They say that the heart of she who walks alone is ne'er a lonely one, that within her iron will she finds both joy and comfort. I wouldn't know, for until this moment I have never been truly solitary. Even where beneath the watchful eye I've crept, from beyond my desperately seized shadow has sat a sentinel or six; men and women in my father's employ designed to keep me upon the path of his choosing.
I often wonder whether I enjoy the company of others. Sometimes I feel that I do. But as I headed northward with my retinue, skirting the unseemly maelstrom that has become Imperial City, the bulk of those armoured fools entertained me no more than they ever have. Boastful and exuberant when amidst their own company, my entrance to their division of the campground would ever result in dour silence, or hollow politeness at best.
Such, I suppose, is my fate as their better.
Elias was different - this much I have stated already. But another stood out amongst the rabble, quiet for his part due to the depth of his meditations rather than a natural ill grace assumed beneath my shadow. This man we met as knight-errant, despatched from Wayrest's borders upon the service of the Dragon God. Perhaps you've heard tell of them, the Order of the Hour? No matter if not. Their ways are those of courtesy and grace in the service of Akatosh and the people north of the Iliac.
They're misguided, of course, too eager to bow and scrape at a deity whose benevolence - to my mind - is best earned through independent action. Why should the gods respect us if we do not respect ourselves? Sacrifice only goes so far. To give and never take... it's unnatural, derisive of man's bestial nature. Strength comes through self, not selflessness, and were it not for my upbringing, I would have as little time for the Order as I have for any other who merits me not.
This man sat apart from the others; the first sign that he might earn my regard. Esconced in heavy plate, a purple cloak about his bulky shoulders, he seemed almost an apparition of armour alone. His bearded face and small, sharp eyes were barely visible, hidden in polished splendour and lavish colour.
Such cheerful tone seemed to belie a solemn, passive spirit.
"Do you know who I am?" I inquired as I approached, gathering my skirts in preparation to be seated.
"Of course," he replied, tugging unironically 'pon his forelock, "You are Celandine, milady Venande."
"Then you know to whom here you are beholden. Yet you do not stand, sir knight."
I saw him pause, beady eyes widening before he settled his expression in a calm, peaceful smile. Setting aside his pickèd supper plate, he spread wide his hands, requesting my supplication. I cannot lie; this pleased me. I returned his pleasant expression with a curt twitch of my own lips. Like his peers, he had propriety.
"Milady, I beg pardon. When I joined your escort near Skingrad, I spoke with your Redguard bondsman, and he told me your ways were relaxed by the standard of your father, that your kindness as a host would extend to informality about the camp. Did he speak untruly?"
Oh, but he could play the game. Darting my gaze across the firepit toward Elias, I arched a brow.
"He spoke thus, did he? No..." I turned back to the knight-errant, noticing for the first time the tone of his skin; rather swarthy for a fellow Breton. One used to the cold, I thought. "No, he did not speak untruly. You show a manner of initiative I do not associate with your Order, sir knight."
"I hope it is my honour to surprise you, Lady Venande. I meant no discourtesy."
"Cel," I replied, the single syllable sounding hard upon my lips. To my delight, he stammered.
"Beg pardon?"
"If we are to travel together then we should be acquainted. You may call me Cel."
He seemed to relax, that genteel smile drifting back to his narrow lips. As best an armoured man perched upon a sundered log may do, he phrased a bow from the waist. Properiety, indeed.
"Now tell me, wherefore do you travel with us?"
His answer came without further pause, laying out his orders to penetrate the walls of Bruma as friend to the beleagured ruler. In these trying times, he told me, the northern town-fortress held an infirm perch upon the brink of two warstruck nations - Cyrodiil was rife not with war itself, to be true, but with the Septim line fallen and the people gripped by uncertainty in the midst of a disintegrating empire, it could come at any time; from so many quarters. The insurrection of Summerset was but the most prominent of many worries. And all know of Skyrim, the slain kingship resulting in the pox of rebellion 'pon the ugly wilderness.
"You," I considered his answer as I spoke, my words plucked choicely from my throat, "Didn't answer my question. Your mission is a lonely one, yet you travel with a daughter of Wayrest and her band of brigands. Is it merely company you desire?"
"With all respect," he spoke with head once more bowed, "I wished to offer you greater protection."
I laughed. I couldn't help myself, the sound leaping merrily from betwixt my lips as unbidden as the first winter's snow upon the ailing autumnal grass. Shaking my head, I at last took my seat beside him, only briefly meeting the curious gaze of Elias as he looked across at my outburst.
"The chivalry of the Order, indeed. Then I had best remain close to you this night, for the score of men already at my side is clear ill-matched before your knightly prowess."
It was with some measure of wisdom that he did not comment, merely smiling as he took up his flask and tipped it toward me by way of offering. It reeked pungent with some hardy liquor; a surprising fact, to mine mind. Had times changed so much that even the most enlightened were turning to drink?
Taking it for a test, I took the flask and drew deep, disguising my rising cough with a ladylike snort.
"Let's speak of home," I bid him then, thrusting back the receptacle, "I--"
I was forced to pause, clearing my throat as the trailing vapours availed themselves of my gullet. More than that, though; it occurred to me there that I missed the city of my birth, even my home itself. My brothers, too - especially Laurent, youngest and nearest to mine age, with whom I had passed so many days attempting to squeeze from a rocklike sponge the every detail of his boyish learning. I met the dark eyes of the knight as he settled back in contemplation, remembering Laurent's vow to one day join the Order himself. Picturing his face, now so handsome and bold, the envy of his peers and the ripening grape upon the courtly vine, I finally managed to finish my severed thought. I did so too honestly; I shouldn't have shown such weakness.
"I miss it."
Those three words remain with me now, an echo of my own foolishness. I know what you think of me, stranger, and perchance you presume too much; my mistake was not to fall in with that questing swordsman. I did not lie with him. We spoke until we fell abed through drink and exhaustion, but we fell separate. My mistake was far more subtle, and made before I'd even spoken. Can you surmise its nature?
You may perceive my mind as wandering, but this is not the case. Think on it, as we make our promised arrival in Bruma. I with my score of fellows, Elias at my flank and the Order's stalwart man - whose name, you will note, I have given not - bringing up the rear of our motley batallion.
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