Those Whom the Gods Forsake - Chapter 16

• Posted by Accursed November 18, 2015 - 865 views

  Chapter 16: Detained

  The guards had their hands resting at the hilts of their weapons, ready to draw if I tried to get out of speaking with the Jarl.
  “You may tell your men to relax. I shall not resist anything you command.”
  The Jarl nodded to his men and motioned for me to follow him. He took us inside the Longhouse and to the right, into his personal quarters. I closed the door behind us, keeping the guards outside.
  “Have a seat, Elf.”
  “You have my thanks.”
  I figured that formal speech would ease his fears. If I made no defensive or aggressive remarks, this would turn out alright.
  “I would like to thank you for getting rid of your brethren. They were encroaching on my ability to rule.”
  “That is their way. I no longer consider them my brothers. Some great hatred from the past has consumed them.”
  “Yes, though that doesn't matter to me as of now. What I want to know is; ‘Sblood happened in my city?”
  “I would truly like to answer your inquiry, my Jarl,” I paused, noticing his puzzled face. Apparently too formal aroused suspicion as well. “however I do not have the foggiest idea.”
  There. A good Nord saying to calm him down.
  “So, what? You and the other Elf battle it out, and bring down an entire building while doing it?”
  “Essentially, yes. I am in possession of a very powerful artifact, and he was in possession of another very powerful artifact.”
  He narrowed his eyes and gazed deep into mine, scanning-as a wolf does for prey-for any hint of lying or half-truths. Finding none, he rested his head in his hands.
  “Fine. I don't like it, but as long as there isn't another Collapse, I won't have you charged with anything. Dismissed.”
  “Thank you.”
  I hobbled back out of the Longhouse and met with Tolfdir in the Inn.
  “So, mister-doesn't-drink, are you thirsty now?”
  “Oh, what do we have? I suppose a celebration may be in order.”
  He looked over the shelves upon shelves of alcohol and pulled a bottle off of a wine rack.
  “Tamika 399 Vintage, perhaps?”
  “Gods, that is even older than I! It must have cost the owners a fortune! Are we even allowed to drink it?”
  He jokingly acted surprised and said;
  “Of course! We bought the land, Inn, and everything inside for a few thousand gold. That includes wine that predates my grandfather!”
  We popped the bottle open and poured it into glasses, drinking and talking. Soon the other professors and students had joined us, and not long after the wine was flowing as freely as a river. It was not long, of course, before the younger Nords began to drunkenly sing.
  “Well, a Norseman clad in fur
  left a bar one evening fair,
  And one could tell by how he walked
  That he'd drunk more than his share
  He fumbled round until he could
  no longer keep his feet
  Then stumbled off into the grass
  to sleep beside the street

  Oh yes he stumbled into the grass
  To sleep beside the street!

  About that time two young and
  lovely girls just happened by
  And one says to the other
  with a twinkle in her eye
  ‘See young sleeping Norseman
  so strong and handsome built;
  I wonder if it's true what
  They don't wear beneath the belt!’

  They crept up on that sleeping
  Norseman quiet as could be
  And pulled his pants about
  an inch so they could see
  And there behold, for them to view,
  beneath his Nordic garb
  Was nothing more than Gods had
  graced him with at his start!”
  The young crowd laughed at the crude song, and soon after begged of me to relay to them one of our people’s drinking songs. It took me a minute to think of one that they might understand the humor in, though I finally settled on one from the Great War that the officers used to keep our cadence while marching.
  “Tiny bubbles
  In my beer
  Makes me happy
  And full of cheer

  Tiny bubbles
  In my wine
  Makes me happy
  All the time

  Er… I can't seem to recall the rest.”
  They cheered anyway and eventually the feast died down, and we all retired to bed.
  In the morning, through heavy headaches, many of the personnel worked to clear rubble to attempt to salvage what could be found. Almost nothing was saved, save some of the oldest records which were found in their chest, having thankfully landed on the platform that was left.
  I looked out one last time to the destruction I had helped to cause. Many of the professors were already finishing up plans for a new building, though it was to built slightly west of the city. And as always, I had plans of my own.
  At first, I contemplated returning to Alinor, though I was swayed from the idea for two causes; the borders were officially shut, and returning would mean certain death. Thanks to my actions, the Thalmor would now be writing up a dossier and warrant, surely.
  Having that now been impossible, I considered my remaining options. All that could be done was to stay. I could always act as an assistant teacher for Colette, or perhaps even train people in healing through combat. As I stood there, I could hear a familiar elderly shuffle approaching.
  “Hello, Tolfdir.”
  “Hello, Caranthir.”
  We both sounded exhausted. First was the Dominion coup, now was the reconstruction.
  “I've been thinking, we need a new Arch-Mage.”
  “If you would ask my opinion, I would support you.”
  “Me? No, it should be you. After all, I’m not the one with the most powerful staff known to scholars with an entire prophecy written about me.”
  I shook my head.
  “But I do not desire either of those things. I wish I had never even left my Isles.”
  “You are a strong leader, Caranthir. We need you, at least until we finishing setting things up again.”
  I knew he was right. I was particularly great at leading, but the people respected-or possibly feared-me.
  “Alright. Just for now, and we will see about later.”
  We spent the next months building, planning, forming connections. You saw the end of your first year and start of your second, and finally, the main tower of the new College finished. It was much the same as the first, but with three towers in place of the one.
  Upon my request, a monument was erected in memory of the battle and those who were lost. The Bosmer, Onmund, Thetri; Erissa. I was able to sneak into Solitude and back into Winterhold with her urn, and had them placed beneath the statue, which bore the likeness of the Eye.
  I decided in the end to remain the Arch-Magister, the title I finally settled on as it sounded much better to yours truly, yet sadly it was not to be, for as the civil war raged on, so too did the Thalmor’s manipulation. It was in the second year of my governance of the College that a force of Thalmor soldiers found themselves at our gates, and unsurprisingly with a warrant for my arrest. Any who resisted would be executed as well. So as to not place everyone in danger, I entrusted both of you to Faralda, as she was one of the few Altmer at the College. I trusted her, as we had become better aquatinted after the destruction.
  The Staff was kept hidden behind a false wall in my chambers, as was the strange mask from Labyrinthian. I was not about to allow them those relics.
  They stripped me of all clothing and placed me into roughly spun rags, binding my hands behind me and gagging me. They marched me almost nonstop for days, only pausing to give me a few swift beatings with a stick or leather switch when they felt I was too slow.
  Somewhere in the swampy Eastmarch we met up with a caravan of Imperial Legionaries. They had captured a large number of Stormcloaks and had bound them much the same as I was, though they had the good nature to round them up into wagons. The officer who had arrested me spoke briefly with an Imperial who was decorated highly; at the time I believed it to be a general, which I was later able to confirm.
  He pointed to one of the carts and it was there I was crammed in, and it was there I took the liberty of a few hours rest.
  When I awoke we were deep in the forest, though I could see smoke rising not far down the road.
  “Hey you, you're finally awake.”
  It was a Nord, probably younger than Valund, with the fair hair and stormy eyes typical of his people.
  I nodded slowly and began to clear my mind and make my peace. The Nord and another near him began to converse, but my attention was focused elsewhere. Sitting just inches to my right was the only person still alive who I truly despised; Ulfric Stormcloak.

  Author's Note

  'Sblood- Real word from Shakespearean times. For him it meant "Christ's Blood" but for us we'll go with "Shor's Blood". 'Cause why not?