I've recently been inspired to spread my stories onto other websites. Some of you may recognize my name from elsewhere, and if so, perhaps you're already familiar with my writing. I hadn't intended to post any of my stories here, but I'm always looking for suggestions, comments, etc. It certainly helps with the writing process when I hear different opinions, and I also like to entertain people with stories. As such, I hope that people find this story enjoyable. :laugh:


Chapter 1: The Job

The room was dark but for the faint glow of the fire that burned atop a central column. The unearthly red flames danced without fuel, and the light that they cast lent a menacing quality to the room’s angular design. Shadows arched and curved in every direction, and it was in their paths that a lone thief crouched and hid. Her soft leather boots made no noise on the black marble floors, and a chameleon spell overlaid her black clothing. Everything here seemed unnaturally black, from the walls to the statues, to the occasional dremora that roamed the halls in daedric armor. There was, of course, also some red. If she looked closely, the thief noticed that red runes covered the polished walls from ceiling to floor, but she could not read the ancient runes. Nor could she understand how Oblivion had come into possession of the silky, crimson curtains that draqed over the impossibly tall windows, but it hardly mattered.

However Mehrunes Dagon wanted to decorate his home was his own business. She just had to find that one artifact and then she could leave. Unsure of herself, the thief placed a hand to her belt and made sure that the spell scroll was still there. Without it, she had no way out of this god forsaken land, and she couldn’t imagine what would happen to her if she were caught. Damn them all—the daedra and the imperials. In the disturbing silence of the dark manor, she rained curses down upon anyone and everyone who might have had a hand in sending her here, yet she continued on.

Her hands gently pushed against an ebony door, and it mutely swung inward. Where was she now? There was a four-post bed, and a massive one at that, and it dominated the room. Its dark frame was lavished in blood-red blankets and curtains that almost appeared to shimmer purple depending on the angle that one looked at them from. The floor was so smooth and polished that it reflected the ceiling like a mirror, and the braziers lining the edge of the circular room flickered across the stones. It was beautifully regal in its own way, and the thief was hesitant to enter, but then her eyes landed on the table.

There was a large table at the foot of the bed, and its surface was strewn with artifacts. Some of them glittered with enchantment, but others appeared ordinary, and they were probably the most powerful ones. She stepped closer while scanning the collection for a simple, black necklace. It would look like a plain piece of onyx on a gold chain, but it was also very small. Where…? The thief’s breath caught as she located the prize where it lay half-hidden by a skull. Now she could go home.

“What do you think you’re doing, human?” Pure panic—that’s what her reaction to that low, threatening voice could be called. The verbal threat had appeared from nowhere, and she froze in fear. When instincts finally kicked in and told her to grab the necklace and run, it was too late. Pain erupted in her body—a searing sensation that made concentration impossible. She was being burned alive. Akatosh’s mercy, but this was the end, and she wanted it to end as her nerves erupted in heat. She closed her eyes in preparation for death, not wanting to see the victorious face of her opponent.

“I won’t make it so fast, mortal,” the same voice as before stated, and the pain lessened.”You’ve intruded where you don’t belong.” Breathing heavily, the thief felt a hand grip her tunic and hoist her up from the ground where she had fallen in anguish. The lingering effects of the destruction spell still had her head reeling. “Open your eyes!” her captor harshly ordered.

Don’t. But a claw ran down the side of her face, breaking the skin and causing her to gasp. Eyelids flew open, and she suddenly found herself face-to-face with the last being that she wanted to see: Mehrunes Dagon. She didn’t even have time to take in his appearance, for his black eyes were svcking her into their depths. Gods above, but how could eyes be so black and bottomless? For a moment, she forgot how to breathe, and her gaping, terrified expression made Mehrunes laugh. The deep, throaty sound filled the room, and then she was falling, his mocking laughter the only sound chasing her into unconsciousness. And the pain—gods, but the pain was unbearable.

Portia Augustine woke up screaming, the sheets beneath her damp with sweat and blood, and the lone candle on the bedside table flickering with the breeze coming through her opened window. She lurched forward into a sitting position, head clutched in her hands, and chest heaving. It had felt so damn real, like she was there again, like a normal dream shouldn’t have been able to accomplish. Four weeks and she was still having these nightmares, and no mage or priest had been able to do anything to stop them.

“Damn it!” she yelled, not caring if anyone heard. The pain in her right hip had returned, as she’d known it would, and the nightmare lingered with the tenacity of Mehrunes’ malicious spirit. His eyes…she shuddered and stood, one hand gingerly touching the wound on her side. Blood had soaked through her nightgown, and she slowly rolled up the white fabric to reveal a strange symbol carved into her flesh. They had warned it that it might not ever fully heal, and she believed them. The wound was unnatural in the utmost, and bleeding almost always accompanied her troubled dreams. She never lost enough blood to be endangered, but it still hurt, and it was a reminder of who was after her.

Was he after her?

Hell, she didn’t think that he’d actually leave her alone—not after what she had done.

You’ll always carry this reminder, human. You are mine! The memory of Mehrunes’ parting words made her face pale, and she rushed into the washing room to clean herself of bloodshed that he visited upon her. His angry visage had promised revenge when she’d escaped his grasp, but he could not touch her here in the capitol. There were warding spells on the house, and the daedra lord was currently busy trying to conquer Tamriel. So she might feel trapped by his threats, but at least she was safe for now, perhaps forever.

Really?

Portia ran a shaky hand through her long, brown hair and prayed to Akatosh for protection. With a flask of brandy in hand, she sat on the edge of her bed, the smell of the alcohol comforting her as memories played before her eyes…

***********************

Four Weeks Previously:

The curtains gently billowed as wind swept up over the fortress walls and along the paraqets, carrying with it the familiar scent of lilac and the muffled pvssyr of the market. It was a calming sensation, and one which was sorely needed at the moment, for Portia Augustine had just received what promised to be the toughest assignment of her life. She stood with hands braced against the windowsill, palms pressed hard against the cold stone, and eyes mindlessly roaming across the shoppers below. For such a seemingly normal day, her world was being flipped on its head.

“You’re sure that you can’t find someone else?” she asked, voice flat. She heard the man behind her shift, but she knew that it wasn’t in discomfort. This man had no remorse for what he was doing to her.

“The job is too delicate to be assigned to someone else,” he stated in a voice that left no room for argument.

“Assigned?” Portia nearly spat. “I am no longer under your watch, sir. In case you forgot, I left the guard two years ago.” And I left for a reason, she mentally added.

“Be that as it may, someone has to do this.” They lapsed into silence, and Portia finally turned away from the window. The burgundy curtains grazed her thighs as she stood there, framed in the sunlight. She was facing a man in his late forties, perfectly polished armor encasing his tall frame, and short brown hair tucked behind his ears. His face was beginning to show the lines of age and stress, but he held himself like a man in control. Hell, he was a man in control. Arelius was captain of the guard, held a near perfect record, and was known for being entrusted with delicate matters. Portia had once been privy to his privileged, inside information, for she had been a fellow member of the blades, but not anymore, and so when he had shown up at the foot of her bedroll yesterday, she had known that it didn’t bode well. She had been enjoying her little sojourn into the wilderness…

“Portia,” he said. “I have my orders to see this task finished, and you’re the only one who even has a shot at success.”

“It’s suicide,” she sharply replied.

“Not if it’s done properly,” came the immediate response. “You always handled your assignments with a stealth more suited to the thieves’ guild than the guard. That’s why I recruited you to the Blades, and that’s why you’ll succeed.” Portia smiled and shook her head in wonder.

“You’ve always had a talent for this,” she mused. “Whenever I wanted to back out, you always convinced me that I could get the job done…but not this time, captain. I left my duties behind, and I don’t want to come back. I doubt that I’m welcomed anyway.”

“You’ll be working alone,” Arelius assured. “You don’t need to see the others, and they’ll keep their hands to themselves if I tell them to.” Portia focused on the hilt of his sword, the familiar eagle carved along its edge conjuring memories of being a new recruit. Back then she had envied him his sword and the respect that its sight commanded. He had been the model, and she had been the newbie earning her way up the ladder before accidently murdering a fellow blade. She could still imagine the blood running through her fingers and the look of disbelief on the man’s face. Damn, but she had mistaken him for an assassin. What had he been doing lurking behind her in the shadows?
Arelius noted the sudden intensity of Portia’s face and his expression softened.

“Let it go,” he ordered. “No one blames you.”

“Are we through here?” she demanded. She was not discussing this with him.

“No.”

“And why not?”

“You will be doing this job, whether you like it or not.” He grimly passed her a slip of paper. “I didn’t want to resort to this, but my hand isn’t the only one behind this mission. The Elder Council won’t accept ‘no’ for an answer.” Portia examined the piece of paper, and her eyes suddenly widened in comprehension. They couldn’t press charges against her for involvement with the Grey Fox. She had…she would never…the nerve of those men!

“If I’m found guilty?” she probed.

“When you’re found guilty, you’ll be executed.”

“This is [censored], and you know it.”

“Like I said: not my choice.” But his eyes showed no remorse; they never did. This man lived for the empire and the Septim line, which was why there would be no reasoning with him. He expected her to do this, even if she failed to see how she could survive an encounter with oblivion. She had heard the rumors of Kvatch, for news of an entire city’s destruction spread quickly, and according to Arelius, that wasn’t the only incident of concern. She believed him when he said that oblivion was preparing for total war, and it scared her like nothing had in a long time. The emperor and heirs assassinated, daedra roaming the roads, people disappearing in the wild…the empire was going to hell.

“What exactly am I suppose to do?” she warily asked, accepting her fate.

“Go into oblivion,” Arelius answered, and his cool tone annoyed Portia.

“I know that. What I mean is: what am I expected to do there? What the hell can I do that will make the slightest bit of difference?” Arelius stared her down in a nonverbal reprimand for raising her voice toward him, and she slowly relaxed her glare. Antagonizing this man might not be the best idea given her predicament.

“Mehrunes and his followers are responsible for the assassinations and the attack on Kvatch. Gates to Oblivion are appearing throughout the countryside and giving his armies access to our world. If it can’t be stopped, he may well finally accomplish his dreams of ruling mankind, and so far, all we can do is wait for a gate to open and fight whatever comes out. It’s damn frustrating, and this recent attack on Kvatch…well, he got more out of the attack than we bargained for, and that’s where you come in.” Portia nodded, showing that she was listening, every dreadful sentence filling her ears and mind.

“General Achires was at Kvatch and was killed in the fighting. As you know from being in the blades, he was entrusted with the protection of a powerful artifact.”

“Sable,” Portia sighed, now realizing the extent of their problems.

“Yes, Sable,” Arelius grunted. “The pendant of vision. Achires used it to locate wanted criminals, but imagine what Mehrunes could do with it. He could hunt down the last heir—all he needs is a name, and he can pinpoint a location and send every dremora and beast at his command to end our hope. We need to reclaim that pendant, Portia. If Mehrunes finds the last heir before we do, we’ll have lost before the real fighting even begins.”

“So you’re asking me to sneak into Oblivion and steal from right beneath Mehrunes Dagon’s nose? You’re giving me too much credit. As soon as I step foot in his realm, he’ll know there’s an intruder. His eyes and ears will be everywhere.”

“He would know if you entered through one of the major gates, but you’ll travel through a small dimensional loophole courtesy of the mages’ guild. The master had assured us that he’s found a way to do it, so no one could possibly be monitoring your arrival.”

“So that means that I’m leaving…what? Now?” The captain smiled, and Portia’s frown deepened.

“How very astute of you,” he joked. “Gather what you need, and meet me at the arcane university in thirty minutes. Time is even shorter now that it took over a day to find you.”

“I didn’t want to be found,” Portia grumbled, but there was no slinking back to her small campsite now. Either she went to oblivion and helped protect the citizens who she’d once served, or she’d be executed as a common criminal and disgrace her name and family. She would take the former over the latter, and who knew, maybe luck was on her side. She was born under the Thief after all, and she had been extraordinarily sneaky for a guard. That was why she’d been chosen for this impossible task, for she could remain undetected until the last moment, yet she had the combat skills of a soldier. She could just imagine some of her former comrades trying to secretly move about oblivion, and it was laughable. Yes, she was a good choice compared to the other options, and she had never regretted it more. Her life expectancy had just plummeted.

that was an amazing beginning! I can't wait to read more!!!! you are a great writer :goodjob:

Very well written.

Thanks for the feedback!

Chapter 2: Chaos Spheres


Arelius leaned forward to place a kiss on his wife’s neck as she was dressing, and the woman smiled warmly as his hands wound loosely about her hips. He loved slow mornings like this, for they were relaxing but few and far between. Since the emperor had been assassinated, there had been no peace in his life, and he was forever running to and fro, dictating orders and taking them. He had thought that Portia’s successful return of Sable would take pressure off of him, but Mehrunes was still on the move, and the woman’s survival had unexpectedly complicated the dangerous game that he was playing.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” his wife teased.

“Not for another thirty minutes,” he told her, his thoughts wandering to the sheer robe that barely covered her body. His was entertaining the idea of a quick romp in the blankets when his keen vision caught movement near the window. It was subtle, but noticeable, and he wondered how long the intruder had been standing there, watching this intimate exchange.

“Arelius?” his wife asked.

“Hmmm?”

“I hate when you tense up like that. Whatever it is, I’ll be downstairs overseeing the servants.” She knew him too well, and he reluctantly let her slip from his grasp and disappear from sight. He loved the way that her black hair swayed when she walked, for she was every inch the imperial aristocrat, and that hair had been what first attracted him. What a wasted chance at enjoying her beauty this morning, but he quickly refocused on business. Tamil wouldn’t be in his private quarters if the matter wasn’t serious.
“I wasn’t expecting a visit,” he stated, turning toward the window where he’d seen the woman. His eyes fixed on the shifting air where he assumed her to be.

“I wasn’t expecting to visit, if that’s any consolation,” a feminine voice replied, and the invisibility spell was dropped. What was now open to view was a middle-aged Dunmer with light blue skin and large, red eyes. Her short, black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and several green tattoos ranged across her neck and left cheek, but Arelius was never certain of their meaning. It was hard to tell with Dunmer from Morrowind, for the province had its own traditions that he’d never bothered investigating. He didn’t care anyway. What mattered was that Tamil was efficient and a worthy Blade.

“What did the monk say?” Arelius asked. He was referring to the master of the Blades, but given the secret nature of the man’s position, they never used names. Tamil stepped closer and passed a scroll into the captain’s waiting hands.

“He says that we should follow the mages’ advice. He doesn’t know much about artifacts or Mehrunes’ lore, so he’s deferring to them and agreeing that the chaos sphere should be left alone for now.”

“Isn’t that rather dangerous?” Arelius asked. “If it falls into the wrong hands, there’s no telling what could happen.”

“Which is why the mages guild is keeping Portia’s secret. No one is to know about what she took from Mehrunes, and she’ll be allowed to retain it until they figure out how to safely handle it. If you ask me, they’re terrified, and I don’t trust that arch mage. He’s too secretive and obsessed with research, so I wonder why he agreed to this. It seems like he’d love to get his hands on Portia’s treasure.”

“Fear is a powerful motivator,” Arelius mused. “No one wants to take Portia’s place on the chopping block…poor girl.” He shook his head. “I had hoped that she would be spared long term damage from this. She woke up screaming again last night. The nightmares are becoming more frequent, and all the mages want to do is be patient and hide her from Mehrunes. I don’t know how long that will work.”

“It will have to suffice for now, because there’s nothing else to do.”

“So we wait,” Arelius frowned. “And you’re right. I don’t trust the mages either. I’d feel better if the blades were handling this business alone.”

“Amen,” Tamil grimly agreed. “The monk has ordered us to keep the reins. We are supposed to watch the mages and work with them on this matter. Most of all, we need to protect Portia and make sure that information doesn’t leak.”

“The mages better watch their end of the stick,” Arelius grunted. “Protecting Portia will be easy if no one knows what she has.” He tucked his scroll into a small, locked chest, and grabbed his sword from the wall. “Tell the monk that I’ll keep the situation under control. We’ll speak again later.”

“Until next time, captain.” Tamil was gone in an instant, back out the window through which she’d entered, and Arelius was left to his thoughts. Portia knew nothing of what she’d unwittingly brought to the human world, and both the Blades and mages wanted to keep it that way. They saw her ignorance as vital to keeping a lid on their current problems, and Arelius tended to agree with them. It was not his place to question his superior either, for the Blade master knew far more than he did. He only had to protect Portia and guide her in the direction that would best suit the empire. He didn’t foresee any problems, but he wouldn’t hold his breath.

*******************

“Another day,” Portia sighed while buttoning her trousers. She glanced at herself in the mirror and decided that her lack of sleep was definitely showing. Beneath long tresses, her eyes were sunken and dark, the green irises no longer shining with enthusiasm, and the deadened energy did nothing to enhance her already plain appearance. She did, however, carry herself well, and slender bones lent her a very feminine figure that belied her strength. She liked the subtle curves of her thin body, but she’d always personally thought that her nose was a little slender (much too like a high elf’s for an Imperial), even if others told her that it suited her oval face.

Portia pulled her hair back into a braid and tucked her green tunic into her breeches. She wore tall leather boots and bracers, and carried a thin knife tucked into her belt. She never felt secure without some type of weapon on her, and blades were her preferred choice. Arelius wasn’t pleased with her carrying it around the manor, but he wasn’t the one jumping at shadows either. His nerves weren’t tattered from nights of blood and screaming, and he hadn’t stared oblivion in the face and barely lived to tell the tale.

Portia wondered where the captain was this morning as she moved out onto the balcony adjoining her room. She had been surprised by his invitation to live here, and while the idea didn’t thrill her, she’d accepted since she had nowhere else to go. Now she was lodged in his family’s manor, which happened to occupy a prestigious position near the palace. Of course, the royal family was now dead and gone, but Silver Wells was still the preeminent neighborhood for aristocrats. The large area was filled with manors, gardens, and even a museum. Portia had never thought that she’d walk among these houses let alone live among them, but here she was by an act of mercy. Perhaps Arelius felt somewhat guilty for her current health, or more likely, he had future plans for her.

Portia inwardly dared the man to try and manipulate her as she stared down at the garden beneath her balcony. Lush greens and vibrant, flowering bushes met her eyes, and between the plants ran two boys in a fit of giggles. They were Arelius’ two sons, and they were trying to outsmart their very exasperated tutor.

“Come inside and study this instant!” the man demanded, and even Portia smiled at his flustered face. She took the stairs connected to the balcony and descended to his level, arms clasped neatly behind her back as she strolled.

“Morning,” she greeted.

“Ah, madam, please tell these ruffians that they need to study,” the tutor begged. He frowned as the two boys rushed around his blue robes and directly toward Portia.

“Is it true, madam?” one of the youths asked, face red from running. The other was equally wide-eyed and awaited her answer while bobbing up and down. Portia merely frowned.

“Is what true?” she asked, but she very well knew what was coming.

“They say that you went to oblivion on a secret mission!”

“Yeah, and that Mehrunes scarred you—that he almost killed you!”

“That you stole from him and survived!” The boys’ mouths were running away with rumors, and the more they said, the more Portia’s face contorted in discomfort. She did not want to listen to this, for it conjured memories of soulless eyes and a dominating voice. Almost instinctively, a hand moved toward her wounded side, and she marveled at the innocence of the children. They made stealing from Mehrunes sound like great fun, but she had been an idiot to challenge the Prince of Destruction. Perhaps if she had only escaped, her predicament wouldn’t be so terrible, but she…

“Enough!” Arelius’ voice barked. “Get back to your lessons, children, and I don’t want to hear another word about these Mehrunes stories, understood?” Portia was actually relieved that the captain had appeared, for the boys were rendered submissively mute.

“Yes, sir,” their voices dragged, and then they were following their tutor away from the gardens. Portia breathed easier and found Arelius’ hand on her elbow. He guided her to a bench where they both sat, and Portia noted that civilian clothing suited her former mentor. She had never seen him in regular garb before, and she wondered how she had worked with him for four years and never once caught a glimpse of him dressed down.

“I apologize for their behavior,” he told her. “They know better than to let their mouths run.”

“They’re children,” Portia dismissed, feeling foolish for having allowed mere words to bother her in the first place.

“Either way, it will not happen again,” Arelius promised. He then leaned forward and promptly switched topics. “I came to tell you that the mages wish to speak with you this afternoon.”

“I got the letter…but why are you here to repeat the news? Does it bother you that you weren’t allowed to attend the last meeting?” Arelius grunted.

“Hardly. Just because you didn’t see me doesn’t mean that I wasn’t there, and I must say that your actions were rather foolhardy.”

“The guild master deserved those harsh words,” Portia defended. “His portal spell nearly ripped me in half.” She had not survived Mehrunes to get trapped or split between dimensions, which was what had almost happened to her. At the time, she had only been aware of reading the incantation and then feeling like her insides were swimming and pulling in opposite directions, followed by an intense sensation of physical detachment. It hadn’t hurt, but it had been damn unpleasant, and so she’d given the spell’s creator a piece of her mind when an explanation for her experience was supplied.

“I wasn’t referring to what you said at the meeting,” Arelius clarified. “I’m talking about what you did in Oblivion. It was enough to escape with Sable, but to humiliate Mehrunes like you did was rash. Men have their pride, Portia, and great men more than a commoner. Your slight won’t easily be forgotten.” Portia couldn’t agree more, and yet she was not sorry for what she had done. To have felt power over her captor for even a moment after what he’d done had been the only positive aspect of her journey.

“Do you know what he did to me?” she bitterly asked.

“I can imagine…”

“He burned me, and then he had me healed so that I could endure it all over again. I was forced to tell him exactly what I had been sent to do, and then I was locked away in the world’s darkest hell hole for days until I thought I’d go mad. I was bleeding, cold, hungry, and the bastard didn’t even bother with me after he’d thrown me there. I was left to rot, Arelius—left to rot until I managed to surprise and kill my guard, and then I had to run through a palace with bleeding hands and feet to find my damned scroll and Sable.”
Portia’s fists were clasped together, and her eyes closed as she finished speaking. Arelius said nothing, for he’d already heard her report at the meeting, and he had nothing with which to console her. He sensed that her memories would haunt her for a long time, much like the accidental murder had, but he didn’t know the whole of it. There was far more to her story than what Portia had shared. There was a hell of a lot more…

“Let me go!” she screamed while driving her dagger into the dremora’s throat. His armor was open between the neck and shoulders, and that’s where she aimed. The creature’s warm blood pumped over her hands as she twisted the blade free, paranoia making her quickly abandon the scene. She was moving faster than she thought possible, for desperation was driving her onward. Being locked away without any light for days on end had flayed her nerves, and the palace’s fires now burned her vision. She had escaped by a hairbreadth, having used her one small dagger to take down her guard after luring him inside of her cell. His body was somewhere several stories down in the dungeons, and it had probably already been discovered.

Gods, she had to run faster. She wouldn’t go back to that cell with the feelings of nothingness that it instilled in her, and she wouldn’t wait for a painful death at Mehrunes’ whim.

Faster, faster, faster.

Portia was amazed that she had even gotten this far in her bid for freedom, and the fear that success would be thwarted chased her heels as she rounded a corner. These were familiar settings. She recognized this hallway, and yet, there were fewer guards than before, and those that remained were dispatched with slits throats. If it hadn’t been for her Blade training, she’d have lost it, but as was, she crept expertly and focused on the task at hand with a single-mindedness that blocked out the sharp pain coursing through her feet with each step.

She had to find Mehrunes’ chambers, for that was where Sable and her scroll were most likely kept. Sable would of course be there, and the scroll was valuable enough that he’d keep it, or so she hoped. She left a trail of red as she located the desired room with her keen sense of direction and memory, but it wasn’t an easy task. She nearly collapsed at the door, for she had been cut in several places by dremora and lesser daedra, and the blood loss was beginning to slow her. She basically crawled across the last several feet of marble floor to grab what she’d come for. Fighting for consciousness, she felt dizzy and weak. The scroll was almost illegible due to her filthy hands, and yet she read it and felt the spell beginning to work its magic.

Crack!

“You again?” a voice asked in shock. “How did you…? You are brave, woman; I’ll give you that much, but apparently your first lenient lesson did not sink in!” And the magic was pulling her to safety, but not fast enough for her liking. She could see Mehrunes clearly now. His chamber doors had broken from their hinges when he’d thrown them open, and his eyes flashed dangerously at the sight of her. He was shirtless and muscular, his skin a gentle red, and his bald head sporting two small horns. He had four arms, and they all went after his prey.

Fading in and out, Portia’s body was being pulled away into another dimension. She was going home, but two of Mehrunes’ hands seized on her torso, and another was cutting into her flesh with gods knew what. His fingernail, she realized. She was slicing her hip with his fingernails, and she screamed, but the sound seemed to be swallowed by space.

“You cannot escape so easily! I am the master here,” Mehrunes bellowed, but she knew that he was wrong. Gods, his men had beaten the bottoms of her feet until they were raw and useless, and they’d torn her clothing and fondled her briasts, cast spells that shattered her nerves and made her sing confessions, and all for their dark master, who had been determined to wring everything from her, perhaps even the location of the last heir. She would have told him if she had known, and she was ashamed of that. She hated him as the thought hit her, and she wanted to humiliate him. She wanted to wound him like he had wounded her, and so her knife lashed out. It met the soft flesh of his naked chest and made him hiss in pain. Her hand reached for his face to scratch him has his grip on her tightened, but her fingers instead caught the ornament hanging from his left ear, ripping it free. His angry snarl was the last thing that she saw.

“I took something from him like he took something from me,” Portia stated. “I needed to do that, and if I’d been fully cognizant,” she sighed, “I’d never have told the council about taking his earring.” She tilted her head so that Arelius could see the orange orb dangling from her left ear. It was a luminescent ball swinging from a gold link, and it seemed to flare brightly with the intensity of Portia’s mood. “It’s fitting, don’t you think?”

“I understand why you wear it, but it’s dangerous to flaunt your victory like this. If he were to know, it would anger him more than you’ve already done.” Portia snorted and crossed her arms. “It is, of course, your decision, and since the mages could find no spell or curse on it, they won’t take it from you.”

“Good, because I wouldn’t let them have it.”

“Portia.”

“It is all I have, Arelius. My body will never fully recover from what Mehrunes did to it. For Akatosh’s sake, his brand is on me, and I don’t want it, but this...” She motioned to the earring. “This I took. Sometimes it all feels so dreamlike: thinking of the dark and his rough voice taunting me, or the twilight that drug me down into the bowels of his prisons…this lets me know that it was real and that I survived through sheer will.”

“You’ve earned its keep,” Arelius agreed, “And my respect along with it.” Portia didn’t want to, but his words made her swell with pride. She had fought for this man’s approval for what felt like eternity, and now she knew with certainty that she had it. Oh, to hell with it. She didn’t need his approval anymore, but then why was she so pleased with herself? She supposed that some things did not easily change, and spending six years pining for a man’s attentions would do that to a person. Don’t let him know, her mind warned.

“Thank you, captain.” So much for that. “It means a lot.”

“You deserve the praise. And now, I have work to attend to, and you need to get to your meeting.” She was grateful that he brushed aside her obviously flushed face and that he didn’t even make direct eye contact with her. The man was apparently feeling more merciful than usual today. She wondered if he’d always known how much she adored him, even if it had lessened considerably since leaving the Blades. Her desire for his respect was all that remained, and she was glad that the other aspects of her emotions for him had faded, for she owed a debt to his wife for tolerating her presence here. He and Lucretia were both quite generous with her, although more assignments were coming. She could feel it, and they’d be no easier to squirm out of than going into oblivion.

“Have a good day,” she told Arelius in parting, and she immediately moved to the open streets. Her stride was sure and swift, for she didn’t want to be detained by a passerby, and there were plenty of them this late in the morning. Some glanced at her questioningly, but few had any idea what she had recently endured. The Blades were keeping it silent, and she was grateful for that. The fewer who knew that she’d gone to oblivion and angered Mehrunes, the better. Of course, aristocratic women went after gossip like slaughterfish to fresh blood, but the rumors would be unsubstantial at best. Blade members would subtly discredit them until people gave them little regard.

“Morning,” a male dark elf greeted, and Portia nodded in return. She felt so incredibly plain compared to these upper class folk, and so when her feet hit the lower class sections, she slid into an easier gait. It wasn’t that she wanted to be upper class, for she didn’t. She came from a merchant family, and while they had money, they didn’t have the blood to ever fit in with the elites. No, it wasn’t the upturned noses at her simple clothing that really bothered her. She was at home in peasant garb or velvet dresses, but it always depended on the occasion. As a guard and blade, she’d played a role, and each role had a costume. Now she didn’t know what role she was playing, and so she had no idea how to dress. It bothered her that she was adrift without purpose yet knowing that others had one in mind for her. In many ways, at least having a mission would give her some direction and get her mind off of Mehrunes. A lack in goals had really been the greatest obstacle since leaving her job, and she was well aware of that. Arelius probably was too.
Was he giving her second chance by recruiting her to help fight oblivion? Had he seen her wasting away along the edge of the harbor, watching the waters roll for hours at a time? As her feet approached the white walls of the arcane university, she considered that perhaps Arelius hadn’t given up his guiding role since her departure. If it was meant for their mutual benefit, it was definitely tough love, for he was forcing her to accept a second chance, not asking. Then again, maybe that was what she needed.

“I’m here for an appointment,” she stated as she stepped inside the university’s foyer. A short, balding man quickly nodded and looked for her name on a long list.

“Yes, we’ve been expecting you, Miss Augustine. This way please.” Portia followed him through a gate and into the university, where a white paved road wound between buildings of equal perfection. She had no experience here since only mages were usually allowed to enter, but she tried to remember the path that they took out of habit. They entered another building and ascended several flights to a small library that was flooded with light from large windows. The smell of old books greeted Portia as her guide excused himself, and she was left alone with a thin Altmer.

The high elf sat behind a desk and held a book on his lap. At her approach, his head snapped upward, and Portia saw that he was in fact very young—no more than thirty, and smooth white hair was brushed backward over his high forehead and pointed ears. His seemingly gilded skin shone beautifully in the bright room, and his blue robes complimented his complexion. His eyebrows rose in delight at the sight of his new guest.

“Welcome!” he greeted. “You must be Portia Augustine. Please, have a seat.” He motioned to the stool beside him, and Portia accepted the offer. “I’m Gilthan Lorenlee, expert in ancient literature and journeyman alchemist.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Portia responded with little interest. She wondered what tedious tests the mages would want to run on her now, yet she could not help but be intrigued by this man arranging a meeting with her. “If I may ask, what is this meeting for?”

“Well, you’ve been quite the topic of conversation among the masters,” he explained, and Portia’s eyes snapped to his face. “No, don’t worry. Very few people have any idea what happened. It just so happens that my involvement was requested given your acquirement of—how should I phrase it?—a certain daedra lord’s personal possession?” He wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis, and Portia decided on the spot that he was by far the most expressive and quirky high elf that she had ever met. He rolled up his sleeves and flopped his book onto the table before them.

“The arch mages fear that perhaps you’ve suffered some negative side effects from your travels, and they asked me to investigate both that and the artifact that you brought back. I must say, they believe that Mehrunes will leave you alone since you’re just one nameless woman, but you shouldn’t believe that for a second. Do you?” Portia was busy staring at the picture in the book before her, for it depicted a large, four armed man with a black ponytail and orange earrings.

“No, and if they had seen how angry he was when I left, they wouldn’t believe it either,” she told him. “If there’s anything that I remember from childhood stories, it’s that the darker daedra lords aren’t very forgiving.”

“Smart decision,” Gilthan agreed. “Because he’s going to want you after what you took from him.”

“How badly?” Portia warily asked.

“You have no idea,” came the inappropriately chipper response. Portia studied the elf’s face, and suddenly he leaned in closer. “Smile, lovely. I casted a silencing charm around this room, but they might still be watching, and I’m not supposed to be telling you any of this.”

“Excuse me?” Portia demanded, but the elf had returned to a smile and his original posture.
“They say that you’re safe, and we can believe the arch mages, right?”

“Right,” Portia lied.

“Good,” and the elf winked. “Now, about your condition, and this I can honestly tell you: you’re fine. No permanent harm came from dimension travel, although I read about several cases where travelers were left with a connection to each realm. But if this were true, you’d be experiencing visions and disembodied voices and the like…are you experiencing that?”

“No.”

“Then cross off that possibility. The second thing that we must discuss…”

“Hold on,” Portia interrupted. “Can’t you slow down a little? You’re flying through this like crazy. I have some questions that I’d like answered, and…”

“Limited time,” Gilthan pointedly said, and his face was again sober. “Pay attention. You can digest and think on everything I’ve said later. Now, look at this picture. It’s much older than contemporary depictions of Mehrunes, and as you can see, he’s wearing the earrings. All the ancient texts mention Mehrunes and chaos spheres, even if more recent art and texts—say from the last five hundred years—don’t mention them at all.

The information was very difficult to find, but I found one mention of what the spheres actually are, and I had to break about fifty university rules to do that. Look…” He flipped the page and Portia found herself staring at a picture of Mehrunes, but this time he was a sleek young man with black hair and tanned flesh. “Mehrunes can change into a human form like most of the more powerful daedra, and it’s said that he once roamed the world looking for a way to more effectively channel the power of his dominion. You see, chaos is a wild force, even for its lord. So Mehrunes found an old mage who helped him created the chaos spheres, which were simple metal earrings that chaos was concentrated into. The wearing of them could supposedly open a direct link with oblivion and its energy, and hence potentially harness that realm’s power to personal use.”

“You’re saying that the earring I’m wearing can access oblivion’s power?” Portia asked, puzzled and slightly unnerved.

“Yes, and the longer you wear it, the more you might feel that connection.”

“So I won’t wear it,” Portia affirmed.

“Listen,” Gilthan said, gripping her arm. “People will want what you have. Mehrunes will probably do anything to get it back, and you’re proving remarkably resistant to its effects. You’re only having nightmares, but others would probably accidently burn themselves into a crisp. The last human to touch them was the mage who helped create them, and he disintegrated due to a power overload. One measly puff of smoke and bam, he was gone.”

“So why am I alive?” Portia asked, shocked. A hand flew to her ear, and she touched the orange orb with trepidation.

“That’s the thing,” the elf whispered. “No one knows, and the mages won’t take it because they might die if they channel its energy.”

“But don’t they want it?” she asked. “Arelius told me that they said I can keep it.”

“Don’t you see; they’re scared, both of its power and its potential in the wrong hands. The more ignorant you are while holding it for them, the better. Be very careful, Portia Augustine, and take these notes. Let no one see them. I’m probably the only honest person you’ll speak to until this is settled.” A small stack of parchment was slipped into her hands, and Portia barely got it stuffed into her tunic before someone burst into the library. This was all incredibly overwhelming, and she was waiting for the significance of this conversation with Gilthan to hit her like a brick to the head. Hopefully she’d recover quickly.

“Gilthan, you were told to wait for the master,” the newcomer, a female Argonian, objected.

“Don’t make a fuss!” Gilthan laughed. “I’ve taken care of the problem, and Miss Augustine is just fine.”

“Really?” the woman asked.

“Yes,” Portia smiled. “I’m not dying, the earring is harmless, and I get to sleep easier tonight. I haven’t felt this assured in weeks.” The Argonian’s shoulder relaxed and she smiled, or what Portia thought was a smile. She always had a hard time telling with the aquatic, lizard people.

“The master will be glad to hear it. I can escort you out, if you’re ready, ma’am.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you again, Gilthan. Perhaps we could talk again at a later time, over dinner perhaps?” The elf laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Let’s not rush things,” he joked. “I like to take things slowly.” He winked at her again as she left the room, the earring brushing her neck as she turned. Was it her or did it suddenly feel warm? Had it always been warm? She wasn’t sure if she was imagining things or not, but she definitely felt heavier leaving the library. She had far more to worry about than she’d known, but then again, at least she knew, and that was half the battle. Arelius had always taught her that knowledge was power, and she took that advice to heart. She wondered where he fit into this scheme and whether the mages were merely trying to protect her or if there was more to this story. Only time would tell.

Keep up the great work :goodjob:

The description in this is great.

Chapter 3: Late Night Visitors

The knock was soft but audible, and it roused the napping man from his place by the fire. The flames were dying down this late into the cool night, and he cursed himself for being less attentive. This was not the sort of time to be dozing, and the knock was his reminder. With a yawn, the Imperial rose and stretched while pulling a poisoned dagger from his belt. Either the company that he’d been expecting had arrived or someone less desirable had decided to stop by. Where was that damned Nordic guard when he wanted him? And suddenly he remembered that he’d fired the moron for stealing alcohol from the stores. Still, the extra muscle would have been nice about now. He wasn’t a man who was terribly skilled at combat, for diplomacy was his field, and he was accustomed to hiring others for less pleasant work.

I can still spill blood. He moved toward the door and opened a small, gated window at its center. He loathed direct combat like that which he'd seen in the arena, and yes, he had attended the battles on several occasions to satisfy parties that he’d happened to be accompanying, but hacking and slashing was not his idea of worthwhile combat. Honor, bravery—screw it. A knife in the back was so much simpler and more appealing. It was with that thought in mind that he stared at the cloaked figure beyond his door. The black cowl hid anything of the person’s face, and old stories of the dark brotherhood came to mind, but Horace Pantrov brushed them aside.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“We serve the same master,” came the enigmatic reply. So it was the company that he’d been expecting. Excellent.

“Quietly,” Horace warned as he unlocked the door and stepped aside. The cloaked figure entered his home, which was situated in the Elvin Gardens District, and moved to stand by the fire. “Some wine?”

“That would be acceptable.” Horace moved to a nearby cupboard and poured two glasses before seating himself in his previous position. His visitor remained standing, and Horace wondered if it was an attempt at intimidation. He could still make out nothing of his visitor except that the man was tall and swimming in robes one size too large. Even the voice gave no hint of race or personality, for it was controlled and neutral. Mehrunes had chosen his representative well.

“How can I be of service?” Horace asked, and he wished that he could at least tell if the visitor was looking at him, but despite his annoyance, he was too well trained to betray his emotions. Danger drifted of this person in waves, telling Horace to keep himself politely distant. He would behave himself like the diplomat that he was.

“Our master is planning a visit to the capitol,” the dark figure stated.

Oh really? Horace knew that Mehrunes Dagon was a proud being who considered humans lesser creatures, so why would the daedra lord choose to appear as a weakling? It made no sense given the prince's disposition, and there was also the fact that Mehrunes was barred from this plane of existence, at least for the time being. Horace's surprise over these events must have shown, for his visitor's hood turned toward him, and the man's smile could be assumed from his tone.

“It is quite possible for our lord to come here,” the laughing tone stated.

“Then the barrier is breaking,” Horace approvingly nodded.

“Yes, but it is not time yet. His power here will be...lesser than it would be otherwise. The dragon fires have not been extinguished long, but our day approaches...”

“What’s the occasion for Lord Dagon's visit?” Horace asked. And don’t you think that our lord will be a little noticeable? The daedric princes were all very distinct in appearance, and Mehrunes was less human looking than someone like Sheogarth or Azura. He actually looked like some demon from a fairytale, and Horace had visited enough shrines to know that with certainty. On another note, wasn’t the prince of destruction a little busy with his plans for world domination? Why come to the capitol?

“He is looking for the last heir,” the dark figure was saying. “And he is tired of waiting for a decent contact in this city. He is displeased with your service, Horace. You have not discovered who is in the Blades or where the heir might be.”

“I am doing my best considering that I must keep up appearances.”

“Regardless, more is required. Our master will arrive in a week’s time, and he expects you to provide a front for him. He is a diplomat and nobleman from Morrowind—one who worked in the royal court as an envoy in the Mercutino family.” Hadn’t that line died off? Horace folded his hands over his lap and listened carefully, his mind already spinning possibly explanations for a guest. “He will explain the details, and he shall stay with you when he first arrives.”

“Old friends?” Horace guessed, a little unnerved by the thought of Mehrunes being under his roof. Serving the prince for gold and future status was one thing, but meeting him was another. He’d only ever spoken to representatives, not the man himself. This was going to be a real challenge, but a great opportunity if he played his cards well.

“Tell people what you like, but be prepared for his arrival. Also, he wishes for you to find out if the Blades have acquired any artifacts lately—specifically, one that might be stored at the arcane university. He knows that it is within the city walls, but not where. He very much wishes to get his hands on this artifact, and that will be a primary reason for his presence.” Horace arched an eyebrow. Mehrunes was artifact hunting? He couldn’t imagine how powerful the object would have to be to draw Mehrunes' attention and physical presence.

“You will, of course, make this worth my time,” he stated. He was surprised when his visitor laughed, and what a nasty laugh it was. It rubbed against his nerves with its harshness, and he decided that he never wanted this man to visit him again.

“Perhaps you should ask our lord what he’ll offer you. After all, he’ll be here soon. I’m sure he’ll indulge you.” Horace kept a straight face as he stood from his seat and took a sip of wine.

“Derision is unnecessary,” he calmly commented. “Can I interest you in a place to stay for the evening?” Please say ‘no’. “Or perhaps you require food before departure?”

“Keep your stores. I am done here.” Horace was happy to see the man heading for the door, and he held it open while his guest left. As the cloaked figure began walking away, he stepped outside with the wine glass in hand.

“Exactly how will I know him when I see him?” he asked.

“You’ll know.” And Horace shut the door, no longer aware of the cool breeze that swept inside with the action. This was going to be a long week. With a single motion, he downed the rest of his wine and decided that he needed another glass.

***********************

Portia read through the notes that Gilthan had given her and sighed. She wondered where he had learned all of this, for she had never even dreamed of the existence of chaos sphere or their ilk. Sure, everyone knew about the daedric princes. Children were raised being told that if they didn’t behave, Molag Bal would get them, or that if they strayed into the woods, Clavicus Vile would appear as a child and trick them. Most of them were not particularly nice stories, and the princes were intimately involved in almost every aspect of life from history to art, and even events that she’d witnessed, like the madness of one of her former neighbors. That would be Sheogarth’s doing, and his followers were absolute nut cases. Each daedra had worshippers, and Portia subscribed to none of them, especially not Sheogarth.

Gilthan's notes supplied her with information on the powerful entities that she had never before known since she'd never before paid attention to the daedra. According to his research, the daedric princes could assume human form to interact with mortals, although they usually didn’t bother. For instance, Mehrunes did not favor humans since he preferred more powerful and violent beings like dremora, and so he deemed it beneath him to assume human shape. He was only rumored to have done so once, and it had been to make the chaos spheres. Of course, if he had transformed at other times, who had lived to tell the tale? Portia didn’t imagine that many survived encounters with him, and so she turned to the next page of notes.

Mehrunes was destructive, but he maintained an orderly domain in the deadlands. In fact, compared to other daedra, he was extremely rigid in controlling his followers. They were trained fighters and enforcers of his will, and they dwelled in a city where merit earned them rewards.

“Some preferred to wander the human plane of existence, and they could often be found at daedric shrines,” Portia read aloud. That, she had known, but what she hadn’t realized was that Mehrunes was trapped in oblivion the majority of the time. Oh, he could leave, but his presence in this realm was never whole, and since the Septims had taken the throne, powerful wards had prevented him from leaving his realm. He rarely escaped, and Gilthan had left her a small note that suggested that Mehrunes was probably still bound to oblivion since he had not managed a large assault on the human realm yet. That revelation brought some relief to Portia, but she couldn't prevent a chill from running down her back. The thought of Mehrunes searching for her...

He's in oblivion. You're in a lovely house surrounded by guards. Summoning the resolve that had carried her through dark halls to seek a scroll and pendant, Portia flipped another page and continued to peruse the notes. Part of her knew that desperation, not pure bravery, had saved her, but then one hand lifted to touch the earring dangling beside her face, and she remembered her anger at Mehrunes' attack on her body. The anger was gone, but the determination to never break at the brute's feet remained. She was not weak, even if she had gone to the market and bought herself a discount sleeping potion this afternoon. She would struggle through, and maybe, just maybe, she'd keep her life.

Portia shook her head and refocused on the notes before her. She soon found herself immersed in their information, and despite her recent experience, Mehrunes’ lore was strangely fascinating. Very little was known about him besides his involvement in Mournhold's destruction and some political tampering, but he was definitely an ambitious and tampering being. Gilthan recommended a book to her, and she decided to check that out later, but until then, she supposed that it was very late. Perhaps tonight she would sleep well since Mehrunes was locked away, and she did have that potion. The seller's advice had been to take the sleeping draught directly before bed and to carefully clear her mind. Normally Portia wouldn't have even bothered to seek help, but she did not know how much of her nightmares were her own doing or the chaos sphere's effects on her body. After all, Gilthan had warned her about a connection to oblivion.

“Here goes nothing,” she mused, and uncorked a purple bottle. The liquid inside was oddly chilling as it ran down her throat, and the effects were almost immediate. Her knees wobbled, and she quickly slipped into bed. The window was open as usual, for she loved the breeze while she slept, and the soft blankets rubbed warmly against her chin. Never mind that the air was cool, for it reminded her of home, and there was something incredibly peaceful about that. She checked to make sure that the usual knife was under her pillow, and then she closed her eyes.

The dreams began almost immediately, and as she tossed and turned, the orange orb against her neck began to glow. Its depths swirled like fire, almost burning her skin, and the sensation would have normally awoken the sleeping woman, but the potion had taken effect. Portia was lost to the world.
…
…
…
She sat on the chair where she’d been tossed, but she could barely keep upright. Her hands were tied behind her, and one eye was almost swollen shut from a sharp slap across the face. Apparently the dremora interrogating her didn’t appreciate her calling his master a sick bastard. It was the truth though. Who else would order his assistants to do 'anything necessary' to get her to talk? So far it’d be rather mild, but she wasn’t fool enough to think that it would last. Perhaps she should just talk. She had nothing to gain by silence except maybe a twisted sense of satisfaction, and she wasn’t sure that such a sentiment would override pure physical torment.

“I told you to speak, human,” the dremora said, voice neutral. He clearly didn’t care about his task one way or the other, and in the silence following his words, Portia ran eyes over his red and black armor. It was grotesque but suited his intimidating presence, and the equipment was highly sought after as the top heavy armor in Tamriel. Very few people could brag about owning such magnificent protection.

“How did you get into oblivion?” the dremora again asked.

“A spell,” Portia half-answered, knowing that it wouldn’t satisfy this being.

“Such a spell doesn’t exist. Speak the truth.”

“It is the truth!” Portia retorted. “Why don’t you just feed me some tell-all potion and get it over with?” The dremora’s face didn’t alter from its stony expression, even when he hit her so hard that she fell from the chair. Her head was spinning, and she fought for consciousness. Damn her mouth, but aggressive comments were the only way to keep from buckling under this being's demands. She could feel the cracks running through her resolve.

“Human, Master Dagon wants this information, and he will get it. If you do not tell me, he will come to question you himself, and you don’t want that.” Portia rolled over, her swollen hands aching with pain from bindings that were too tight, and stared up at her captor. She knew this was a dream, a memory of what she had already endured. She knew that she was about to be hit with destruction magic, and yet she felt powerless to avoid the pain. She would wake up bleeding yet again.

Perhaps she could change what happened and escape this nightmare, but the thought was incoherent and fuzzy as the destruction spell hit her. Everything felt so real, from the cold stones beneath her to the smell of charred flesh. She lost her sense of reality, and yet it whispered from the recesses of her consciousness. Fight it, Portia. You can control your own mind.

She should be waking up about now. She half expected to open her eyes and find herself in bed, blood on the sheets yet again. Wet copper filled her mouth and dribbled from her chin, and she wished that the dremora would flip her onto her side so that she could spit out her own blood. He wouldn't. He never did, and it frustrated her.

Damn it, Portia. This is only a dream!

“Enough!” she yelled, and instantly the pain ceased. She slowly opened her eyes to find that the dremora stood frozen, and she quickly scooted into a sitting position, the stones hard and freezing beneath her skin.

It's a dream. The full realization made her smile in grim satisfaction, but she was also confused. On the rare occasions where reason won out over pain, the full realization of dreaming was immediately followed by waking up. That was how it worked, although she almost always woke up from the pain of her hip rather than consciously escaping. So why wasn’t she awake right now? She couldn’t even fathom how she was so coherent while asleep.

“Ouch!” she gasped as she stood. In dreamland, the mark on her hip was gone, but when she touched where it should have been, intense pain shot through her side. She was bleeding in her bed, but the pain wasn’t waking her. “Damn sleeping draught,” she realized. That had to be the explanation, and so she was trapped here for some indeterminate time, left to do nothing but curse the mage who had sold her the potion. He had warned that the draught worked differently for different people. Sometimes the drinkers were left dreaming of pleasant things, and others didn’t dream at all. In both cases, a full night’s sleep was guaranteed, and Portia wondered if that perhaps meant that you could have horrible dreams but not wake up. You would, after all, get the promised amount of sleep whether or not it was pleasant. She should have known better than to blindly trust a potion seller’s word.

With nothing to do, she began walking, and she was amazed that none of the guards bothered her. They walked by her like she wasn’t there, and what was even more puzzling was that she did not recognize her surroundings. When she relived her memories, she obviously only revisited places that she’d actually seen. This was definitely still oblivion, but she was in areas of the palace where she'd never wandered. To her left, she saw a strange statue of a human wrapped in chains, and she wondered how her dreamy mind had imagined it. Perhaps these images were being conjured by her subconscious, but there was no way to know her certain.

She paused beside an open room where two dremora were conversing in a strange tongue. Their voices were gruff and seemingly excited, but that was only a guess. They jabbered away, and Portia was about to leave when she caught the word ‘Skingrad’. Her eavesdropping felt strangely real rather than fabricated as she moved closer to the figures, and she was shocked when one of the dremora laughed and said something in common tongue.

“We’ll hold them.” The other joined in the laughter. Hold them? Portia hadn’t heard anything about an attack on Skingrad, but this was a dream, and it didn’t need to make sense. Her feet continued moving, and then she found herself at his rooms. Her blood chilled and she stood facing his doors in trepidation.

This is ridiculous. It’s a dream. She had taken one of his most powerful artifacts in retaliation and lived to tell the tale, so surely she could survive this. She steeled her nerves and moved forward, stepping into the familiar room that she knew belonged to Mehrunes Dagon. She nearly had a heart attack when she saw him there, pacing across the floor before his bed. Two of his arms were behind his back, and the others hung at his sides, clenching and unclenching. He only wore a black and gold cloth wrapped around his waist, exposing most of his body to Portia's view, and terrified at she was, she remained stock still and watched him. His perfectly sculpted, muscular form move back and forth as her mouth grew increasingly dry. And in her silent stance, she noticed for the first that Mehrunes Dagon moved like and had the habits of a human, even if he looked like a demon.

Then his head turned in her direction.

Portia stiffened. She couldn’t help it. Even though this was a dream and not a memory, his presence seemed to suffocate her, and those black eyes was looking right at her, not through her like the other beings that she'd encountered here. Her heart pounded, and her hand unconsciously searched her waist for the dagger that was normally there, but Mehrunes did not move. He uttered something in the same unintelligible tongue as the dremora, and when he received no response, he continued pacing.

“Gods,” Portia breathed in relief, wanting nothing more than to leave this place, yet she stayed and watched the lord of oblivion. She was almost afraid that moving would break the peace and make him attack her. She knew from firsthand experience that he was incredibly strong. She had never stood a chance at escape when he seized her that first time, annoyed to find a human in his personal space. She was surprised that he had merely roughed her up and then tossed her to his guards for questioning, for she’d half expected him to personally handle the matter, and yet, he had left. Perhaps other business had called. Ruling an entire domain had to be demanding.

Are you really thinking about this now, Portia?

She took a tentative step backward and prepared to leave. Standing in Mehrunes’ room and contemplating his personal life and physical strength was not what she wanted to be doing. She backed away, but stopped when he suddenly stopped. Her heart began racing again, and she was unpleasantly surprised when he turned in her direction and approached. Like a frozen rabbit, her legs tensed while she remained still. He wasn’t exactly looking at her, but his eyes were roaming the general area as if searching for something.

His large frame came closer and closer, and Portia couldn’t help but back up now.

It’s a dream, she reminded herself. If she could cut and tear at the real Mehrunes, she could handle a replication in her sleep. She stopped moving and refused to budge as the daedric prince halted not two feet from where she stood. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth pressed into a thin line. One of his arms extended toward her, and she gasped when it grazed her cheek. It didn’t exactly touch her, for his fingers sailed right through what should have been solid flesh, but she felt the contact. His skin was warm, but the nails sharp, and a strange burning sensation on the side of her neck accompanied his touch.

“What do we have here?” Mehrunes mused, voice low and thoughtful. Portia didn’t understand what was happening, because this was a dream, yet it felt as real as any memory that she’d relived. Let me out. That’s what she wanted, but she could not leave, and now Mehrunes was reaching for her chest, although he obviously couldn’t see her. If he could…well, she didn’t want to think about that.

His hand passed through her chest and left her tingling with an uncomfortable sensation. She spun on her heels and ran from his chambers, deciding to go before the dream grew any stranger. She kept moving until she found a dark corner where she sat panting against the wall, the feel of his hands fresh in her mind. She waited there for the draught to wear off, and she kept checking by jabbing herself in the side. Eventually the pain had to wake her, and it did, but not until the late morning hours. The potion had done its job; she’d slept through the entire night.

Chapter 4: Dreams or Visions

This wouldn't do. She had to do something with herself, and Portia knew it. She sat on the edge of her bed, the bloody bandages that she had just removed lying on the floor by her feet, and a hand gingerly rubbing a burn mark on her neck. She couldn't sit here all day and think about her dream or the burn that the chaos sphere had caused, even if the night's events consumed her thoughts. Her mind kept turning inward, visualizing Mehrunes coming toward her, and she wondered what exactly had happened. Perhaps she could ask Gilthan, but then again, speaking openly with him might prove difficult. The Arcane University was off limits to most people, and if she was granted access, the other mages would know of her presence.

And what was Arelius up to? Surely he wouldn't harm her, but she didn't think that she could speak to him about her personal distress either. Besides the fact that he was an authority figure, she didn't want to overstep her bounds and make him think that she was the same, adoring girl from before. Gods, but she could imagine him now, sitting across from her at a tavern table on one of the rare occasions that he went out with his subordinates. And she had been foolish enough to speak to him about private matters, namely, the death of her parents and her desire to become something other than an orphan. He had been kind and offered comforting words, and perhaps it had been the alcohol in both of them, but he had mentioned that he too felt the urge to control his life and make it worthwhile. It had made Portia think that they were two of a kind, and maybe in some sense they were, but she never wanted him to see her as that smitten, fresh recruit ever again. The man had probably shaken his head at her suppressed feelings whenever her back was turned.

No feelings now, she thought. Now she just wanted dreamless sleep and a path that didn't involve holding other peoples' lives in her hands. She stood and moved downstairs, briefly pausing beside the entrance to the sitting room when she heard a cup rattle against a saucer. Lucretia tended to take her morning meals here, while the children were busy with lessons and Arelius was away at work. Portia was more interested in finding Gilthan, but she knew that she owed her hostess some attention and gratitude.

“Morning,” she greeted, popping her head into the room. Lucretia smiled and lifted her eyes from the book that she was reading. The woman really was lovely with her raven colored hair and elegant features.

“And good morning to you, Portia. You seem to have slept better last night.” Portia inwardly winced, knowing full well that Lucretia and Arelius heard her screams whenever a nightmare was particularly rough. The first time that she had screamed, Arelius ran into the room with a drawn sword, thinking that there was an attack. He and his wife had quickly learned to bear the unexpected yells, and Portia, for her part, had tried to sleep with her face shoved in a pillow.

“I took a potion,” she explained. “It helped.”

“But you still have nightmares?” Lucretia guessed.

“I think that I'll always have nightmares.” Lucretia's book was set aside, and she calmly regarded Portia with the eyes of someone who understood troubled nights. Her entire demeanor spoke of a patient and conditioned strength that Portia rather envied.

“Sometimes all you can do is bear the worries,” the woman stated. “Sometimes, you can even get used to and accept them. Arelius has a dangerous job, and sleep does not always come easily.”

“For you,” Portia knew.

“Yes,” Lucretia said with a soft smile. “He, of course, sleeps soundly. I'm the one left to toss and worry, but it's easier now. I've had years of practice. It's mainly the children that I worry about...life without a father would be difficult.” And Portia wondered if the man who'd died under her watch had left an anxious family behind. As her sword parted his skin, had he thought about his children? She didn't particularly want to know, and she distractedly shifted her eyes to Lucretia's hand, which was reaching for her tea cup. Portia tried to think of something to say, but conversations with Lucretia tended to be a bit stilted. The women simply didn't have much of a basis for interaction, at least not one that was apparent.

“He wishes to speak with you later,” the elder woman told Portia. “He'll be home late, but I suspect that you are used to odd hours. He mentioned that you once worked under him.” Portia made a low sound of acknowledgement, and Lucretia gently smiled. “He said that you wouldn't want to talk about it.”

“That I don't,” Portia agreed.

“And he'd like you to see a healer about your injury. You're bleeding more than you should, even if the wound won't fully heal. You'd be wise to take his advice.” Portia nodded, trying to gauge how much Arelius confided in his wife.

“Thank you for your concern. I'll look into it when I go out today.” Not likely. She was off to investigate how best to contact Gilthan.

“There's no need for that,” Lucretia softly smiled. “A temple healer will be here within the hour.” Akatosh above, the woman was as bad as her husband, even if she looked more innocent when making such subtly maneuvers. Portia nearly smiled, feeling a sense of affinity with her hostess for the first time. Even if this was meddlesome, it was the first that they'd interacted at a level beyond strict business and politeness.

“He told you that I wouldn't go if you didn't make me, didn't he?” Portia knowingly asked.

“He might have implied it, but I arranged this myself.”

“He'll be pleased with you,” Portia sighed as she sat down beside Lucretia, and the other woman tilted her head with a bright sparkle to her eyes.

“You can't come from the social circles that I do without learning a few things about people, and while you are my guest, I will see to your health. Would you like anything? I can call a servant.” Portia had never been waited on by a servant in her life, except maybe when she'd been undercover once at a ball, and that had been years ago. The rest of the time, she had usually been acting as a commoner or herself, watching from a distance and then switching into her armor for action. There had been better equipped agents—women like Lucretia—to move on more social missions. Of course, she could always ask Lucretia if she was a Blade, but she was certain that she wouldn't get a straight answer.

“I'm fine,” Portia said. “I don't usually eat breakfast.” It was nauseating to eat when she woke up in pain.

“Understandable, but surely you would like something to drink? Alcohol this early in the morning is not the best thing.” So the woman had seen her little collection of bottles beside the bed. It really wasn't surprising, and Portia was sure that Lucretia knew much about her personal habits. The servants probably reported everything to their mistress, for it was Lucretia who ran the household. Arelius was too busy with Blade and guard business, and Lucretia was certainly capable of handling things on her own.

“I'll take some tea, since you've trapped me here with your healer,” Portia allowed.

“Trapped is a rather ungrateful term to use. If I don't do this, I'm afraid that the servants might murder you for dirtying so many linens.”

“I'd like to see them try, but I am sorry about the sheets. I do bandage my wounds before bed. Sometimes it's simply not enough...” And just then a servant walked in to announce the healer's arrival. Lucretia and Portia exchanged a secretive smile when the servant glared at Portia, and a nonverbal understanding gently passed between them. Perhaps friendship was possible after all. It would make Portia's presence much easier on the household, and she sensed that Lucretia would be a worthwhile connection in times of trouble. Her instincts told her that such considerations were not only positive but necessary.


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“And then the bubbles erupted into fireballs, and all I could do was hide beneath a table,” Gilthan stated with a wide sweep of his arms. “Ridiculous, if you ask me. If J'mira does one more reckless experiment, I'm going to request that my rooms be moved. I'm surprised that I'm still standing.” He grinned as the people around him chuckled in humored understanding.

“Come now, Gilthan,” an old, female Breton smiled. “We all know that you love the excitement, and stop acting that you're a victim.” Gilthan was about to reply when another mage entered the room, his voice muffled by the large stack of books that he carried.

“Someone is here to see you, Gilthan.” The high elf's eyebrows shot upward in delight, for he loved guests—depending on who they were. Really, he spent so much time tied to the library under Irlav Jarol's research directives, that even he got sick of books. Of course, he had been getting even less sleep than usual the last few nights, for he'd been sneaking about to read about oblivion and Mehrunes Dagon. Progress was slow, and the counsel kept its eye on who was accessing books with darker content. It was a nuisance to be sure, and with one misstep, someone might start to question why Gilthan was suddenly interested in a daedric prince. Discovery might then lead to harsh repercussions since the subject of chaos spheres was so touchy. His forefathers help him, but he wasn't suppose to know as much as he did.

“And where is my guest waiting?” he asked.

“She's on the steps out front,” and the overloaded herald shuffled off.

“Another admirer?” someone asked Gilthan.

“I cannot help that I am attractive and witty,” the elf huffed with faked disdain. “I shall see you all at some later date. Goodbye.” He was off, walking the familiar corridors and wondering who was calling on him. When he exited the university's front gate to be met by Portia, he was truly surprised and a bit concerned about the attention that her presence would bring to him. Another mage was standing nearby, easily within earshot of their meeting, and Gilthan knew that this would not look good.

“Hello, Gilthan,” Portia greeted with a huge smile. “I was hoping that we could have that lunch that you promised.” His nerves relaxing, Gilthan thanked the gods for his reputation as a charmer. This would be perfectly believable if he simply acted like himself.

“And hello to you, fair Portia,” he said, walking forward and winking at her. “I thought that you hadn't taken me seriously.”

“I take you very seriously,” Portia stated. “And I know the perfect spot for a meal, if you're interested.”

“Of course I'm interested!” Gilthan beamed, honestly delighted at the prospect of going out for the afternoon. His eyes swept toward the basket in Portia's hands, and he glanced questioningly at her.

“Picnic,” she explained.

“Ah, that would be perfect. Lead the way.” They strolled side-by-side, Portia directing them out of the university and a short way along the coast. She kept her eyes out for mudcrabs, and Gilthan kept scanning the air for any residue signs of magic. Portia might have been oblivious, poor with magic as she was, but Gilthan could sense attention on them. From the university, certain mages might be tracking Portia, and even if they weren't eavesdropping, the picnic would not go unnoticed.

“I hope that this won't be a problem,” Portia commented as she sat on a grassy patch of land beside the water. She faced the shimming depths of blue while keeping a small hill to her back, the slope of which afforded a convenient back rest. “I know that the mages are keeping tabs on me, but I needed to speak with you, and I didn't know how else to contact you.”

“It's quite alright,” Gilthan assured as he flopped down beside her, his blue robes spreading out around him. “I should have told you how to contact me. I'm afraid that you're request to see me might be...”

“Conspicuous?” Portia guessed.

“To certain people, yes, but I believe that we are safe to talk here. So, what would you like?” Portia slightly frowned as she stared out over the water. Mountains rose in the distance, clouds crowning their peaks, and the river's surface danced with insects and lilies. It would have been beautiful if not for her concerns.

“I'd like to ask you a few questions about a dream I had,” she said.

“My dear lady,” Gilthan gasped. “There's no need to jump straight to business. Please. I was actually asking what you'd prefer to drink.” Portia blinked.

“I only brought water.”

“Ah, but I can remedy that. Red or white?”

“Red,” and she found herself smiling. This high elf really did know how to catch her off guard. He was the polar opposite of the people whom she was accustomed to working with, namely Arelius a few other blades whom she'd grown close to. It was business first, leisure later with those types of professionals, but Gilthan...Well, as she watched him grin and summon a bottle of red wine from thin air, she wasn't sure how to characterize the man. Certainly he was jovial and a bit impulsive, but she was willing to bet that he was rather crafty and intelligent as well.

“Here you are,” Gilthan said as he passed her a filled mug. “Now, what were you saying? And please don't forget to unload that basket. I can smell the fresh bread from here.” Portia began unpacking the food as she thought about what she should tell the elf. Honesty seemed the best approach, for despite his lackadaisical nature, she found herself trusting this man.

“I had a very strange dream last night,” she began, and from there the story unraveled with every possible detail. Gilthan munched on a sandwich as he listened, and Portia noticed the sharp, thoughtful gleam to his eyes as he digested her words. His face even twisted into a frown at one point, and by the time she was finished, he had forgotten about the food.

“So you are unsure whether the dream was only a figment of your imagination or something more,” Gilthan contemplated. “I'm inclined to agree with the latter. Dreams are funny things, but from what you've said, and the burn mark on your neck...You're sure that the burning coincided with Mehrunes' touch?”

“Yes.” Portia poured herself more wine.

“Interesting...the chaos sphere is probably affecting you, but the question is in what capacity. Its influence will definitely increase with time, which is why it's important that the mages find a solution soon, but...hmmm. The dream itself probably wasn't dangerous, so I wouldn't worry about that. Visions never result in physical harm to my knowledge, but whether or not you'll be negatively affected in other ways, I can't say. Magic is a funny, fluid thing, and when it comes to powerful artifacts, there's no telling what could happen.”

“Do you think that it'd be wise for me to continue exploring the dreams?” Portia asked.

“I really don't know enough about it to say, but I don't think that you're in danger since technically, you were in your room the entire time. It was only your mind pulling you deeper, and for all my jabbering, it might have been absolutely nothing.”

“I wasn't actually in Oblivion? I could have sworn that I was. It all felt so real, and it wasn't illogical like a normal dream. I actually felt like time was moving at a regular pace for most of the time.”

“Being in Oblivion would have been impossible,” Gilthan decided. “Do you remember when I said that people sometimes have connections with other dimensions?” Portia nodded. “If you are indeed one of those people, visions and dreams still don't physically move you. They only allow you to see into another place, and we don't even know if what happened to you was a vision. It's possible that the sphere painted the scenes in your mind, and it's even possible that since Mehrunes wears the other sphere, that a brief connection formed between them. Twin artifacts have been known to retain strong ties to one another, and with a willpower like Mehrunes searching for the other earring, I'd say that what you experienced was part fantasy and partly oblivion's doing.”

“That doesn't sound as bad as I thought it would,” Portia sighed in relief.

“Keep in mind that this is speculation, but unless you have evidence that you're experiencing something that goes beyond your own mind, I don't know what else to tell you. Everyone that I could ask would, unfortunately, be unhappy with your knowledge of the sphere, and then it'd probably be out of the guild for me.”

“I'll let you know if anything happens,” Portia promised. “And thank you for your help.”

“Oh, dear,” Gilthan said. “Don't make me out to be a knight or anything. And have you looked at the book that I recommended?”

“I'll do that soon.”

“Good. Now pass the jam if you would.”

“Sometimes I wonder about you,” Portia commented.

“Really? Me too, but you have to admit that I have character.” That he did. “And strawberry jam is my favorite,” he beamed when he realized what flavor he was holding. Portia nodded absently, for she was distracted by the sound of furious hooves beating against the path overhead. Both she and Gilthan turned to watch a rider charging in their direction.

“Black Horse rider,” Portia stated.

“Yes, and a bit winded isn't he?” Gilthan said, standing. He brushed himself off and walked up the small hill to hail the rider. Now was as good a time as any to grab the news. “How goes it, friend?” he called. The rider slowed but did not fully stop.

“No time to talk,” he bellowed. “I've got to get this news to the press.”

“And what news is that?” Portia asked, curious. The rider looked like he hadn't stopped riding for hours on end.

“It's Skingrad,” the man shuddered. Skingrad? It seemed to Portia that she had recently been thinking about the city, but she couldn't remember exactly why.

“What about the city?” she asked.

“It was attacked. An oblivion gate opened, and half the town has been destroyed.” With that, he spurred his horse into action, and dust again flew about the path behind his disappearing form.

“Damn,” Gilthan cursed. “Something has got to be done about the dragon fires. It's hard to sit and do nothing, isn't it?”

He received no answer.

“Portia?” The woman had gone incredibly pale, and the elf was suddenly concerned for her health. “Portia? Is something wrong?” The woman merely shook her head and muttered something about dremora. With a gentle touch, Gilthan forced her to look at him.

“I think something is definitely happening when I sleep,” she stated. It was going to be a very long night, but she decided then and there that she needed to get another sleeping draught and see if perhaps there wasn't valuable information to be found in the palace of her nightmares.

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A/N: Thanks again for the reviews, and I'm thrilled that people are enjoying this. 2 chapters at once. Consider it a present.

Keep the greatness coming lol! i thought that these two chapters were awesome... it took me forever to read lol but they were great!

I am awestruck and riveted by your writing, your storyline!!! Please keep writing this!!!