Story of a Breton Farm Girl from Cyrodiil, Ch.04, part 23

• Posted by Eviltrain August 22, 2012 - 1,031 views

  

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  27th of Hearth Fire, 4e201

  I have searched the Arcanaeum but no solution has presented itself. Two days have passed and the horrid urge holds me in its grip. I don't want this but I fear the coming madness even more.

  As I search for a better answer, I can only think to treat it as a kind of custom or ritual. If I cannot control the final outcome, than I want to control everything leading up to it, and perhaps learn something as a result.

  I have chosen Onmund as the first participant as I do not see him as completely repugnant. Though he has seeked me out on occasion for idyl chatter, we are barely more than acquaintances and this gives me some cold comfort. I'm hoping that being a sturdy Nord, he will bounce back from the participation. At least, that's what I hope will happen.

  Mara forgive me.

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  Chapter 4: Morthal

  28th of Hearth Fire, 4E201

  The firepit told Lydia everything she needed to know about the camp just outside Folgunthur. The cooking pot was still on its hook and the fire underneath still lit. Unwashed and unattended, the dregs of the mornings meal presented a tasty target for wild animals, and the fire was an agent that could set the land ablaze, even a frozen one. Whoever had set this up had quickly abandoned it with little thought or care. Given the camp had been set up by the tomb, it was more than likely they had come here to seek adventure and probably their fortunes, greed eclipsing all common sense. They cared nothing for this place; they were grave robbers, pure and simple. They had come to desecrate the honored dead and now her Thane had come to do the same.

  The moral compass that guided Lydia had grown out of her orphan years. It had helped her to survive, as she often had to make quick decisions about whom to trust and whom to avoid among the adults. It was a skill that combined self preservation, instinct and pragmatism. After being adopted by Irileth, Lydia applied that skill to refine her sense of Nord Honor and to find her place in a Jarl's household. As a practical matter, it meant that if one acted with honor, then the orphan accepted them, If not, then appropriate action was taken. Often, this meant Lydia would simply walk away. On a few occasions, it meant a challenge was issued and duels fought. Trust and honor, distrust and dishonor, her instincts had always shown her the right of things and the wrong of things and never had the twain mixed before.

  After reuniting with Nephili outside Nightcaller Temple, the housecarl had thought her Thane's quiet demeanor reflected the death of the Priest of Mara. But as the subsequent days revealed, it became clear to war orphan that the Breton had quietly embarked on some unspoken quest. She had spent all of two days and most of two evenings furiously digging though the Arcanaeum shelves. She slept where she sat, ate only when prompted and politely but firmly ignored everyone at the College. Even that Dunmer Adept, her Thane's closest ally, could not get her to open up in any meaningful way.

  On the morning of their third day, the Nord was unexpectedly roused by her Thane who announced that they would be leaving Winterhold immediately, and trek to Morthal in a single day. With the bare minimum of necessities, they had set out on the grueling march without rest or idle chatter. Concerned and a little irritated by her quiet behavior, Lydia asked what she intended to do once they arrived. The Breton girl simply shook her head and refused to say all that day.

  Even after finding their room at the Inn, it wasn't until the early morning meal that her Thane finally announced what she intended to do. Far too casually, Nephili looked up from her meal and said, "I'll be heading to Folgunthur to retrieve an ancient amulet once owned by Mikrul Gauldurson."

  The warrior of course had reacted as if hearing a bad joke and smirked. When her Thane did not laugh in turn, Lydia realized that the Breton was all too serious. She set her bread on the table and tried to bank the hot embers that this Breton had just stoked. "No Thane of Skyrim can pursue such a dishonorable goal. Such a thing is a crime against the ancestors of nearly every Nede on Tamriel. My Thane, we've had this conversation before, and I know you are not a one that would pursue such a thing."

  Nephili looked to the Nord with a mystery of emotions on her face. Looking through the housecarl, she said, "I know, but... I mean to do this anway."

  Lydia could only think that her Thane had lost her mind. She sat up a little straighter. "No. You made a promise inside Saarthal to me. No stone, no artifact would be touched in any Nordic tomb. You advanced your studies while upholding that promise till now. For your honor, for what I know you to be, I'll pretend that this discussion did not happen. Please, speak no more of it."

  At this point, the hard edge that had crept into Nephili's demeanor in the last few days melted off her face. Setting her spoon down, the girl from Cyrodiil looked at the Nord with the most liquid of stares. She quietly replied, "Lydia, I'm sorry... but I failed that promise from the start..."

  She reached into her tunic and showed the warrior an amulet of ancient design resting around her neck, the prize she had picked up in Saarthal.

  The Nord sat dumbstruck as the Breton got up to leave. She could not understand how her Thane could suddenly become a thief. She had to know that this was wrong. Lydia tried to find the words that could convince her of the error of her judgement. Watching the Breton walk away, the housecarl was overcome by the thought that once Nephili left her sights, she would never fulfill her potential as someone deserving of great respect in this world. The warrior got up from her seat and did the only thing that came to her mind, she would physically hold down the mage until she came to her senses. After all that had been said since their first meeting, the perils they had experienced together, and what the Nord warrior knew her to be, Lydia leaped after the Breton before she could reach the door. Not doing so meant having to contemplate the thought of striking down her own Thane. But that was a thought she dared not think.

  The housecarl tackled the smaller Breton woman from behind, dropping her to the ground. The young woman turned over to get up, surprised at what Lydia had done. She kicked the warrior in the gut, throwing the large Nord backwards. The two got up as one and when Nephili reached for the door, Lydia slammed her Thane's body against the door jamb. Seeing the Breton in pain, she recoiled at the force she had applied. The mage Adept turned around with a black eye and struck the housecarl with a mind altering spell. Swearing in frustration, she left the Inn and the Nord behind.

  Lydia stood away and watched the door slam shut, unable to reason or react against the illusion spell. Later, when the effects wore off, the Nord warrior cursed her Thane's name and ran out the door with a fury that she had not experienced since their first meeting. This was to be the end of it all then. She would ask the Breton, this foreigner to cease her actions once more; and, if the Breton replied that she would not, then the warrior would cut her down right then and there and be done with it.

  Reaching the mage deep in the moors, Lydia flung herself into the Bretons path, her hand on the hilt, fully prepared to confront and then kill this woman. She faced her Thane with a deep anger, the betrayal welling up within her heart.

  She opened her mouth to speak, and no words came out.

  She tried to pull her blade, and her arm would not respond.

  Her heart was in her throat as she tried to understand how someone she instinctively knew to trust could act with dishonor. She nearly choked on the only word that would come out.

  "Why!"

  ...

  The girl from Cyrodiil saw the pained expression on the Nord's face. It was surely like the one she must have shown to her betrothed and then to her father. The Breton steeled herself and chose to walk past the stricken warrior without a word, afraid to say anything.

  The Nord spoke again, desparate now to understand, to find a reason to stay her hand. "Can you not even tell me, why?"

  Nephili stopped mid stride at the question. Without turning around, she whispered, "...you're... you're only the housecarl..."

  The farmgirl from Cyrodiil hung her shoulders and continued to cross the marsh.

  Lydia stood alone on the moors of Haafingar, as unsure of herself as when her family had died. The position of housecarl was one that she had dreamed about as she grew up in the house of a Jarl. She had witnessed the close relationship between Balgruuf and Irileth as those two fought side by side on many battlefields during the Great War. She had followed in their footsteps, training first as a warrior, then as an elite guard in Whiterun Hold. The Nord Jarl and the Dunmer housecarl had shown her that the world could still live in harmony with pride and honor. They had shown her a better way to live. And all of this she had experienced because she could trust her instincts. She could trust herself.

  The war orphan wondered what it was that had gone wrong.

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  "He who is only just is cruel."