound. Anrau had been dispatched on Morndas just after his meeting, which meant he had been unconscious for over a day. He couldn't remember dreaming, getting up to relieve himself, or even moving. There was only a dark space of time in his personal history. Furrowing his brow, he tried to remember the previous morning when he staggered into town, but there, too, was emptiness with the exception of an Argonian bent over his armor. Why is that all I remember? His headache was getting worse the more he thought about it, but it bothered him in a way he didn't understand.
"I'm sure it's nothing," he mumbled as he walked.
Citizens nodded and big him a good afternoon and didn't he have a bright eye and a light step today? Why no, the children were still visiting their father to the south. Had he seen that Captain Aldis around? Oh no, he wasn't looking for him, but Arnau had been mentioned. Hadn't he heard? There was some kind of incident over at the 'Skeever. Poor Sorex was being put through the ringer right this moment! What? No, Aquillius hadn't shown his face today. He might not be in town. He always bought a bottle of spiced wine on Middas. Oh, why, bless him and his sons and fathers! Always lovely to serve the nobility. Good day, sir!
Arnau clutched the bottle of spiced wine as he strode toward Aquillius' manor. He hoped maybe this gesture would operate as a show of good faith on his part. If his lord didn't show his face, it would draw attention to him, and Aquillius had never been fond of unwanted attention. Mounting the stoop, Arnau knocked on the door.
"Did you know teacups titter like old ladies?"
With a jump, the knight rounded on the reedy voice. A shriveled Bosmer leaned casually against the door frame.
"Who are you? Why do you sully the stoop of this lord's manor?"
"Have you seen him? He was supposed to meet me here. I can't find my master in the dark."
"No. Lord Aquillius is certainly not your master, either," he said icily. The elf's eyes were smudged with soot, his face lined with dark fingerprints and streaks as if he made a habit of grabbing and pawing his cheeks. Arnau held his breath for the pauper stank of unwashed everything. Then, his gaze softened, and he pressed a Septim into the elf's grimy hand.
"Here. Why don't you get yourself cleaned up. Get some sleep. You must be so tired and confused."
The Bosmer stared at the coin in wonder. "History rewrites itself on the intestines of the bovine! See, look, already the ants are marching in the letters of destiny." With a grin, the elf shoved the coin into Arnau's face, showing him the letters that were always printed around the profile of Tiber Septim: "The Empire is Law. And the Law is Sacred." Sneering, Arnau pushed the filthy arm from his face and backed away. Suddenly, the elf's expression changed and he cocked his head like a bird seeing a far off threat. He darted down the street and into an alley way.
The door on the stoop opened, and one of Aquillius' servants peered out at him.
"Is he gone? Good! Come in. Aquillius is waiting for you," she hissed as she took the wind from him. She looked both apologetic and anxious. "Hurry! He's not pleased with you, sir."
* * *
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Aquillius turned his back on his knight lest he hit him. It wouldn't do to provoke the tooth and claw that served him. Gripping the ledge of the window that looked down upon his parlor, the lord closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. Behind him, sitting by the bookcase and sipping a mug of ale, Arnau watched him, untroubled.
"My lord, I have done as you requested. The Argonian Jaree-Ra is no more. His sister is no more. The bandit gang to which he belonged has been crippled, and the evidence destroyed, the bodies cleansed. We have done a good deed for this city."
Aquillius put a hand delicately to his temple.
"Yes. You've done as I asked, and I thank you. But how do you explain this?" The noble jabbed a handbill toward the knight. Cautiously, Arnau took the document and read it.
By order of the Jarl:
The Winking Skeever will be closed from the evening of the 22nd of Evening Star until further notice pending an investigation. The Bard's College has graciously provided the space for patrons to continue to celebrate the impending holiday.
Furthermore, the Solitude guard requests that anyone with knowledge of the last activities of a White-Horn please report such information immediately to the guard.
As always, be on guard, protect yourself after nightfall, and never travel alone.
-Guard Captain and Imperial Legion Recruitment Officer, Aldis Long-Sighted
"I don't understand, my lord." Arnau tensed in an attempt to stop his hands from shaking. Why am I trembling? I have done nothing wrong. White-Horn just cleaned my armor while I was asleep. So, why does this bother me?
Lord Aquillius turned to his knight, watching as the color drained from the Breton's face and his scars shone red as if they were new and raw. His eyes darted about wildly, each one bearing a different expression. Every moment, the noble's suspicions were confirmed. "Tell me, Jurard, where were you yesterday? You were meant to report to me immediately upon your return. I admit I was left on tenterhooks when news of a burning ship reached the court, and you failed to appear."
"I was at the inn."
"All day?" Aquillius' voice rose in surprise.
"Well yes! I was exhausted and injured so...I...slept..." Cold realization dawned on the Breton. The last thing he remembered was White-Horn bending over his armor, and that snide comment--the reactive loathing for the Argonian who would put his unclean claws on his armor. His armor. The set he made under the guidance of his father. The armor he was to wear to his knighting ceremony in Wayrest, but was instead covered in Corsair blood by the end of the night. That same night he was slashed across the face by that little Orc child who screamed for his mother to come back and to let him go, though his mother lay pinned under the blade of his spear and the child's head was cradled in his hands. Arnau was twisting, gently, inexorably, but now it was White-Horn, who made not a sound. Only a faint crack as his spine popped.
"Yes, I slept." Arnau tried to swallow, but his tongue stuck in his throat.
"I understand the tasks I appoint you for are occasionally exhausting. But a whole day?"
"That's all I remember." Gradually, the ringing in his ears, a sound begun softer than a whisper, escalated into a roar. Arnau felt dizzy and numb.
"The guard found this," Aquillius said, dropping a sprig of lavender into his lap. The knight fumbled in picking it up and it fell to the floor. He left it there.
"Jurard, I do not care what your beliefs may be. I do not care how or why you do as I ask. The only matter I care about is whether or not we are moving forward. And this," spat the lord, jabbing a finger at the handbill then the flower. "Means taking several steps back."
The knight said nothing and didn't move. He only stared at the handbill as if it might attack him. I don't understand. I didn't kill him. I don't remember killing him. I..did I even pray for his soul? Surely I must have. It's meaningless otherwise.
"Come." The voice broke through his icy haze. "While I clean up this mess of yours, I have an errand for you to run." With that, the noble patted his shoulder, letting his fingers linger for a moment on the soft fabric. Though his tone had quieted, his expression remained taught as he led Arnau to the basement. Originally, he planned for one of his servants to accomplish the next task, but Jurard's interference would cost him dearly in the court. He needed to be punished--to be humbled--but more than that, he needed to be far away from Solitude.
Down in Aquillius' basement,there lay an axe. A rusty, old thing barely suited to chop wood. He had found it at the bottom of a pond, and had never bothered to clean it or sharpen it. Yet, it wasn't entirely useless, which was why it lay in a display case lined with red velvet. For weeks, the noble saved this axe down in the dark, waiting for the right moment to wield it.
"You want me to what?" Lord Aquillius glared coldly at the knight. "I apologize, my lord."
"You heard me. Take the axe to Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm along with this scroll. Present these to him on my behalf. You will inform me of the result via courier, but do not return until I order you to do so."
Awkwardly, Arnau removed the excuse of a weapon from the case and pocketed the scroll. "My lord, I'll have you know this is servant work."
"And you are my servant, Jurard! Now, do you want to watch children play nine pins with your head, or do you want to take the axe to Windhelm?" There was no response. "As I thought. Waste no time in getting out of the city. The guard are already looking for you. Where is your armor?"
"The inn."
"See to it that it is removed immediately."
"Yes, my lord." Knowing his cue when he heard it, Arnau Jurard hastened out of Aquillius' manor, heading back to the inn at a jog.
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I actually don't take pictures in third. I use "TFC 1", which freezes... more