Story of a Breton Farm Girl from Cyrodiil, Prologue, part 5

• Posted by Eviltrain June 13, 2012 - 777 views

  The Aldmeri Officiate observed the two women entering the Great Hall and smiled inwardly. They acted the part of mistress and servant but he would see soon enough. Count Carvain, having made himself ready, sat reclined into his throne in that peculiar way common to the ruling class. A castle guard stood by the entrance while the Steward of the Keep stood far off to the left quietly conversing with a servant. Some three steps to the right of the Count stood the Officiate and further away still was his entourage, a sword-arm and a battle-mage.

  Guard-Captain Jorhundr brought his charges just short of the dias and announced the two citizen's to the Count before taking his position to the lord's left. The Old Crone almost sat where she stood, stooped as she was, and spoke an appropriate greeting. The Breton Girl stood ready behind her side and curtsied. With the formalities completed, the Count motioned the Officiate to begin his questioning.

  Acting as if he didn't already know, the Aldmeri Officiate spoke. "The Mage Tarerane and the Breton girl, Nephili, I presume?"

  The Old Crone turned her head to look at her kinsman with a blank stare. "You presume correctly. I was told I would be brought before the Count. Who is it that wishes to address me?"

  Do you seriously intend to act so senile Old Crone? How very interesting.

  The Officiate responded. "My name is Ilmiril and I am a Representative and Diplomat of the Aldmeri Dominion. You are here before the Count... at my request."

  Tarerane heard this without reaction. The Breton girl looked to the foot of the throne and then back to her mistress, her hands occasionally betraying her swirling emotions.

  Ilmiril continued. "Tarerane, I'm here to determine whether you've broken covenant with your Emperor and the Aldmeri Dominion by accepting a student into your household. How do you plead?"

  The Old Crone responded with a quizzical expression. "How do I plead? The one beside me is my housemaid. I grow old and have found a need to ease the discomforts of aging."

  The Officiate strolled over to the two women, hands behind his back. "So you say. Yet I find myself unable to believe your story."

  Stepping back, he continued. "What I see is an Altmer who left her country, abandoned her people and traveled all the way to the Imperial City in order to study tomes that might shed light on... ancient practices? What was it again? Something about a theory on teaching and apprenticeship resulting in a better harnessing of the forces deep within us?"

  Ilmiril stood before the Old Crone, his eyes, steady upon his prey.

  Again, Tarerane stood impassive in the face of her kinsman.

  "By all accounts, your efforts to refine your theories continued apace but you were frustrated by a lack of interest within the Mage's Guild."

  "...no response? Shall I respond for you?" The officiate motioned to the sword-arm who stepped forwarded to hand him a parchment.

  "What of this letter in our possession? Do you recognize it?"

  The Old Crone glanced at the paper then back up at Ilmiril. "Am I here to listen to you go on and on about ancient history?"

  Ilmiril ignored her verbal parry and continued. "Here I have a letter to the Arch-mage describing your request to isolate a set of students apart from the other novices in the Mage's Guild. In describing your reasons, you site that the existing students found your theories to be at odds with what they had already been taught. The response to your request was denied and..." The Officiate handed the parchment back to the sword-arm. "...you were quite upset I am told."

  Tarerane looked up at her inquisitor. "So what of it? Despite my best efforts, my theories were never capably tested before the Great War. And afterwards, my life's work came to an end. Your masters and the Emperor saw to that."

  "So what? Am I to believe that after having spent all your years chasing your threads and whispers that you have completely abandoned everything that once represented your life? That, if given the opportunity, you would NOT pursue your research, especially in the face of a willing and able student?"

  Nephili stood to the side watching and listening to the verbal exchange. As her mistress matched wits with the interrogator, she could sense something... wrong... with the room somehow. Yet, in glancing around, she could see nothing to agitate her.

  This won't do! I need to not lose focus and betray Tarerane's trust.

  Looking back to the Officiate, the Breton found Ilmiril had turned his body towards hers as he continued to harangue her Mistress. He paused for a moment to... smile and turned his gaze into her eyes, lingering on her face.

  He couldn't possibly know that I have been learning magic...

  The Old Crone, sensing her students discomfort, responded to Ilmiril. "There is nothing here for you to reveal. You grasp at wisp-wrappings."

  Ilmiril ignored Tarerane and spoke to Nephili. "Young lady, what is your response? Am I correct to say you are Tarerane's student and apprentice?"

  Tarerane spoke. "Why do you persist? What am I to either the Empire or the Dominion? You seek to find a wolf but before you is only a tired old woman. Begone from me."

  "I speak to the young lady Old Crone. She will answer the question."

  Count Carvain raised his voice. "Officiate, are you not done yet? I don't see anything except a suspicious Altmer talking to a belligerent old woman."

  "My most esteemed Host. I assure you this effort will not go... wasted. Young lady, answer the question."

  Nephili responded. "I... I am only a servant to the mistress. Magic... is foreign to me."

  "I think I grasp at far more than wisp wrappings." This time, the Officiate motioned to the battle-mage. The guard spoke a few words and before him lay a wretched figure no longer hidden by an invisibility spell. Half-naked, the figure wore bruises and marks of torture across his body as he lay curled up on the ground.

  Count Corvain rose from his seat. "What is this affront! Who have you brought into my court un-announced!" The soldier's in the room reached for their swords awaiting orders.

  Illmiril looked to his host. "He is our prisoner and material witness Count Carvain. And I assure you he is most certainly not a citizen of Bruma."

  The Aldmeri Officiate walked several steps towards the person on the ground and turned to face the Breton girl. "Young lady, I believe you might be acquainted with this wretched soul. Can you confirm this for us?"

  Nephili could do nothing against the shock of seeing this figure. The Old Man lay before her, blindfolded and barely breathing.

  "I,... I... please... no... you can't do this. He's just a traveling mage."

  "Nephili! Look at me!" cried the Old Crone.

  "Tell me, do you recognize him?"

  "Please, ...please release him. I beg you!"

  The Aldmeri Officiate smiled broadly into the room, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "You see! You see my most esteemed Count!"

  "Tell me who he is child! Answer my questions and he may yet be freed!"

  "Don't listen to him! Look at me! Look at ME!" Tarerane yelled.

  "I... ...Iiiii... pllleease."

  "Tell me what I want to know! You can save him! Who are you!"

  "NEPHILI! Don't listen to him!"

  "... ...unnnggh the goddds! I'm... was his student. He taught me a spell! He taught me how to peace! calm! calm! How to heal! I can heal!"

  She ran to him only to be thrown to the ground by the Sword-arm. "Please! Let me heal him! He's in pa... pain! I can heal hiiim!

  A hand grabbed her jaw, filling her watering vision with a yellow face, deep, dark eyes. "Are, you, Tarerane's, apprentice?"

  "I... ...yes."

  The Officiate released her face. Nephili crawled over to the Old Man, overflowing with tears. She tried to heal him but couldn't. The effort to regain calm, wasted. She could only sit holding his hand hoping that somehow her touch could cure him.

  The Old Crone looked upon her student and the Old Man, emotions threatening to break her mask.

  Ilmiril smiled at his handiwork. "Count Carvain. A citizen of the Empire has broken the Treaty. How will you proceed?"

  The Count sat watching the milieu, a sigh on his lips. "Guard-Captain... arrest Tarerane...; she is to be charged for treason. And escort the young Breton back to her house."

  Ilmiril spoke, "The Breton must also be arrested. She has aided and abetted in this matter. We demand it!"

  Count Carvain turned to gaze at the Altmer. "You can demand it all you want. The Adjunct Agreement only addresses Tarerane. The girl is an innocent and will return to her house."

  The Officiate made motions to protest but stopped himself. He nodded in agreement. "Then, as you have decreed."

  *    *    *    *