Hey, Hautee! Long time no... See? Or something.

I finally caught up!

And I must say:




So Julian never had a boyfriend since that incident, eh? Quite understandable, seeing as there are fragile women than others. She must've been completely in love with that little good-for-nothing, mother-(beep)ing lame excuse for a man for her to be . . . What's the word, bachelor? A female bachelor for over 30 years!

Grr.. Must.. Resist.. To.. Damnit, who cares anyway?! (rounds up some homies and proceeded to hunt Jared down)

The pain of betrayal portayed here shows deeply how far it can sink into one's heart and how it can affect their persepective on love, so much so that some of the broken-hearted people cannot tell the difference between desire of the body or the desire of the heart!

...

Am I making any sense here? Never mind.


----

Chapter 23.12 Eviction Notice


Wow, that's a bloody homecoming. And I would hazard a guess that with blood being spilled on that house, old wounds are opened. My heart goes out for you, Julian.

Well, atleast she 'evicted' the Sirens from her home. I like what you did at the chapter name, BTW. Appropriate.

Good part, and a good fight. I like how you only write the important ones because you write them well and it makes it more of a treat when you do and keeps everything fresh. Killing them all seemed harsh, even for her, though I suppose they had it coming.

It appears she has some interior decorating to do now, I doubt red drapes would be her thing really.


Indeed, I've never understood in game (or a lot of other places) why shocks don't put people down. Big ones (and the magical ones look huge) really hurt, and make all your muscles tired and your chest sore. Good bit of detail there.

@SubRosa: Of course I was going to work the Sirens into this! They’re squatting in Julian’s house, for heavens’ sake! Oh, and how would you know if an NPC has cast a detect life spell? Especially if there is a solid wall between you and said NPC? I think Julian would have been glad if Domina had set those tapestries on fire!

@ghastley: Maelona and Gogan are disappointed, too!

@Acadian: The ‘pimping’ of the old cottage is not to Julian’s taste. Some serious housecleaning is in order once the Guard is done with it.

@mALX: There’s more going on with the reasons for Julian’s love life than just Jared. Hopefully the next few posts will clarify things a bit for you.

@TK: Your comment made me laugh! As for the worst of men and women, Julian had seen ‘em all in the Legion. These three were old news to her. And don’t worry, we’ll hear about the Anvil SS soon enough!

@Grits: Faustina always seemed a little light to me, while the Khajiit was a wallflower. It was Signy that always gave me the worst trouble of the three. So that’s how I portrayed them in the game. I’m glad that came through for you. As for the red draperies, how about a bonfire?

@ureni: Welcome back! Remember that blackguard on the Waterfront? He reminded her of Jared. Take that blackguard and multiply him about ten times. That’s how smooth and charming the sob was. And at seventeen, still mourning her family, Julian was still pretty vulnerable. Believe me, she hardened her heart PDQ after that. I’m glad you liked the title for the last post. And we’ll see how right you are about old memories . . .

@Olen: I will say this, if those bimbos had had the sense to leave while they could, they would still be alive. But no, they had to fight Julian, even though common sense dictates that a Hero of Kvatch who has closed eighteen Oblivion Gates by then can handle herself against light odds like three to one in a fight.

Another flashback episode. Remember, Julian had just ‘evicted’ the Sirens in her family’s cottage, and blood flows once more. Now we find out the details of her mother’s and brother’s deaths.

*************************
Chapter 23.13: A Thirty-Year Old Sorrow

“Do you think we have enough columbine and pansies, Master Relas?” I asked, checking the sack on my hip for the umpteenth time. We were walking back to Mother’s farm. Deer had eaten Mother’s precious collection of West Weald plants she had painstakingly cultivated for so many years. Felen Relas and I had traveled to Gottshaw Inn to find seeds. A short walk along the Gold Road east of the mesa city had netted us several fresh specimens of seed heads and roots.

“Yes, it’s more than enough for your mother,” Relas said. “As a matter of fact, what doesn’t take in her garden can be used in potions.”

“How can we keep the deer away from these?” I asked. “I’d hate for all our hard work to be for naught.”

“Have your brother make water around the plantings,” Relas answered. He grinned mischievously at my grimace. “Deer don’t like male urine. And I think it’d be harder to get a cat or a fox to urinate there.”

I could feel my nose wrinkle and my cheeks burn at the idea. “Ugh, I’m not certain Mother’s going to go for that.”

“You might be surprised what she will do for her garden,” Relas squinted up at the sky. “Let’s hurry, it’s getting late.”

“Okay,” I agreed, already feeling the cool of night on my skin. “It’ll be good to be home again.”

“It’s the longest you’ve been away from home, hasn’t it?” Relas asked.

“A whole week?” I nodded. “I’ve never even had a sleep over!”

“Ach, those townies aren’t good enough for the likes of you, Julian.” Relas assured me. “I think you scare them sometimes.”

“I scare them?” I glanced at the older Dunmer. “Then why do they make fun of me all the time?”

“It’s because they don’t know what to make of you, Julian,” Relas met my gaze. “You don’t fit neatly into any of the stereotypes they have of Redguards. You’re tall for your age. Your hair is straight like an Altmer’s. Your eyes are light colored, not brown or black like most Redguards.”

“And there’s the fact that my father abandoned us when I was still a baby,” I could not hide the bitterness in my voice.

“He did not abandon you, Julian,” Relas contradicted me. I stopped in the middle of the dusty path leading up the steep hill.

“You knew my father?”

Relas stopped a few paces away and turned his gaze toward the mouth of the Strid and the sea beyond. “I promised your mother never to speak of him, but those things the town kids are saying about him are untrue. Believe me.”

I walked toward him. “Why does Mother never speak of my father?”

“That is for her to tell you, Julian,” Relas did not meet my gaze, but turned back to the path and the climb to the farm. “It’s not my place to say anything about him.”

We walked on in silence as the last of the sunlight faded from the western sky behind us. The double moons hung heavy in front of us when we finally reached the top of the bluff and turned for the small cottage some distance away.

“Why is it dark?” I asked as we drew near the gate. No smoke rose from the chimney, either. Then I noticed the trampled plants in my mother’s garden, the uprooted shrubs. “Have the deer come back?” I exclaimed softly.

Relas’s arm stopped me from entering the garden. His gaze was on the ground, darting here and there. “It was no deer,” he said softly, his voice cold like the riptide. I followed his gaze back to the cottage, and realized the door was ajar, hanging off broken hinges. “Stay back,” Relas said, spiking his left hand into the air. Between us and the cottage, a faint shimmer coalesced into a wraith. At a gesture from Relas’s fingers, the ancestor spirit floated through the door of the cottage.

No sound came from inside for several moments, then we heard the sound of the spell dissipating. I dropped the bag and darted forward, entering the cottage before Relas could stop me.

The smell struck me as I stood within the dark interior. Metallic, like cold iron. Foul, like an overflowing privy. Then I heard an odd buzzing sound.

Green light bloomed from behind me. I looked back to see Relas, his face even greener in the cast of the starlight spell. His gaze roamed the cottage, then widened at something. He reached for me, but I turned back toward the fireplace.

In the dim green glow, dark chunks lay everywhere, black splatters covering the walls and floor of the main room. The table where we ate our meals, where Mother prepared her ingredients for sale, was tipped over on its side. One chair lay half-burned in the hearth, two others were broken into bits and scattered around the floor.

“Julian, come outside,” Relas’s voice sent a shiver up my spine. “Now.”

I ignored him, trying to make sense of the strange things before me. Then I saw my mother’s face, eye sockets empty, hair spread in a wild spray from a torn scalp. There was nothing attached to her neck. An arm rested nearby, the healed scars on its wrist marking it as Cieran’s right limb. The air rushed out of my chest when I realized the chunks were pieces of flesh, of limbs and bodies, and the black splatters were blood. Moving specks proved to be flesh flies, the origin of the buzzing, and they were everywhere.

“Mother?” I muttered, my voice strangling my breathing. “Cieran?”

“Julian, out,” Relas took hold of my arm and drew me implacably after him. I struggled against him, trying to remain in the cottage, trying to make sense of the carnage within. A high-pitched sound filled my ears and blocked out all other sound.

Then we were outside, and I was screaming. We reached the gate before my knees gave way and I fell beside the abandoned sack. My stomach heaved, and I stopped keening as the remains of a road supper left my body and landed on the ground.

Relas knelt beside me, his arms around my shoulders as my gagging gave way to sobbing.

The pain in my neck and shoulder from the Khajiit’s scratches brought me back to the present. I found myself facing the fire, and touched the wounds to send healing energy into them.

“Julian?” The voice at the door whipped my head and my katana toward the front of the house. Felen Relas stepped into the light, his gaze on the three bodies on the floor. “Are you all right?” His eyes lifted to meet mine. I shook the memories away.

“Master, you always show up just a little too late,” I muttered, slumping onto the edge of the wide bed facing the fire. I wiped my katana clean with the refresh spell and sheathed it.

“I’m sorry, Julian,” Relas’s voice remained calm, imperturbable. “But you know I’m no fighter. I wouldn’t be of any use in such a situation as this.”

I twisted around to look at him over my shoulder. “Long time no see, Master.”

“Call me Felen, we’re equals now. I kept missing you, Julian,” Relas smiled crookedly at me. “Finally I went to see Morvayn. He told me you had received the title to this farm, and were going up to look at it.” He frowned slightly, his gaze steady on my face. “I have to admit I was a little concerned about you being here alone.”

I looked around the place. “This is nothing like I remember it,” I said quietly. My gaze moved to the floor at my feet, and I saw the necklace Signy had been holding. I reached down and picked it up. This looks familiar. A green gem set in an elaborate gold filigree setting hung from a delicate golden chain. The image of Astia in Jared’s arms, his lips on her neck, the green gem at the base of her throat, superimposed on the gem in my hand. This is Astia’s amulet? The one Jared gave her?

“Where is Astia Calventia now?” I asked out loud.

“What?” Relas stepped over the bodies to sit on the bed next to me. “Astia? She’s still living in Anvil. Married to Pinarus Inventius now.”

“Jared left her, too?” I muttered, more to myself than for Relas’s benefit.

“Of course,” Relas nodded. He plucked the amulet from my fingers. “She hasn’t worn this for thirty years. Wonder how it ended up here?”

I recalled the nude man who had fled the scene. “I wonder if that was Pinarus -“ Quickly I explained the events to my old friend. He hefted the amulet in his palm thoughtfully.

“Pinarus must have taken this from his wife’s jewelry box,” he mused. “I wonder who else gave these women their valuables.”

“Well,” I reclaimed the amulet and dropped it onto the table next to the bed. “I suppose I’d better report this to the guard, then see about getting those bodies taken care of.” I rose to my feet. “I’m tired and am looking forward to bed at the Mages Guild tonight. Care to accompany me to the guard barracks?”

“Of course, Julian.” As I expected, Relas didn’t hesitate. I banked the fire, then we headed back out into the chilly night. We were silent as we started down the overgrown path. My thoughts returned to that horrible night when my childhood ended.

I was still sobbing violently when Relas drew me up to my feet. Supporting me with an arm around my shoulders, he walked me down the hill. When we reached Northgate, one of the two guards on duty outside ran toward us. “Master Relas! Miss Julian!” He looked from the alchemist to me. “What happened?”

“I’m taking her to the chapterhouse first,” Relas’s grim voice matched my grief. “Please have the captain of the guard meet me there.”

The guardsman nodded curtly and ran through the open gates ahead of us, turning right toward the barracks. I stumbled across the Guild Plaza, blind to the city around me as we moved toward the building marked with the banner of the Mages Guild.

“Felen!” a woman called from Morvayn’s shop door. “What is wrong?”

“Get Varel and meet us in the chapterhouse, Athesi,” Relas responded over his shoulder, not faltering in his stride. “It’s urgent.”

When we entered the lobby, Master Wizard Traven stepped out of the sitting room at the sound of my sobs. “What happened?”

Relas didn’t answer, but instead led me into his workroom, where he set me down behind the counter. He poured a small amount of golden brandy into a glass cup, then held it to my lips. “Drink it, Julian,” he commanded, just as Athesi and Morvayn rushed into the lobby.

The liquid burned my throat, causing me to splutter and gasp, but it stopped my hysterics. Though the tears still flowed freely down my cheeks, I could breathe again. I closed my eyes and slumped my shoulders. I sensed Relas turn away from me, the quick steps that indicated Carahil’s arrival.

“Julian’s mother and brother are dead,” Relas said quietly. “The cottage is a charnel house. There is Goblin sign everywhere.”

The oppressive silence opened my heavy eyelids. I looked up to see Traven staring at Relas, his face paler than the alchemist’s ancestor spirit. Carahil’s green eyes were nearly black and her lips were parted in shock. Athesi had clutched Morvayn’s arm, their skin turned ashen. Her wide ruby eyes shifted from Relas to me, then she rushed to my side, kneeling beside the chair and throwing her arms around me. “Oh, Julian!” Her voice caught, triggering more sobbing on my part.

“I’ve sent for the captain of the guard,” Relas continued, his voice drifting as he herded the others out into the lobby. “It’s a terrible mess, and Julian saw what was left -“ his voice faded away as they stepped outside.

Already I was feeling the effect of the strong drink. It numbed my heart enough that my sobs were quiet. Still the grief was overpowering. Athesi rocked me in her arms, her hands pressing my cheek onto her thin shoulder, as if I was a small child again rather than a nearly seventeen-year old woman.

She stayed with me while the others, Master Wizard Traven, Relas, Carahil, and Morvayn went to the old Gweden farm with the guard captain and a few of the off-duty guards. It was dawn when they returned, the mages’s faces haggard and drawn, and Morvayn grim as I had never seen him before. Carahil sat with me, encouraging me to drink some soothing potion while Morvayn and Athesi murmured in the lobby. I could not hear what they said, but I could hear the agreement in Traven and Relas’s voices. Then Athesi was back.

“Julian,” she drew me up out of the chair and enfolded me again in her arms. “You’ll be staying with us at least until you reach your majority. We’ll be your parents as long as you want us.”

I looked from her to Morvayn. His jaw tight, the smith nodded. “I don’t think you want to go back to that farm for a while, Julian,” he managed to choke out.

My own throat closing again, I could only nod in agreement.

“What are you going to do with the farm, Julian?” Relas’s question brought me back to the present with a start. I looked up to see we had passed Fort Strand and were nearly at the bottom of the slope.

“When this crisis is over,” I hunched my shoulders against the cold night, “I plan to enter the University and study alchemy and restoration. I’m thinking of coming back here to restore Mother’s garden after a year or so.”

“You’re going to be an alchemist?” Relas’s brows lifted in surprise. “So all my attempts to interest you weren’t in vain?”

I smiled at his gentle humor. “Seems I’ve come full circle, doesn’t it?” I stopped and looked at him. “What about my father?”

“Your father?” Relas repeated. “There’s nothing for me to tell you about him, except that he was a good man. He left you because he had to, not because he wanted to. That’s all.”

...

Damn. If this happened after what Jared did to Julian, then.. No words can describe what she must've felt.

This is one of the most powerful chapters I have read to date and I must say that the way you weave this chapter was very,very awe-inspiring but at the same time melancholic and gave one goosebumps!
--
Awaiting the next chapter, as always.

Thank you for explaining that, I appreciate that. I wasn't wanting to push you into revealing your plot too soon, it just left me wondering.

I was tickled at how you revealed the siren's actions by having Julian witness the man being pushed out the door - and that she let them speak before revealing they were trespassing on her land - Awesome !!

The last line of that chapter was chilling!

***

ROFL !! - We use Fox Urine all the time to keep rodentia off our property, lol. - Why do I picture Foxy popping on here to say something about THAT, lol.

Oooh, the mystery about her father continues!

Heart wrenching scenes of finding her mother dead; shockingly well written, it felt like being there and witnessing it all.

This chapter was powerfully written, the feeling of having been through it lingers after reading it - Awesome Write !

You can tell an NPC did not cast detect life because you turn invisible after attacking them, and they cannot find you.

Deer don’t like male urine.
Deer are not alone in this category!

A very intriguing little discussion with Master Relas. Hmmm, now I am wondering if Julian's father was an Altmer? Given the last line, I am guessing he was not the King of Worms, or Mankar Camoran.

Poor Julian, to have seen the horrors of that farmhouse. No wonder she never wanted to go back there. All throughout, it was an excellent flashback, showing us more than one thing. You are really good at using them to add depth to your characters.

his face paler than the alchemist’s ancestor spirit.
An excellent phrase!

Very powerful.

Your use of flashbacks is really effective, and the transitions back and forth are seamless.

Well, that fills in lots of gaps about Julian's mother, brother and history with goblins, then opens more mystery about her father.

Plenty of depth added here to Julian and several Anvil residents.

I echo above, quite a gut-wrenching read.

Well, at least we know her father didn't just run off to Stirk to drink his life away. I do hope Julian can finally figure out what happened to him, even if he may have passed by now.

Reliving that must have been especially hard. No matter what the Legion may tell you, you can never get used to death.

That was so powerful, and so heartbreaking. The excitement over returning home, confusion over what she was seeing, and then the horror of recognizing her family by their parts. Moving back and forth between the flashbacks felt so natural. If Felen still isn’t talking about dad, well, he probably has a good reason.

Still think he should tell, though.

@ureniashtram: Thanks for the great words. Jared actually happened about a year after the events in the last post. Her recollection of those two events were reversed, because the triggers (Fort Strand came before the blood on the floor of her old home) occurred in reverse order. I wanted to convey the strength of the emotions that have kept Julian out of Anvil for so long.

@mALX: When I worked in wildlife rehab, we actually advised people to have a man urinate on the flowerbeds to keep the ‘coons and the deer away! I was smiling as I wrote that comment of Felen’s because I was thinking of you and Foxy! And if you ask me, Felen was the perfect person to say that! And I wanted to recapture the power of Julian’s vision in Chapter 15 once more here. I hope now that we know what that place means to her, it gives the message from Akatosh even greater impact.

@SageRose: Julian’s father King of Worms or Mankar Camoran? Uh, no.

@Acadian: You’ll have to wait quite a bit to have the mystery of her father explained. We won’t find out before the end of the MQ. As Old Habits Die Hard ends with the MQ, we won’t know all the details in this story.

@TK: Death is harder when it’s someone you know and love. And I’m glad you too felt the emotion in this chapter. I wanted to leave my readers as shaken as Julian when she lived through that (and relived it).

@Grits: Julian thinks Felen should tell her, too. But that won’t happen. Not anytime soon. Felen has his own compelling reasons.

Now things come back to normal. Sort of.

*****************************
Chapter 23.14: A Quiet Day

“Don’t worry, we’ll clean up the mess for you,” Lieutenant Varus assured me as we sat at the table. He offered Sparky another piece of orange while I sipped at my klah. We were alone in the dining hall, but Sparky had recognized Varus as a soft touch and hung around us while his master sat just out of earshot in the sitting room. “It’s the least we can do for your help with the Gate.”

He had stopped by the next morning on orders to follow up on my report of the three women. “Did you know that we’ve been trying to catch them in the act?” he added as Sparky munched on the soft flesh. I glanced at him as he sipped at the klah. “Maelona and Gogan were planning to go undercover and try to entrap them. The two of them are new in town and could pass as immigrants. But it seems you have beaten them to it.”

“I apologize,” I murmured. Varus laughed.

“Oh, they’ll find something else to do. Already they’re talking about the fight club that takes place every night on the docks.”

“They don’t want to shut that down,” I leaned back in my chair. “It’s what keeps the sailors from bringing trouble into town.”

“Aye, but Gogan thinks they’re luring young boys into the fights.” Varus caught my startled gaze. “And that’s illegal.”

I thought of Midave Sendal. “Yes, it would be, if they catch the organizers at it.” I shifted in my chair. “Well, I wish them the best of luck.”

“I’ll be certain to pass that along, Julian.” Varus smiled. “And we will take a look at what stolen goods we find. Perhaps we can return them.”

I heard the doubt in his voice. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“All the victims were married men,” Varus explained. “You’re not married, are you, Julian?”

“Never,” I shook my head.

“Well, maybe you’ll understand anyway.” Varus shrugged. “The one thing a married man fears is his wife. And if that wife were to find out that he was thinking or intending to - you know - with another woman -“

“I used to be a pilus, Varus,” I spoke with irony. “You can speak plainly with me. After all, I had to give my recruits ‘the talk’ many times. And I know which expectations are unrealistic.”

Varus spluttered a moment, then wiped the klah from his chin with a sheepish grin. “Ah, right,” he nodded. “Well, like I said, if that wife were to find out that her husband was intending to have sex with another woman -“

“And a loose one, to boot,” I added. “That’s further insult to injury.”

“Right,” Varus agreed. “Her outrage would be -“

“Unbearable?” I filled in.

“Unbearable may be putting it mildly -“

“Ah, yes, denial of services,” I remarked, hiding my amusement behind my mug. “I think I understand. These victimized men haven’t reported the thefts to you because they were more afraid of what their wives would do if they found out.”

“Exactly,” Varus nodded. “That’s why Maelona and Gogan were going undercover. But like I said, you beat them to the punch. So now we’ll clean it up and tie up loose ends. It will take a day or so before we’re done with the cottage.” He caught my gaze. “Are you going to stay in town a couple more days?”

I shifted in my seat. I really need to get to Chorrol. Sancre Tor is after that. I’ve been away from Cloud Ruler Temple too long. “I can stay a day or two, but I really should get going,” I answered finally.

“We should wrap things up by then.” Varus rose to his feet and tipped his mug at me before draining the last of the klah. “I’ll check with you when we’re done.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” I smiled up at him as he left. Sparky followed him out of the dining hall, and I heard him murmur something to the other mages.

Carahil entered the room. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said to me. “You’re leaving in a couple of days?”

“Yes, I should,” I replied reluctantly. “I have tasks to complete, and one more recommendation before I can enter the University.”

“So I shouldn’t expect to see you again until after the Crisis is over?” Carahil kept her green eyes on mine.

I like the way she’s thinking - when, not if. “Maybe,” I shrugged. “If I’m out this way again, I promise to stop in and see you, though. I’ve already promised Morvayn the same.”

“I’m going to hold you to that promise,” Carahil shook her finger warningly at me. Then she considered me thoughtfully a few moments more while I finished the last of the klah. “Go to Clesa’s and buy that stallion of hers. Take the time to learn about him before you leave!”

“What?” I stared at her, then remembered to close my mouth. “How did you know about that?”

“Morvayn told me,” Carahil winked at me. “And I agree with him for once. That horse would be a good one for you, what with all the traveling you need to do. And forty-five septims for a one of that caliber is cheap!”

************************
A short time later, I stood at the gate leading into the courtyard of the Horse Whisperer. Thoughtfully I hefted the blue silk purse in my right hand. Am I certain I want to spend all of my pension on one horse? I have so much to do with my mother’s farm. And there’s the house in the Waterfront. And there’s the tuition for the Arcane University, certainly it must be expensive.

Within the open-sided stable, divided into stalls within, one of the white horses standing one of the rear stalls picked his head up and met my gaze, his small ears pricked. He reached his head over the partition, past the gelding that stood between us, and fluttered his nostrils at me.

All right, Blanco. Be patient. I have money from other sources as well. I had over twenty-five septims I had accumulated during my travels, mostly from the Deadlands. That’ll cover my living expenses. I opened the gate and turned for the stable office. As I stepped onto the open stoop, the door swung open and Clesa stepped out.

“Good morning, Julian!” she greeted me with a smile. “What can I do for you today?”

“You said forty-five septims for Blanco?” I hefted the blue silk purse before her. Her gaze flickered from my palm to my eyes.

“With exclusive breeding rights every spring,” she responded.

“That can be a problem, Clesa,” I answered. “My first priority is this crisis. There is plenty of work ahead before Dagon can be defeated.”

“I know,” Clesa’s smile disappeared and her eyes turned grim. “I was there when you gave your speech in the Guild Plaza the other day. Believe me, I understand the immensity of the task you undertake.”

“I can’t promise that I will bring Blanco back to you next spring,” I continued. “I can’t even promise that I’ll stay alive through what comes next for me. But if the crisis is over, and I’m able, I will bring Blanco back to you.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Clesa nodded.

“One other thing, Clesa,” I added. “Why me? Why are you selling him to me?”

Her dark gaze flickered briefly. “Why not? He picked you. You’re the only one he’s approached on his own. That tells me he’d rather be with you than here as my stud.” I regarded her thoughtfully. That can’t be the real reason. But I can’t stop thinking about him.

“Then here’s forty-five septims, as we discussed,” I set the bag into her palm. “I have a few days before I have to leave, perhaps you can give me a few more lessons with him like you did the other day?”

“You’ve got the basics down,” Clesa remarked, tucking the bag between her bound breasts. “I suggest if you have no other plans today, to take him out and ride him along the coast. Get to know his walk, trot and gallop. Keep things simple. Practice stopping and dismounting. Then come back to me and we’ll go over what you need to know next.” She turned and opened the door behind her. “Ernest! Get Blanco saddled and ready to go!”

Before long, I was on my own white stallion and riding out of the courtyard. Clesa watched me go. “Don’t forget to breathe!” she called after me as we headed west, the morning sun warm on our backs.

Blanco picked his way carefully between the tumbled boulders. I steered him gently toward the high knoll west of the city, where a tumulus much like the Aetherius Stone stood. After what Erthor had told me about them, I was much more curious about these stones with the glowing red runes. It's daylight, though, and the stone will be inert. Still, it’s a good landmark.

Before long I gained enough confidence to let Blanco pick his own pace. He settled into a long-strided walk that ate the distance at a good clip. Blanco marched up the knoll to the bluff where the doom stone stood waiting for us. He stopped just outside the ring of smaller standing stones and stood quietly as I dismounted. I examined the tumulus, then took a few moments to gaze out at the sea.

I turned back to Blanco. His head shot up from the seagrass at his feet, golden stems poking out both sides of his mouth. His black eyes sparkled, his ears flickered back and forth, then he resumed chewing as if to say you caught me!

You are so much more mischievous than Paint. I found myself smiling at him as I walked toward my new horse. Blanco finished his mouthful of grass and nosed me as I patted his shoulder preparatory to mounting him.

We continued west, but I let him pick his way down the steep sea side of the knoll toward the beach. We turned to follow the coastline as it wound in a general northwestward direction. I asked Blanco to trot on the firm ground between the soft sand and the hard clay beneath the seagrass. He picked up the gait readily, his ears forward. I found his trot a little hard to sit, for he was much bouncier than Paint. But soon I found his rhythm and was able to relax into it. In response, his stride lengthened and smoothed out.

So this is what Clesa means by his sensitivity and responsiveness. I leaned back slightly, and immediately he slowed down to a walk, the transition so smooth and seamless it barely jostled my balance. Again I double-kissed as Clesa had said, and again he resumed the trot. This time I was able to maintain my relaxed seat, and had no trouble sitting his trot.

I found it difficult at first to keep my hands still, but hours of riding Paint with a shield helped me to relax my shoulders and elbows so that I could maintain a light contact with Blanco’s mouth and still follow the movements of his head with quiet hands.

A soft chiming sound alerted me to something along the coast. As I sat down in the saddle, I turned my head to scan the waterline. A nirnroot! I didn’t know they grew along the sea! I closed my fingers on the reins and Blanco came to a quiet halt. I dismounted and walked back the few steps to where the strange plant glowed in the late morning sun. I knelt beside it and examined it. It grew next to a clump of boulders, sheltered from the sea breeze. I remembered something from the journal article Sinderion had given me. The sea is a sizable body of water indeed. Gently I dug up the plant and brought it back to Blanco. He nosed it curiously, then pinned his ears back and swung his head away.

“Of course, I didn’t pick it so you could eat it,” I said to him, folding it within its leaves and tucking it into my belt purse. “Let’s go on, maybe there’s more along the coast.”

Blanco turned out to be surprisingly patient, and he soon learned to halt as soon as we heard the chiming of another nirnroot plant. It was mid-afternoon before I stopped and glanced at the sun. I now had ten of the rare plants. Suddenly I wondered if they would replenish themselves. According to Sinderion’s notes, they wouldn’t. I began to feel sick about contributing to their extinction.

What’s done is done. Maybe I can figure out a way to propagate these plants. Finally I turned Blanco’s head east. I knew from this point on the coast, we would soon strike the Gold Road on the highlands, near where it made the bend to run south back to Anvil. Silently I thanked all those expeditions with Felen Relas to collect alchemical ingredients.

Varus? Give me back my legions!

The first part is a nice little piece to let us catch our breath after the bloodbaths of the last few posts. What struck me was Carahil (I ain't been dropping no eaves, honest! ). Suddenly now I see her, and her relationship with Julian, in an entirely new light. All thanks to showing us those scenes of little Julian scampering about underfoot at the guild.

Julian is paying for her living expenses with money from the Deadlands? Talk about irony!

That can’t be the real reason.
I keep thinking that too. Maybe Clesa is an old softie at heart and recognizes that Julian needs a friend right now?

I began to feel sick about contributing to their extinction.
This is why I stopped doing that quest with any of my characters.

Are you quoting Augustus, or Suetonius quoting Augustus, or Harry Turtledove quoting Suetonius quoting Augustus?

-----

So Maelona and Gogan were that late! Didn't even get into their uniforms this time!

I liked the Nirnroot musings, too. Nice way to bring in that quest and dismiss it it early, so it doesn't keep intruding. Although you take the whole plant with the Nirnroot, unlike the other plants in the game, I'd always played it that they grew from seed and took a whole year or more to re-appear. I'm betting that Sinderion will have his own theory about them.

Hello, Blanco! You've stolen my heart already, you have.

First rule about Fight Club, you don't talk about Fight Club!

I see my own horse (in real life, as well) is not the only one with imps in his eyes!

It's great to see Julian relaxing into Blanco's stride. Very important to have a confident, but relaxed posture when riding. It helps relax them and eases the weight they carry.

Nit:

I think you meant "is" here.

Ummm....just to point out that I think Husbands usually cheat on their wives with not loose, but TIGHT woment..

A delightfully gentle episode.

It was wonderful to see my mate Sparky again, especially as he enjoyed savoring an orange.

You continue to present Carahil in a very nice way, and one that I find quite agrees with my own favorable vision of her.

Ahah! I knew Clessa was a softy rather than an astute breeder. I applaud Julian's choice to buy the stallion. The two of them clearly belong together. What a pleasant ride near the beach!

Nice detail you lavished upon the Nirnroot quest with some interesting considerations.

Good couple of parts, quite a contrast. I think that's partly why the flashbacks work so well, they offer some darkness and conflict in a fairly quiet section of the story. I suspect this is rather the calm before the storm though.

23.13 created as many mysteries as it solved, it was a very good part in showing what made her what she is though.


This rather makes me wonder. Who was he? Relas seems to respect him, but there's clearly something massive there he's hiding... I suspect we'll come accross more of her father.

the healed scars on its wrist marking it as Cieran’s right limb - this struck me as a bit odd, is there a reason we should know his right wrist would be scarred?

23.14 was good fun. I like Blanco, he's every bit as much a character as Paint was, but so different.

@SubRosa: I figured everyone needed a little break from the blood and darkness of the previous segments, and Blanco was the perfect little foil for that. We’ll see more of his personality emerge as they spend more time on the road. As for Clesa’s real reason, we’ll see about that.

@ghastley: Yes, Maelona and Gogan were very late this time!

@TK: Thanks for your endorsement of my portrayal of Blanco. Even more than Paint, he is proving to be quite the foil for our melancholic Redguard. I’m already three chapters ahead, and his role is growing by leaps and bounds.

@Foxy: ROFL!

@Acadian: So you think Clesa is a softie, too?

@Olen: Hmm, what storm do you refer to? And yes, the question of her father will be revisited. As for Cieran’s wrist being scarred, it’s only to identify one dismembered limb from another in that carnage. I’m so glad you like Blanco. Yes, he is very, very different from Paint. Just how different will be hinted at in future chapters.

Julian encounters one of the pitfalls of riding a horse who knows more than the rider. She also learns the cardinal rule of horseback riding.

******************************
Chapter 23.15: If You Fall, You Get Up Again

Blanco walked down the cobblestones, as relaxed as I felt. His ribs swayed in rhythm with his long strides. The sun shone warm on my right cheek, my left turning chilly in the late afternoon. My stomach grumbled with hunger. I knew Blanco was looking forward to dinner in his stall as much as I was looking forward to the same meal at Morvayn’s.

Suddenly Blanco’s ears shot forward, and his head came up. I felt his rump drop behind me as his head turned to our left. What’s there? Hrota Cave. But there’s nothing there. Right? The brush rustled, and I remembered the way Paint had alerted to the presence of the wolf the first day I rode him.

A tawny blur leaped out at us, faster than any wolf I had ever seen. As I recognized the sinuous movements of a mountain lion, I tightened up on the reins to halt Blanco, leaning back in the saddle at the same time.

What happened next caught both me and the lion by surprise. As the big cat crouched before us, Blanco’s neck rose before me, and I felt his back lift up, up and up. He snorted violently, and I felt his shoulders move forwards and upwards.

Fighting for my balance, I gripped his round barrel with my calves. His front end still impossibly high, Blanco’s hind end dropped down momentarily, then he bounced forward, still holding the rearing pose. I fell backwards, my feet sliding out of the stirrups. Desperate to avoid pulling on his mouth, I released the reins and slid off his rump.

My teeth slammed together on my tongue as I landed on my behind. Before me Blanco belled, still up on his hind legs. I caught a flash of his legs above the snarling cat, then he dropped his front feet down savagely on the predator’s ribs. With a loud yowl the lion rolled away, vainly trying to slash at Blanco with exposed claws. My heart in my bloodied mouth, I tried to stand and draw my sword to protect the horse. But Blanco reared again, pulling his front legs out of the cat’s reach. He struck again at the lion, landing another two solid blows on the predator’s body. This time the cat turned and ran back into the brush.

I stared as Blanco reared one last time and jumped forward from his hind limbs, slamming the ground once more with his front hooves for emphasis. He tossed his head and belled again, as if to say and don’t come back around here again! He snorted, then executed a slow spin on his hindquarters until he faced me. He stared at me, his ears forward, and I could almost hear him saying what in Oblivion are you doing on the ground instead of sitting on my back?

Blanco walked toward me and lowered his head to my face. I felt the warm fluid on my lips and wiped the blood away. “You made me bite my tongue, Blanco,” I muttered as I struggled to my feet. My behind hurt, but fortunately no bones felt broken. I cast a healing spell to take the soreness out of my mouth and from my rump. Anxiously, I examined his forelegs, and found a few superficial scratches on the front of them. Another surge of healing energy from my fingers closed up the wounds and stopped the bleeding.

Well, you are a lot of horse. And I don’t really understand what just happened. Do I return you to Clesa and ask for my money back? Blanco nudged my shoulder with his muzzle and sidled so that the saddle was in front of me. Are you hinting I should get back on you? After you just dumped me?

Instead of mounting him, as he so obviously wanted, I patted him on the neck and picked up the rein. We started down the hill, following the same path I had walked just a few days ago. Only this time no column of black smoke rose from beyond the trees, no clot of bloody thunderclouds marred the clear sky.

Blanco walked quietly beside me, occasionally nudging my elbow. He showed none of the insouciance I had observed earlier. Instead, it seemed as if he was trying to apologize for something. What does he need to apologize for? He just saved me from a mountain lion. It’s not his fault I fell off of him.

Ernest looked up from his raking when I opened the gate. “Julian? Why aren’t you riding that horse?” He paused as the stallion followed me into the courtyard with a dejected air. “What happened?”

Clesa ran out from the office. “Yes, Julian, what happened?”

“I don’t think he’s the right horse for me,” I spoke past the knot in my throat. “I think it’s best you take him back.”

“But I thought you liked each other!” Clesa exclaimed. Her gaze traveled over my figure, then her dark eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

I told her. She and Ernest stared at me, speechless. Blanco rubbed his head against my back, almost knocking me over. I turned and patted him on the neck, using it more as an excuse to hide my face from the others.

Clesa started laughing. I forgot my sadness and stared at her. She was leaning on Ernest’s wide shoulder, eyes scrunched shut. He looked as bemused as I felt.

“That’s exactly what he’s supposed to do!” Clesa managed to stop laughing long enough to catch her breath. “That’s why you should keep him!”

“Keep him?” I repeated. “But I can’t even stay on his back!”

“Oh yes, you can!” Clesa took me by the shoulder and turned me to face Blanco. “Get back on the horse right now!”

“But Clesa -“ I protested.

“Never mind!” Clesa shook her finger at me. “Every time you fall off a horse, you get right back on. Otherwise, you’ll never be able to ride again. Understood?”

I didn’t quite understand, but I understood the tone in her voice, the same tone old Carius had adopted when laying down the law to his recruits, myself among them.

Ernest moved to Blanco’s head and took hold of the reins. “Hop on, Julian,” he encouraged me. I placed my left foot in the stirrup, took hold of the saddle by the cantle in my right hand and grasped a handful of Blanco’s mane in my left. A moment later I was seated in the saddle again. Blanco tossed his head and swung his nose around to bump my right boot. This is where you belong.

At Clesa’s instruction, I asked Blanco to step forward. Before long we were circling the courtyard at a trot to the right. After a few turns deosil Clesa had me turn widdershins. As we followed Clesa’s instructions, I regained my confidence on Blanco. Finally she asked me to halt Blanco. As he had on the coast, the stallion stopped quietly.

“Do you remember how you reacted when that lion jumped out?” Clesa asked me. At my blank look, she grinned. “What did you do with your hands, your legs, your seat?”

“I sat back and tightened the reins -“ my eyes widened at the realization.

“If you had been riding Paint, he would have stopped. But because Blanco is trained differently, he responded differently. And when he reared, what did you do?”

“Clamped his sides with my legs,” it was starting to make a little sense to me. “What did that tell him to do?”

“It increased his impulsion.”

“Clesa!” Ernest growled. “Speak plainly! None of that fancy haughty echo talk!”

“Ernest,” Clesa smooched him on the cheek, “be a dear and take care of Blanco. Julian and I are going to sit down and have a chat.” She waved for me to follow her. I gave Blanco a final pat on his neck, dismounted and followed the ostler into the neat building.

Inside a fire chuckled merrily to itself on the hearth, sending a welcome warmth through the interior. Clesa pulled up a chair. “Sit, if you’re not too sore.”

“I’m all right,” I spoke nearly automatically, but still I took my seat gingerly. Clesa chuckled as she straddled the other chair and crossed her arms over its back.

“Impulsion is forward energy,” she explained. “It comes from the hindquarters and propels the horse forward. It comes from your seat first, then your legs second.”

“Then why didn’t the reins stop it?”

“But they did. They stopped Blanco from moving forward. So he went up instead. That’s what he’s trained to do. And when faced with a threat to you, he turned it into an aggressive action.”

“The striking with the front feet?” I asked. “I’ve never seen that before.”

“Mira Renoir trains her stallions to channel their natural behavior into something that can be useful in combat. And she breeds them for courage. Blanco is the product of six generations of careful breeding and training.” Clesa reached to the table and rummaged among the pile of books. She found the volume she wanted and handed it to me. “Take this, and read this. Renoir’s entire philosophy of war chargers is based on this.”

I glanced at the title. The Art of Horsemanship. “Xenophonus?” I asked. Clesa nodded.

“He was a paladin that lived in the First Era. He studied horses, their natural behavior, and how they responded to different training methods.” Clesa flicked her fingers at the book when I held it back to her. “Keep it. I already know it forwards and backwards. It’s helped me a lot with Blanco, I know it will be useful for you.”

I met her gaze. “Kind of like an instruction manual on how to ride a war charger?”

Clesa laughed. “Something like that!”

“Well, I still think he’s a lot of horse for me,” I mused.

“He’s a far cry from Paint, that much is certain,” Clesa reminded me. “But read that book before you decide whether to return him.”

“All right,” I said dubiously. I rose stiffly to my feet and gave Clesa a final glance. “I’ll let you know in the morning.” I tucked the book under my elbow. “Thanks for this.”

“Get out of here, Julian,” Clesa chuckled, pulling a parchment to her and picking up a quill. “I’ve got paperwork to do.”

I went back outside. The shadows stretched long before me, and Blanco, his tack removed, lifted his head and looked at me. He remained in place, though, while Ernest brushed him down. I walked up to them and rubbed the top of Blanco’s neck, ruffling his mane.

“Clesa thinks I just need to learn more.” Blanco tossed his head as if agreeing, then rubbed the side of his face against my shoulder. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

**************************
A/N: There is an actual treatise on horsemanship by a Greek named Xenophon, called The Art of Horsemanship, of course. Though he lived about 2500 years ago, his observations and comments about horses and their training are still considered the basis of dressage.

Blanco is amazing! He came to life right before my eyes. He is so expressive. I mean, I adore Paint, but… wow! Quick question. What does “belled” mean?

Wow. I disappear for a few days, and suddenly I'm four posts behind. Time to rectify that.

I agree with Julian about the sorrow at the loss of Nirnroots. If only there were a way to propagate them, or conserve them. Too bad harvested samples can't be duplicated, even if there were such a device that could multiply any alchemy ingredient sample by 10... (And that Nirnroots won't get duplicated in such a chest is equally problematic).

I have to ask, why would Relas still not reveal to Julian the information about her father. Whatever Julian's mother's wishes, the knowledge of that time, and the secrets that she held, are as much the rightful inheritance of Julian as Gweden Farm. Have the years truly diminished her desire to know about her own father?

Lastly, Xenophon. While I'm the type of guy that normally doesn't throw in a real-world figure for something completely fictional, I do have to admit that this was a nice touch. I have copies of Anabasis, Symposium, and Apology on my bookshelf, and while my hobbies have never included horsemanship, I also have a copy of the man's work on hunting with hounds (Hunting with Dogs for those interested on a great look at ancient Greek hunting practices). Seeing a similar presence in the Old Habits story gives me a great sense of how old equestrian mastery is in Tamriel. I don't know whether you wanted to use the paladin status as a differentiation, but the real Xenophon was a supporter of Socrates and his own secular views (plus assorted deeds and acts) led to his temporary exile from Athens, since he was considered something of a bad influence and possible heretic.

What a delightful episode where Julian learns so much more about her stallion!

How neat to see him take on that lion. It seems hooves are a major skill for Blanco.

I'm glad it seems Clessa is talking Julian into keeping Blanco.

Well, Blanco certainly showed what he was made of. It appears he was indeed trained in the Vienna school!

None of that fancy haughty echo talk!
Thank you Ernie, someone had to say that.

Xenophonus
Very clever to include the old Athenian. I wonder if he wrote a book about a going into the interior with ten thousand other fellas?

In ETN you never need to worry about having to advise men to urinate anywhere outdoors, it is a religion around here for men to pee anywhere possible that is not indoors or made of porcelain. Don't ever drink out of any "Mellow Yellow" containers that you have let sit more than 5 minutes, for some reason the challenge of "making" into a can or bottle where the product may possibly look similar is a plus, lol.





I think the wives would be visualizing Lorena Bobbit, denying services would only come after they ensured he could not enjoy those of another first, lol.


Great Chapters !!!

This chapter hits rather close to home with me... the very same thing happened to my mother when she was my age. She was taking ridership lessons when her horse spooked and reared. She made the same mistake Julian almost did, and it took her almost forty years to revive her courage to mount a horse.

She finally has put that messy ordeal behind her. Tackle your fears while they're young, and don't let them fester. Otherwise, they will dominate your life. Fell off a horse? Get right back on. Got food poisoning? Make sure your next meal is what made you sick (from someone you trust, of course).

I think Clesa's a bit mean, telling her to get back on Blanco. I'm sure she doesn't want to sit on anything for a while, even if TES's healing magic is miraculous.

A good section. Clesa is right there, I've never ridden a horse but I know the sort of thing.

And Blanco is clearly the right horse, they barely know eachother and he's driven off a mountain lion for her. Once they get a bit of teamwork the deadra will be struggling.

@Grits: I’m glad you enjoyed Blanco. Yes, he’s pretty expressive. Part ot it is his bigger than life personality. But part of it is also that Julian is learning to read equine language. Paint taught her more than how to get on, sit down, and get off.

@Cap’n Hammer: This story waits for no mortal! (including myself ) Relas has a compelling reason not to reveal the truth about Julian’s father that supersedes her mother’s wishes. This is something that will not become evident before the end of the Main Quest, and OHDH. And yes, this is laying the groundwork for the next story! As for Xenophon, he is a very interesting character. He was there at some famous events, including the battle at Tarsus. He was one of the leaders of the Ten Thousand. He knew Socrates. He was a Renaissance man hundreds of years before the Renaissance! I’m glad you like that I paid tribute to the man.

@Acadian: Hooves is not Blanco’s only major skill!

@SubRosa: I was wondering when someone was going to latch onto Ernest’s comment! He just spit it out and I was laughing so hard, so I kept it.

@mALX: He he he!

@TK: Sounds like my mom, only she has never ridden a horse since! She wasn’t crazy about them to begin with, and only went horseback riding on a rental because it was a date with my dad.

@Ghastley, ghastley, ghastley: Getting back on the horse is the number one cardinal rule of horseback riding. Of all the times I’ve fallen off or been bucked off, only once did I fail to get back on the horse right away. That was the time I had to go to the ER for a scalp laceration after my gelding’s three of four hooves connected with my head. No concussion, fortunately. You can bet I was back on that horse as soon as the doctor let me! Yes, horseback riders are a masochistic bunch.

@Olen: It seems that you understand the intent very well! Unfortunately, at this stage of the MQ there are few chances left for encounters with Daedra. Battle of Bruma, hmmmmm!

After the excitement of the past few days, Julian finally has a moment with Felen Relas.

******************************
Chapter 23.16: A Memento of the Past

I sighed with exhaustion as I eased my aching body into the comfortable chair. Relas smiled and held a small vial out to me. “Here, have some of this,” he urged. Carahil glanced up from her reading while I tossed the potion back. The healing surge cooled the last of the soreness in my muscles from an entire day of grueling riding lessons.

“Thanks, Master,” I said, leaning back in the chair. “That hit the spot.”

“Felen,” he corrected me with a sly glance at Carahil.

“Clesa make you work today?” Carahil asked, folding a long finger into her place in the book.

“Who would have thought sitting a horse was so much work?” I complained softly.

“That’s what you get for buying a high school horse,” Carahil teased me. “But does that mean you’re keeping him?”

“Blanco?” I met Carahil’s gaze as Relas left the sitting room. “Why learn all these techniques if I’m not going to keep him? He’s the only horse in all of Cyrodiil who knows what I now know!”

Relas’s chuckles trailed him as he returned to his workroom with the empty vial. “You have to hand it to Clesa,” he called back. “She certainly knows how to work a sale!”

“Do you feel more comfortable about leaving with Blanco now?” Carahil’s eyes grew serious.

I nodded. “Yes, it’s just a matter of practice. I’m certain I’ll get plenty of that on the road!”

“Well then, when you come back to Anvil, I expect Blanco will be a part of yourself.” Carahil stretched her spine and yawned. “It’s late, so I’m off to bed.” She slid a ribbon marker into the book and set it on the table. “Good night, Julian,” she nodded at me.

“Good night, Carahil,” I responded. “And thanks for the recommendation.”

“Not at all,” Carahil rose. “It’s more a matter of thanking you for your help.” She moved to the archway leading into the lobby. “Good night, Felen!” she called, then moved to the dining room. I heard her bid the two younger mages to sleep well and to keep Sparky out of trouble, then her soft steps on the stairs.

After a few moments, I left the chair and headed to Relas’s workroom. He looked up from his crucible as I pulled up the old stool and perched on it.

“I have to leave tomorrow,” I began, then sighed, uncertain how to proceed. Relas stifled the flame beneath the crucible and poured its scant contents into a vial before he sealed it and set it aside. Then he pulled up his own chair and sat down across the counter from me, his elbows resting on the surface and his hands clasped in front of him.

“Yes, you must move forward,” he agreed softly, his ruby eyes steady. “Julian, I don’t know the full of it, but I do know you have an immense task ahead of you. Our recommendations and the Arcane University are like feathers next to it.”

I looked down at my own hands, similarly clasped on my knee. “I had been dreading coming here ever since I set out from Bruma,” I said softly. “But now that I am here, I don’t want to leave.”

“Anvil’s changed a lot since you left twenty-nine, almost thirty years ago,” Relas’s voice matched mine. “Many have died, of old age, illness or injury, others have moved away. The young Count married Millona Silvanus, then disappeared before she could bear him a child. Old Kyne lost her last child at sea, and wandered off into the hills, never to be seen again. Some of your tormentors, notably Astia Calventia and Pinarus Inventius, got married and settled into lives lacking in purpose.”

I glanced at him at the mention of my childhood nemesis. “I saw Pinarus this afternoon,” I remarked. “I asked him if the city guard had returned Astia’s amulet.”

Relas chuckled. “And what did he say?”

“Nothing, but his blush spoke volumes,” I answered. “Lacking in purpose?”

“All he does is hunt,” Relas responded. “Astia is always complaining that it’s an excuse to get out of doing any work around the house.” His smile turned sardonic. “She should talk. She spends the entire day on the harbor front painting the lighthouse!” He shook his head. “I have no idea how many of those paintings she’s completed.”

“There are some that would argue that the Legion is a life without purpose,” I remarked, shifting my weight on the stool.

“I disagree with that,” Relas said firmly. “I think it’s been mostly good to you, Julian.”

“Good?” I repeated, catching his gaze.

“You left here sad, feeling about this tall,” he held up his left hand, thumb and forefinger a short distance apart, “with nothing in the world to call your own. You came back with your head held high, brimming with self-confidence, and commanding respect from all you meet.”

I stared at Relas. He didn’t see me four years ago, when I came back drunk on the ship from Skyrim. But he’s right, I’ve come a long way since then. “I learned a lot when I was in the Legion,” I said finally.

“I don’t doubt it, Julian,” Relas shook his head. “But I have just one question for you.”

“What’s that?” I asked, when the Dunmer hesitated.

“Have you let yourself fall in love again?” He watched my face, and I knew he saw the flicker I felt. “Have you let yourself love a man since Jared?”

I inhaled slowly, turning my face away from his penetrating gaze. “No, I didn’t think I could ever -“

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” Relas asked gently. I didn’t respond. After a moment, Relas sighed. “Do you even know the answer, Julian?”

“It’s painful,” I said slowly. “I look at my mother. She spent every afternoon looking for my father. Every single afternoon, when the Chapel bells rang four times, she would look to the harbor. She loved my father, and yet he left her to live alone for sixteen years. And Jared -“ I stopped myself before my voice broke.

“But look at Athesi,” Relas urged me softly. “She loved Varel, and he returned that ten-fold. He hasn’t looked at another woman that way while she lived, and still hasn’t, though she’s been dead these past ten years. And I’m certain you’ve met many other happily married couples who have stayed together for many years.”

I shook my head stubbornly. “I’ll never be that lucky, Master,” I said.

“Felen,” he corrected automatically. “And luck has nothing to do with it,” he added. “Have you ever met any man that you liked in that way?”

I shook my head, then recalled the Redguard pirate. But no, it would never work. He’s a pirate, and I don’t accept the raping and pillaging they do for a living. I never let my tironii do that. I’m not about to hook up with a man who does that. “No, not really -“ I thought back through the years. Jelin? No, I regarded him as my mentor, nothing more than that. Camillus? No, not like that. He scared me more than anything else. “I never had the time to think about it. Right now, I’m just trying to think about getting through the day.” Blue eyes drifted into my mind, eyes as azure as the sky. What? Why am I thinking about him now? No. Not him. I shook the thought away. Don’t think about him.

“All the more reason to think about it, Julian,” Relas broke into my thoughts. “The man you love has to be one you look up to. Not necessarily physically, but in terms of his principles, his ethics. You can’t love someone you don’t respect.”

Yes, I respect him. But no, it won’t happen. It’s not meant to happen. Again I pushed the stubborn image back into limbo and met Relas’s gaze. “I respect you, Master -“

“Felen.”

“- Felen, but I don’t feel that way about you.”

“Whew, that’s a relief!” Relas made an exaggerated motion of wiping at his brow. I coughed into my hand before I could catch myself. “Honestly, Julian,” Relas grew somber, “I’m too old for you, and you’re like a daughter to me.”

“I thought I was like a daughter to Morvayn!” I exclaimed softly. Relas chuckled.

“Then consider yourself blessed to have two of us!” Relas stood up from his chair and moved to his desk where he kept his notes. After a moment’s rummaging, he returned with a small object wrapped in dark grey velvet.

“I’ve been holding this a long time for you.” He laid it on the counter in front of me. “Take it.”

I glanced up at him, startled. Relas was never one for giving gifts. “What is it?” He didn’t answer, only gestured for me to unwrap it.

The silver circle trapped my breath as I stared at it, nestled within the soft folds of the velvet. “My mother’s bracelet?”

“I found it tossed into a corner of the house that night,” Relas said quietly. “I thought you would want something of hers, but I didn’t give it to you right away because I felt it would only hurt you. I was waiting for your grief to subside.”

I shook my head, swallowing against the walnut in my throat. “It never really went away,” I murmured, picking up the bangle.

“I thought I would give it to you on your eighteenth birthday, as your mother intended to do,” Relas’s voice was just a whisper. “But you enlisted that morning, and left Anvil that same afternoon. By the time I found out what you had done, your ship had sailed.”

“She wanted to give this to me?” The tears brimmed hot in my eyes as my fingers traced the perfect curve of the silver bracelet. “Mother never took this off.”

“It was a gift from your father,” Relas said. “A symbol of his love for her. She never stopped believing in him.”

The metal tingled beneath my fingers, and glowed a soft blue. “It’s enchanted?”

“Yes, though I don’t know what the enchantment is,” Relas responded. “Try it on, left wrist.”

“Mother wore this on her right wrist,” I protested softly. Relas shook his head.

“She told me once that it is meant to be worn on the dominant hand. In your case, it would be your left.” He’s right, I’m left-handed, though I trained to fight with my right.

“Mother’s hands were small,” doubt filled my voice. “I don’t think -“ But the circle slipped over my left hand easily and settled around my wrist. I felt a soft thrumming, and it seemed as if the band shrank slightly to fit closer around the bones. “That’s strange,” I murmured to myself. “Maybe that’s the enchantment?”

“Who knows?” Relas responded. “All I know about it is that your father gave it to your mother to symbolize the never-ending love he felt for her, that it has some kind of enchantment on it, and that your mother wanted you to have it when you turned eighteen.”

And he held it for thirty years? Relas must have had faith I would come back. “Thanks, Mas - Felen,” I caught myself, meeting his gaze. “Thanks for holding on to it all this time.”

“Now you be certain to come back and see this old man, will you?” Relas patted me on my shoulder.

“Of course I will!”

Hmmm, blue eyes... Memory isn't serving me here. Still it was a conversation she needed


That was a very strong line.

Then the unknown enchantment on her mother's mystery braclet from her estranged father. I sense the end of the crisis won't be then end of her story (or her adventures and just as well as I can't see her coping well with retirement).

I suspect we might be off to a certain haunted place next...

I wonder what Carahil was reading? One of those forbidden books, like The Real Barenziah perhaps?

Why am I thinking about him now? No. Not him. I shook the thought away. Don’t think about him.
Blue eyes? It must be Gaius Vitellus! Seriously though, I believe Martin Septim has blues eyes, doesn't he?

Master Relas gives good advice on matchmaking. Unfortunately though, most women do not seem to take it. Instead they fall for men they do not respect, and most especially with those who do not respect them. Like Julian's blackguard pirate. At least she is smart enough to know that while her loins might want a bad boy, her heart has no use for one.

And finally a lightsaber magic wristlet from Julian's father, the mysterious Altmer. Like Olen, I suspect that this will play a part in Julian's future tales, albeit not her current mission of saving the world.


nits:
“Why learn all this stuff if I’m not going to keep him?
Just an observation, but 'stuff' sounds a bit too modern a colloquialism for ES.

I am a little confused with the continuity of Felen Relas. At the beginning he is in the same room as Julian, talking with her and giving her a potion. Then Julian leaves that room and goes to Felen's workroom, and finds him working there? Ahh, I see I missed him take the vial and leave.

I was thinking the same and then I checked back and found Relas’s chuckles trailed him as he returned to his workroom with the empty vial.

If we both thought the same, maybe it needs a bit of reinforcement?

What a sweet episode! Julian confirms that she intends to keep mighty Blanco and then shares some of her thoughts about men with us while talking to Master Relas.

I continue to admire the magic you weave with speech tags/actions that connect dialogue. My goodness, the examples herein are far too many to quote.

I shook the thought away. Don’t think about him.
“All the more reason to think about it, Julian,” Relas broke into my thoughts.
I loved the clever collision of Relas' words with Julian's thoughts!

Oh, I read this after the comments regarding Felas moving to his alchemy area, and after it appears you may have done some editing. Realizing I do not know what it read like before, Felas' location is very clear at all times now.

Not a nit, but a consideration?
'Relas smiled at me and held a small vial out to me.'
I submit this would be noticeably smoother without the repetition of me? Perhaps: 'Relas smiled at me and offered a small vial?' Or possibly: 'Relas smiled and held out a small vial to me?' Sometimes such repetition is difficult to avoid, but here, it seems fairly easy.

A very moving episode. It was great to see Felan passing on a family heirloom of Julian's. It was also most enjoyable they way you explored all of her flaws and gave a good idea what caused them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koI_73OHErw...feature=related

I also have a slight consideration for you. This sentence:


Followed by this sentence:
Didn't make much sense to me. The potion removed her of all (or most of) her soreness, but then it suddenly came back. Perhaps you should banish the iteration of "sore" in the latter sentence?

Well, it is clear that somebody made her benind sore again after she had drunk the potion...

Blue eyes drifted into my mind, eyes as azure as the sky.

Could it be he of the lopsided smile?! Oh, I hope so!!!

A magnificent description of the enchanted bracelet. It made me so curious to know more!

@Olen: Thanks for picking up on that line. I felt it was central to Julian’s still being single after all these years. And no, I can’t see her being retired, either!

@SubRosa: I think Carahil has read every single book in the chapterhouse’s library at least a dozen times! In game, yes, Martin has blue eyes. But in my fiction, nope - hazel, as does his father. And I knew you would think of Gaius Vitellus right off the bat, but nope, either. And I would hope that by her age, Julian would know better than to follow her - uh - you know.

@ghastley: I’ve put in a little more detail in the paragraph before, hopefully it will help people follow Felen. He’s a hard one to keep up with, isn’t he?

@Acadian: I’ve developed an aversion to ‘he said/she said’ and all its iterations. Sometimes it’s just unavoidable, but I still try! I’m glad to see that you find it so effective. And nit is fixed!

@TK: Watching the link on You Tube, I’m thinking this is much sexier. Though mind you, he’s not Julian’s Mr. Blue Eyes, but mine! The irony of it is, he's not even my type, but I love him! As you like to say, nit be fixed!

@Fox: Don’t you wish you were the one that made her behind sore again? Admit it! Eye no da trooth!

@Grits: Lopsided smile? I went back through what I’ve posted to date, and there’s quite a few guys with lopsided smiles! Well, you’ll see (in about a month) whether you’re right or not! And yes, I’m raising questions at this stage of the MQ since I’m laying the groundwork for another story after this one ends.

This isn’t properly part of Julian’s story, but I thought those of you who enjoyed meeting Blanco might like a little background. I wrote this for a contest last year, but never entered it.

******************
Renoir’s Stables

Mira Renoir stepped into the stable, inhaling deeply of the aromatic hay. A couple of the horses whickered at her. The Dunmer following her looked around at the open-fronted stalls. “You keep your stallions here?” his voice was incredulous. “Don’t they fight each other?”

“Nay,” Mira smiled at the Dunmer’s ignorance. “My horses are bred to get along with each other. The boys are raised knowing how to behave in a herd situation.” She slid a sidelong glance at Marche Sudmeri. “Of course, I do take the precaution of keeping the mares out of this barn. But the studs are much happier having company.”

“All right,” Marche’s tone remained skeptical. “Let’s see this horse that Clesa is so eager to buy.”

“Blanco’s this way,” Mira led the slight Dunmer to the center of the stable, where a row of three stalls faced the double doors leading to the riding arena. “He’s eleven years old,” Mira continued, pointing out the sturdy horse who turned his head at the sound of his name. “Hello, Blanco,” the Breton waved her hand in a come here gesture. The stallion stepped slowly over to the front of the stall, putting his head over the rope barrier. He lowered his nose to Mira’s pockets, blowing softly.

“He’s small,” Marche complained. Mira shot him a look. Small indeed. He’s one of my larger studs!

“Oh, I don’t breed heavy chargers,” she stated flatly. “They’re slow, clumsy, unspirited, and useless for anything except carrying Nords or Orcs in tin suits.” She rubbed Blanco’s forehead in a circle. The white stallion closed his round, dark eyes and sighed deeply. “This horse is a real fighter,” Mira continued. “He is a weapon by himself. Blanco is one of my best, by Maestoso out of my smartest mare, Thaïs.”

“A weapon?” Marche repeated. “A horse as a weapon?” he shook his black-maned head. “Mira, I respect your reputation as a horse breeder and trainer, but a horse as a weapon?”

“Blanco and I shall demonstrate,” Mira smiled to herself. Opening the rope barrier, she motioned for the stallion to follow her. Marche’s astonishment was clear on his blue-skinned face as Blanco stepped docilely out of the stall, his nose at Mira’s left shoulder. As Blanco passed the Dunmer, Mira heard him blow hard, and looked back to see Marche brushing equine mucus off his blue velvet doublet with distaste. “Blanco, behave,” she whispered into the horse’s ear. He only flicked an ear at her.

They walked to the tacking area, where Mira quickly brushed the night’s bedding off Blanco’s back. She selected the saddle she wanted to use, a stirrup-less model with a deep seat and a high cantle. Settling the saddle on Blanco’s round back, she buckled up the girth. The stallion lowered his head and accepted the bit when she held the bridle up to him.

Slipping the long line through the near ring on the bit, Mira passed the line over the top of Blanco’s head, behind his ears, and snapped it to the off bit ring. Coiling the line loosely in her left hand, she chirruped at the horse and walked out of the tacking area. Like the good boy he always had been, Blanco followed her, the line hanging in a loose arc between them.

They moved out into the riding area, their footfalls muffled by the deep sand and bark that formed its surface. The sun warmed their backs, and Mira inhaled deeply of the High Rock air. Marche followed, and found a seat on the rail that delineated the limits of the riding ring.

Mira stopped in the middle of the ring, chirruping again at Blanco and feeding the long line out. Blanco moved out into a large circle widdershins around Mira, walking with his head down, taking the long, low strides she liked to see when starting out. Mira assessed his mood, the way his ears flicked back and forth, first at the Dunmer perched on the rail, then at her, then at the birds pecking at seeds in the arena footing. Noting the way his rib cage swung from side to side with each long stride, the way he traveled with his head directly in front of his shoulders, not canted to one side or the other, Mira nodded to herself. He’s feeling happy today. Relaxed, comfortable. Not a care in the world.

“Trot, Blanco,” she said softly. Though he was five meters away, the white stallion still heard her voice and picked up the trot, driving off his hindquarters as he was taught to. He settled into a ground-covering stride, his legs moving like metronomes in perfect tempo. His long tail lifted a little away from his rump, swaying from side to side, indicating his perfect relaxation. After a full circle, he dropped his head slightly and blew softly, chewing at the bit.

Good, he’s ready. “Canter, Blanco,” she sang out. His dark eyes sparked as he raised his forequarters and sprang into the three-beat gait, his back moving like a rocking chair, his neck arching higher out of his shoulders. He truly loves this gait. He would prefer to go much faster than this. Mira stifled the involuntary chuckle, but Blanco heard it and flipped his head, not breaking his tempo. His forelock shifted from the left side of his face to the right side, and his black eye sparked at her mischievously.

Mira brought him back down through the trot to a walk. Best not to tire him out today. She was anxious to show the Dunmer the rightness of her training, the suitability of her bloodlines for light chargers. She had grown up with these horses, learning the tenets of the training from her grandfather, the philosophy that underlay the idea that the horse could function in battle as a weapon, and be quite formidable. She had watched with dismay as heavy chargers became the preferred mounts for the nobles of High Rock over the past twenty years.

Mira interrupted her thoughts to stop Blanco and switch the long line to his other side. She worked him in the other direction, so he would remain supple and straight from working both sides equally.

Marche proved to be an attentive spectator, for all that he was overdressed for a horse barn. Mira could see the intent way he watched Blanco as the stallion moved through all his gaits, showing perfect tempo and forward energy.

Now it is time. Stopping Blanco, Mira removed the long line and led the stallion over to the mounting block. He stood quietly on a loose rein as she mounted, and did not move until she had gathered up the reins to make light contact with the bit. Giving him a slight nudge with her heels, Mira thought of the movement she would initially demonstrate. She needed to supple him first, before asking the more demanding movements from him. Mira knew Blanco had the routines down cold, but she preferred to have him warmed before putting him through his paces. No sense in ruining him before he has a chance to find that perfect owner. Keeping him sound now will pay off in the future, when he will be needed to keep his rider from death.

Mira moved Blanco out into a trot, a good working pace. She knew by his speed that his hind feet were falling exactly into the prints left by his front hooves, she could feel the floating sensation between footfalls that meant he had achieved the desired suspension, all four feet off the ground for brief moments, his strides long and even. At her cue, Blanco moved into a serpentine across the arena, crossing from one side to the other in smooth curves, dividing the ring into equal thirds. After a full circuit, she had him extend his trot across the diagonal. His stride lengthened even further, but his tempo remained exactly the same. She had been told by her ground crew, that at his best, Blanco’s hind feet passed his front prints by the equivalent of two full hoofprints. Well, he’s certainly at his best today, as the breeze from his gait brushed her brown hair from her face. She could feel the powerful surge from his hindquarters beneath her behind.

Sitting back slightly, squeezing the fingers of her hands to tighten the reins ever so subtly, Mira brought him back down to a working trot and picked up the serpentine going in the other direction. Blanco feels good today. His suppleness, his responsiveness to her tiny, tiny cues brought a smile to her face. Of course, for the last several years, he always made her smile with sheer joy.

Finally, she brought him to a halt in the center of the ring. Blanco executed it perfectly, his back round beneath her, his legs perfectly vertical under him, his neck arched with his face also vertical to the ground. Mira looked across at Marche.

The Dunmer rose and walked over to the pair, his eyes on Blanco. Mira sat quietly, and the stud took his cue from her, his flicking ears and fluttering nostrils the only movement as Marche walked around him. Finally Marche looked up at Mira.

“He’s a fine horse, all right,” he admitted. “But a weapon?” He waved his arm to encompass the arena. “I saw nothing there that could be anything other than a pleasant ride.”

“Would you mind picking up that pitchfork over there,” Mira suggested, smiling down at the Dunmer. She caught the flash of outrage in his red eyes. “Please, if you wish to see how Blanco can be a weapon.”

Marche narrowed his eyes at her, but he went to the wall of the barn and picked up the pitchfork with a loose grasp, holding the filthy tines well away from his nobleman’s outfit. He stopped a few meters away.

The change in Blanco was as dramatic as it was subtle. Though he still stood squarely and still, his ears had shot forward, his ribcage had expanded between Mira’s legs, and his haunches coiled behind as he shifted his weight back ever so slightly. Mira saw the wary expression on Marche’s face. He’s horseman enough to see the difference.

“Hold that pitchfork as if it were a spear, and you intend to stab Blanco with it.” Mira closed her fingers on the reins, warning Blanco to hold his position.

With a puzzled look, Marche swung the pitchfork so its tines were pointing at Blanco. Mira nodded encouragingly at him. At least he does know how to hold a spear, she thought as she watched the Dunmer shift his feet to present the “spear.” “Now, Marche, good sir, hold your ground and do not move. Harm will come to you only if you do.” When he nodded his comprehension, Mira touched her heels to the stallion’s sides. He rose up into a passage, a slow, cadenced trot in which his diagonal feet lingered in the air, his raised front foot, first the left, then the right, striking out in front. She felt his rump dropping further behind him as his shoulders rose before her.

Marche’s eyes widened as Blanco came so close that his outstretched front hoof barely brushed the tips of the tines. Mira was smiling again, as she brought her hands back ever so slightly and squeezed with her calves again. Blanco rose onto his hind legs, his forelegs curled beneath his breast, his head rearing above Marche. The stallion held the pose for a brief second, then at a second squeeze from Mira’s calves, he leaped forward and swiped his front hooves out, knocking the pitchfork out of the Dunmer’s hands. Marche lost his nerve then, dropping the pitchfork and stumbling backwards. Mira eased the pressure on the reins, and Blanco dropped his forehand down into a stand, snorting and blowing at the startled Dunmer.

Marche’s jaw had dropped, as he stared at the white stallion standing perfectly still, the breath from the horse’s nostrils stirring the lace ruffles on his doublet. Mira felt her smile widen into a grin. “Stay where you stand,” she said to him. Lifting her right rein, and nudging her left hip into the saddle, she directed Blanco into a canter pirouette around his hocks. The horse performed the canter stride to the right, his inside hind foot falling into the exact same spot with each step he took. She stopped him when they were facing away. Again, Mira cued for the controlled rear, but this time, at the height of his levitation, she released the reins slightly and squeezed her calves. Blanco leaped off his hindquarters again, but this time he arched through the air, kicking out with his hind legs as he lowered his forelegs to the ground. Yet he managed to land with all four feet touching the ground simultaneously. Behind them, she heard a choked yelp from the Dunmer. Letting Blanco prance forward a couple of steps, she turned him around and halted him again.

Marche sat on his rump, his face ashen, arena dirt scattered all over his doublet. He stared up at Mira, speechless. She walked Blanco up to him, stopping less than a meter away.

“See, if you had been a bandit, set on robbing me of my fine horse,” she remarked casually, “you would be laying there dead.” She slapped Blanco on his arched neck dropped the rein, and swung out of the saddle. She walked up to Marche and reached a hand down to him.

Hesitantly, he accepted her offer of assistance and struggled to his feet, Mira bracing against his weight. She set to work brushing the arena sand off his fine blue velvet and lace doublet, while the Dunmer stared at Blanco.

“You see, a heavy charger is good only for running forward in a straight line,” Mira continued. “That’s fine, if you’re a lancer at a tourney.” Stepping back, she decided that Marche’s doublet was now clean enough. Turning to look at Blanco, who watched them intently, she chirruped at him and beckoned him to come to her. “But a light charger like Blanco is lethal in more ways than one.” She smiled to reassure Marche. “Heavy chargers are not suitable for long distance riding. They need a lot of grain to maintain their weight. They do not stay sound for long - many are lame by the time they are ten.” She stroked Blanco’s arched neck. “My horses are bred to go all day on little feed,” she continued. “They grow up in the hills above this barn, they run and play among the rocks. Their legs and feet are very hard and dense. They build strong lungs and hearts. “

“Like the Wildeye Paints,” Marche commented.

“Oh, better,” Mira countered. “They can take hard riding, every day, for years. They thrive on little but fresh clean water and grazing. They can run for miles. They aren’t quite as fast as the Cheydinhal blacks, but they are the toughest and hardiest horses out there.” She picked up the pitchfork, keeping the tines close to the ground. “They fear little,” she continued. “My horses are perfect for paladins, Legion riders, and adventurers who need to travel light and far.” Mira’s eye fell on a clump of bark she had missed, and brushed it off Marche’s sleeve. “Do you see why Clesa is so anxious to buy him?”

“But Clesa is an ostler,” Marche exclaimed. “What would she do with a horse trained such as this?”

“Well, she would like his bloodlines in her herd,” Mira responded. “And the witchmen tell me Blanco is destined for someone greater than Clesa, you or I. I’m not going to argue with them.”

A/N: For those of you curious to see how Blanco performs these physically difficult (but natural for stallions) maneuvers, here’s a link to an excellent segment about the Spanish Riding School. Watch for the piaffe, the beautiful floating trot, the courbette, where Blanco knocks the pitchfork out of Marche’s hands, and the capriole, the leap with the backwards kick that leaves Marche Sudmeri on his rump. These horses are not only beautiful and powerful (look at the muscles in their hindquarters), they are also incredibly gentle and do have mischievous streaks. I’ve been fortunate to meet a few Lippizan stallions at Tempel Farms here in Northern Illinois.

Well, that was quite the exhaustive lesson in high school riding! It reminds me of the time I saw the Lippizaners a few years ago.

And the witchmen tell me Blanco is destined for someone greater than Clesa
Now who might that be?

Let me throw in yet another spelling : I've seen the Lipizzaners at the Spanische Reitschule in Vienna once, way back when I was working in Europe. Amazing horses, and having the school right in the middle of the city is fairly amazing, too.

A most delightful segue!

After seeing that Capriole... that would be bone-crushing! I believe Mira when she says that kick can kill!

And yes, I am aware of just how damaging a horse kick can be, we're talking hundreds, if not thousands, of pounds of force being put into a hard, blunt instrument perfectly suited for crushing. One kick from a horse, even a light one, can be enough to shatter ribs. A great deal of trainers in my area teach that you should never allow your horse to get rowdy. If he is pushing you around, push back. If he is pushing you around too much and making you uncomfortable, give him a smack on the cheek.

Madness, you might say. Hit a horse? Here's the low down: What does the lead mare/stallion of a wild herd do if a horse is getting on their nerves? They kick them, hard, as in Capriole hard. The horse's skull is one of the hardest bones in their bodies, and so long as you reserve it for when your mount is seriously misbehaving you will do no damage by giving him a bit of a physical reprimand. Think of it like a mother spanking her child. It's not fun or desirable, but it is occasionally (though rarely) necessary.

Horses are not kitties, they require an involved trainer (and owner) who is not afraid to get his hands dirty. If you wish to own one, study up on how to assert your dominance over them, because the absolute worst thing a rider can do is allow their horse to control them.

Disclaimer: None of the above was aimed at you or your writing, hautee. They are simply a few musing of mine on how to retain control over your mount.

Nit:

I think you mean "nit be picked!"

I’m so glad you included this, I enjoyed it very much!

Even though you said this is not really part of your story, I think it fits in just perfectly! What a fine insight into where Blanco comes from and who he is!

In fact I very much liked how you blended OHDH with riding, while displaying some purpose to the fancy maneuvers.

@TK:


Don't worry, I didn't take it as criticism of my writing.

While I agree with the fact that horses are not kitties (and kitties are no pushovers themselves), I must respectfully disagree with the trainers in your area about smacking a horse on the head. Granted, you must never allow a horse to push you around (I don't), hitting them on the head is counterproductive to a trusting relationship. First, hitting them on the head teaches them to become head-shy, which makes it difficult to get a bridle or halter on them. Personally, I've seen what happens when a head-shy horse is caught in a burning barn (two big barns in the area burned within a week of each other, and the survivors ended up in the vet teaching hospital my first year of vet school). Valuable seconds is lost while the rescuer is trying to get the horse out safely, or the horse is left behind for another more amenable creature, and suffers for it. Second, hitting the horse with your hands teaches him to avoid your hands. Again, that is counterproductive to building a partnership with your horse, one based on mutual respect and trust.

Instead, I kick them when they get pushy. I aim my kicks at their shoulders, ribs and haunches, and never use the point of my shoe, but rather the ball of the foot (or sometimes the side of the foot). Among themselves, horses aim their kicks at the body, seldom at the head or the neck. So when I do the same thing to them, even though it may lack the impact of a real horse kick, it gets the message across in clear equine language. And horses are smart when you speak their language. They get it.

Julian is lucky that Blanco has already been trained to respect people. He is not pushy around them, and knows not to crowd them. I know such horses really exist, because I've been around them. I've been spoiled by some of the best-behaved stallions in the equine world. And I've worked with some that were brought up badly, and were untrustworthy as a result.

A pleasant interlude... I can imagine being kicked by a horse wouldn't be a bundle of fun, especially if it had been trained. From Mira's description Blanco is exactly the horsde Julian needs.

I wonder when she'll get to grips with all he can do.

@SubRosa: That was why I didn’t enter it in the short story competition! Not everyone gets into the technical aspects of horseback riding, let alone appreciate the partnership between horse and rider that makes training of this caliber possible.

@ghastley: Then I’m a bit jealous of you! I’ve never been to Vienna.

@TK: I rather thought you might enjoy the little tidbit about Blanco’s background.

@Grits: You’re welcome!

@Acadian: Thanks for the kind words. I have ridden an upper-level dressage horse a couple of times, and remain impressed by how sensitive these guys are. It really doesn’t take much, a mere thought of an aid, for them to understand what you want next. The best rider/horse combinations have the rider merely sitting on the horse without any visible cues, and the horse is executing complex maneuvers flawlessly. That is the standard at the Spanish Riding School, and it’s impressive to watch when you know what to look for.

@Olen: Having been kicked by a horse myself, I can assure you that it isn’t fun! Yes, I wonder too when Julian will get a handle on all Blanco can do for her!

Chapter 23 showed us what Anvil means to Julian, and some of the reasons why she has avoided her hometown for so long. With a slightly better understanding of the potential of a highly-trained charger, Julian presses on with her Grand Circuit of Cyrodill. She makes a few stops on her way up to Chorrol.

************************************
Chapter 24.1: Return to Kvatch

Blanco snorted as I drew him to a halt. He stood quietly, his ears tipped forward, and I dropped the rein on his neck in a signal to stand. The setting sun cast a soft warm glow over the left side of his neck. I turned to glance behind me.

Sebastian Manus, the rich russet tones of his Anvil surcoat subdued by the dust of the road, caught my gaze and signaled his men to hold. He stepped forward with a susurrus of mail to stand at my left stirrup.

“The camp is just down the road a bit,” I indicated the meadow visible at the base of the mesa. “I’m not certain how they’ll accommodate all of you,” my gaze flickered back over the guard contingent and the tradespeople beyond. “Let me go ahead and talk to Boldon first.” Now I pointed out the glade that sheltered the entrance to Belletor’s Folly. “There’s water there, if you want to refill your canteens. It’s a good place to rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Manus nodded briskly. “We’ll wait for word from you.”

“Thanks, Manus,” I picked up the rein. Blanco gathered himself, ready for my signal. “Someone will be up shortly.” With a nod of farewell at the Anvil guard lieutenant, I double-kissed at Blanco. He set off in a steady trot that ate up the distance from the abandoned mine to the camp.

The sun winked out behind the bluffs to the west when we reached the outlying tents of the camp. I slowed Blanco to a sedate walk along the road, now the camp’s main street, toward gra-Sharob’s fire. The big Orsimer looked up from her forge when I halted. Next to her, young Avik, his brown eyes rimmed with white in his soot-smeared face, stared at Blanco, the bellows momentarily forgotten.

“Hail, Julian!” gra-Sharob greeted me with the warm heartiness I had grown accustomed to from her. “Welcome back!” Her black eyes moved over Blanco’s form glowing in the dark. “And on a new horse, I see!”

“This is Blanco,” I responded, dropping the reins and dismounting. I paused to dig an apple out of the saddle bag and bit into it. Avik watched with wonder as Blanco took the bite from my hand. “I bought him in Anvil.”

“Never seen anyone like him,” gra-Sharob shook her head as she walked around the motionless stallion. “But he suits you just fine, Julian!” she added, returning to the fire. “Avik, are you forgetting something?”

With a start the young Redguard turned back to the bellows and worked energetically away, sending me a sidelong glance.

“Do you have something for me to repair?” gra-Sharob asked as she reached into the forge with long handled tongs. I recognized the head of a mallet as she drew it out of the fire and set it on the anvil.

“No, not this time,” I answered. “The road between here and Anvil is clear for the moment.” I looked at Avik. “But I’m looking for Boldon. Do you know where he is?”

Avik nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Pa’s west of here. They’re puttin’ in a new well on the west side of the meadow.”

“All right, thanks,” I said to the young boy. He grinned back at me. “I’ll talk to you both later.”

Blanco walked at my shoulder, taking bites of the apple as we wove our way through the tents toward the open area where Paint had spent time two months ago. A milk cow and two goats stared wonderingly at us while we walked toward the tumbled boulders at the western edge.

Torches flared into life in the growing dusk, revealing the location of the work party. The apple gone, I motioned to Blanco to stand in place, and continued forward alone. “Hail, Boldon!” I called.

“Julian?” The reply directed my feet toward a figure that separated from the rest of the work party. He picked up one of the fresh torches and stepped away from the others. “Welcome back!”

“Thanks, Boldon,” I replied. “I bring aid from Anvil.”

“What?” The careworn Redguard stopped before me, his eyes wide. “Aid? And what of Skingrad?”

“I still need to report to the Count,” I answered. “But people in Anvil have been wanting to send aid to you. I told them what I thought you needed, and there are supplies and people here to help you get ready for winter.”

“Where are they?” Boldon looked past me, but saw only Blanco shimmering in the growing dusk.

“I left them near Belletor’s Folly,” I answered as we started walking toward the white stallion. “There’s also eight contubernii on their way to Bruma. The soldiers will be moving on in the morning.” I glanced at Boldon. “I’m certain you’ll want to figure out where to put everyone and everything.”

“Well, the folks from Anvil are welcome to pitch their tents south of the camp,” Boldon said. “There’s still some room, I think. Let’s leave the supplies at Belletor’s Folly, they’ll be safe within the mine.”

“And I’m certain the guardsmen won’t mind camping there, either,” I added. “There’s fresh water and shelter from the wind. They don’t want to overload your resources.”

Boldon paused and cast his gaze around the makeshift pasture. “There’s room for eight tents,” his gesture encompassed the south end of the meadow. “They can come down and camp here. Savlian won’t mind telling them about what to expect in the Deadlands.”

We stopped beside Blanco, who had been watching our progress with interest. “And now you have a new horse as well,” Boldon stated, holding his callused hand out for Blanco to sniff.

“I bought him from Clesa,” I shook my head. “I’m still not certain who got the better deal, her or me.”

“I’d say it is the horse,” Boldon’s grin gleamed. Blanco tossed his head as if agreeing. “Well, find Irinwe and have her run up to Belletor’s Folly. I think she’s helping Lenka Valus with the cooking.” He handed me the torch. “I’ll take care of Blanco, and see that he gets fed.”

“He doesn’t need much, really,” I answered. “Just a handful of grain, or none if you’ve little to spare.” I nodded toward the other animals. “I see you’ve managed to scrounge a few livestock.”

“They were all we could find after the carnage,” Boldon replied, already removing Blanco’s bridle. I took my pack from the saddle before he loosened the girth. “I’ll come by after dinner, and we’ll discuss what we still need after I’ve had a chance to see what the folks from Anvil brought us.”

As Boldon had suggested, I found Irinwe chopping root vegetables for a careworn Imperial woman. The slight Altmer’s melancholic face transformed into a brilliant smile when I spoke her name. “Julian!” She set her knife down and ran to me, flinging her arms around my waist. “You came back!”

“Yes, and I didn’t come alone this time,” I hugged the child back. She turned to the Imperial woman, who regarded me with wary curiosity.

“Lenka Valus, this is Julian, the woman I was telling you about!”

“I remember you,” Valus wiped her hands on her apron before taking mine in hers. “You got us safely out of Kvatch.”

“That was Matius,” I shook my head. “I was just along for moral support more than anything else.” I turned back to Irinwe. “I need you to do something for me, all right?”

“What can I do?” The Altmer girl bounced on her toes, her weariness forgotten.

“There’s a group of guards and people from Anvil waiting out near Belletor’s Folly,” I said to her. “Boldon said the guards can camp in the south end of the meadow, and the others can set up just past the southern edge of the tents here. The supplies they brought can be put inside the mine. If you would go and show them where to put everything and where to go, that would be wonderful.”

Irinwe glanced at Valus, who nodded in resignation. “I’ll get Melissada to help!” The slight Altmer girl removed her apron and darted away. I met Valus’s gaze.

“I apologize for stealing your help away from you,” I said quietly.

“Ah, a girl as young as that can’t work all day and not have time to run and have a good time!” Valus shrugged her shoulders. “Besides, it’s a never ending chore, cooking for fifty or more people!” She moved to the counter and began chopping the remaining vegetables. “Now shoo, I’ve got work to do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I inclined my head at her before walking away.

“Hello Julian,” Oleta’s warm voice caught my attention as I worked my way to Sigrid’s tent. I paused to wait for the older Redguard woman. She smiled at me. “You kept your promise and came back.”

“Of course,” I replied. “I have never forgotten Kvatch.” I cast my gaze upwards. “How is Matius doing with the ruins?”

Oleta’s eyes darkened as we turned south along the road. “They’re still digging up bodies. The Guild Plaza has been cleared, and the broken steeple taken down. But they’ve made little headway beyond.”

“I see you have some stones from the buildings here reinforcing your tents,” I gestured at the structures around me. Many of the tents had stone walls up to shoulder height.

“Matius’s idea,” Oleta nodded. “We spent two weeks bringing stones down from up there. Just the smaller ones, mind you!”

“The Countess of Anvil sent help, so you should have more strong arms to help with the hard work,” I said. “And Count Skingrad is waiting to hear what is needed most.”

“Yes, Boldon had mentioned something about that,” Oleta met my gaze briefly. “I gave him my list of the most needed items.”

“The people of Anvil sent along several hundredweights of smoked fish, salt cod, and produce. That should help get you through the winter.”

“That is much appreciated,” Oleta’s weary smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“And Felen Relas sent some healing potions,” I added. He had taken all of the daedra hearts I had, and distilled them into potions of varying strengths. “There’s some Fire of Life potions in the batch.”

Oleta stopped and gazed down the road. We now stood near the edge of the camp, and could see torches swirling in the glade that marked Belletor’s Folly. “Fire of Life?” she repeated. “That is very potent stuff, indeed. She lifted her gaze to the starlit sky above us. “It was developed by a Redguard woman in Anvil, as I recall.”

“The Redguard woman was my mother,” I said quietly. “She and Master Relas collaborated on it.”

Oleta turned to face me. “And now you are walking in her footsteps, Julian.” This time her smile touched her dark eyes. “Your mother would be very proud if she were to see you today.”

Reading that, I'd have to say I agree with you. Thankfully for me, I have never had any trouble with my own gelding at this point, for he is quite well behaved. I'm just glad that we at least see eye-to-eye on the occasional, if rare, need to get physical with a badly misbehaving horse.

I will get back to you on your latest as soon as I can.

I saw gra-Shelob eying Blanco with a hungry look! I bet she is planning a barbecue!

A nice semi-homecoming to Kvatch. I see the survivors are turning their camp into a more permanent settlement. I would have expected as much. It seems more likely they would build a new town where they are, rather than try to rebuild all of Kvatch all by themselves. Although I see in the JF, they are not completely abandoned by the rest of Cyrodiil, as Kvatch is in the game.

Fire of Life potions? Did Julian's mother invent viagra?



nits:
I slowed Blanco to a sedate walk and walked along the road
You have a repetition of walk here. You might try something like:
I slowed Blanco to a sedate walk along the road

A hero's welcome back in the Kvatch encampment for our dear Redguard. And this time she didn't come alone. I imagine she will be splitting off from the forces back in Weye, since she does still have business in Chorrol. I also think Paint will be quite interested in meeting Blanco, too! I look forward to that!

Quick, Julian! Get Blanco away from her! Horse and fire are two things you must never let an Orsimer see together!

Step one of rebuilding: clearing away the remains of the old buildings. I hope Julian will be able to see Kvatch restored to its former glory.

This is loaded with subtle touches that I so enjoyed. Here are just some of the pieces that struck me and contributed to the rich tapestry you weave at the Kvatch encampment -

Help from Skingrad will follow - and I expect Julian may stop there soon. Plenty of help from Countess Anvil. What type of staples would one expect from Julian's beautiful city by the sea but preserved fish? Bolden and his crew digging a new well. Savlian directing heavier clearing operations up inside the walls - and things going slowly. Feeding over fifty people everyday and what it takes to do that. Bolden continuing to try and provide 'stable services' despite the conditions. Help from the guild of mages at Anvil.

I see Julian and Blanco continue to grow closer. The distinctive stallion will no doubt continue to attract attention everywhere he goes.

Awesome write Haute! The building of your story always feels like a gathering storm.

I am convinced that the Kvatch encampment is Julian's real home. There is a slight change of personality that always comes over her and her horse (Blanco! Wow!) when she goes there. Sure, Anvil will always be where the heart is, but Kvatch will always be the focus of her determination.


I loved this! The character goes from a transition of togetherness (the apple & horse) to a lonely solitude that symbolizes reaching (or nearing) her goal.

I like the way Kvatch is coming along. They seem to have found the balance between the number of people they need to do the work and the amount of work it takes to care for the people. Using the surrounding area for settlement is brilliant. I would never have thought to use the mine!

@SubRosa: Let gra-Shelob try to make BBQ out of Blanco! He’ll kick her head off! Nit fixed.

@TK: Actually, Julian will split from Manus and his troops sooner, as she will stop off in Skingrad while they continue on to Bruma. She’ll go ahead of them as she can travel faster.

@Acadian: This was another segment where I felt a review of what’s going on was called for. And I’m glad you liked seeing the changes at Kvatch.

@WinterWolf: Welcome back, lupine friend! As for Kvatch and Julian, you’re pretty close to the mark. I’m glad you liked Blanco. I remember you and Destri always wanted Paint to do more. Well, hopefully Blanco will meet your needs for a heroic mount! And I found your Skyrim note absolutely hilarious!

@Grits: From all the reading I’ve done, I know that underground chambers (root cellars, mines, caves, etc) are great places for storing perishable foodstuffs through the winter - they won’t spoil so quickly, and they won’t freeze, either. Now if you want ice cream -

*************************
Chapter 24.2 Taking Stock

“We don’t need charity,” Matius addressed the fire. “What we need are the means to regain our self-sufficiency.” His words had the air of an old argument.

“But we must get through the winter first before we can work at becoming self-reliant again,” Boldon countered.

There were several of us around the small fire in front of Sigrid’s tent - Matius and Boldon as the unofficial leaders of the Kvatch refugees, Sigrid and Oleta who represented the Guilds and the Chapel respectively, and gra-Sharob as the sole surviving craftsperson, as well as Manus and Enilroth, who had accompanied me from Anvil. While Manus intended to continue on with his guardsmen to Bruma, Enilroth planned to return to Anvil once he had a clearer idea of what was still needed.

“There is fresh produce that can be dried and preserved for the winter,” Oleta said. “Also we have plenty of seafood that has been salted or dried to keep easily.”

“What we lack are ingredients of our own to make potions,” Sigrid added, “though the healing potions Felen Relas sent up are much appreciated. The Mages Guild chapter here once had a comprehensive herb garden, all is now lost.”

“I’m certain both Relas and Sinderion will send along seed stock to help you re-establish your garden come spring.” I exchanged glances with Enilroth, who nodded his comprehension.

“We lost much of our livestock,” Boldon added. “If we can get more goats, sheep, or even a few milk cows, it would be much appreciated.”

“I think Skingrad would be glad to provide some sheep to you,” I responded. “As for the rest, we’ll see what we can rustle up.”

Matius met my gaze across the fire. “No stealing, Julian,” he shook a finger at me. When the chuckles subsided, he grew somber. “Most of all, I think we need knowledge. We need people with experience in construction. If we are to rebuild Kvatch, we’ll have to start from the ground up.”

“The more immediate need are muscles,” Boldon added. “Unskilled labor to clear away the rubble, to take care of the dead.”

“We also need fuel for the funeral pyres,” Matius nodded. “Charcoal, firestone, and pitch.” He shook his head. “I hate to cut down all the trees around here, because we’ll have need of them in the future.”

“Don’t cut them down,” I agreed. “Enilroth will tell the Countess what you need. She has already ordered increased shipments of firestone from Hammerfell in anticipation of increased need for heating fuel for the winter.”

“You should also ask Skingrad for spun or woven wool for winter garments,” Enilroth suggested quietly. “Anvil is a more temperate climate, we have little that is suitable for these highland winters such as you get here.”

“Aye, that’s a good point,” Sigrid nodded. “Thread and needles, too.”

“Those we can provide,” Enilroth made a notation on a piece of parchment that rested on his thigh. “Scissors, too. I’ll see if Morvayn will make several pairs for you.” He glanced over at gra-Sharob. “Anything you need from our forge, ma’am?”

“Other than fuel?” At the Bosmer’s nod, gra-Sharob tilted her head back in thought. “Iron ingots would be good. We’re salvaging as much metal as we can from the ruins, but the fire has weakened much of it. We have need for construction tools, and I’d prefer to use virgin iron for that.”

“Steel would be better, wouldn’t it ma’am?” Enilroth’s tone held respect, and not just because of the Orsimer’s massive bulk next to him.

“I have everything else here I need to make steel,” gra-Sharob remarked. “Plenty of carbon in those burnt trees, and tungstenite in Belletor’s Folly.”

“That’s good,” Enilroth nodded. “Then I will tell Morvayn you need more pig iron.”

Manus turned to Matius. “The Countess wants to know if you need more guards here,” he said quietly. I glanced at the lieutenant.

“More would be good,” Matius agreed. “But right now all they’re doing is body collection and care.” He glanced at me. “I think some of them are itching for some action.”

“They can go with Manus’s men to Bruma,” I responded. “Countess Carvain is looking for reinforcements from all the other towns. I know you can’t spare the men, but it’s an option if you’d rather avoid an insurrection.”

“That isn’t a bad idea, if you’re up for it,” Manus said. He slapped his hands on his knees and rose. “It’s getting late, and I’ve got to see my men settled for the night. I’ll see you again in the morning, Matius, Julian.” With a salute, he turned and disappeared into the night.

“I’m turning in, too,” Matius stood. He sent me a dark look. “Julian, if I may have a few moments with you?”

I excused myself from the others, who had already returned to the question of supplies and materials needed for the winter. Matius and I walked north, toward the black shadow of the mesa bulking against the northern stars. He didn’t speak again until we reached the point where the road started climbing. He stopped and looked back at the scattered torchlights of the camp.

“I’ve sent to the Imperial City asking for aid several times - men, material, skilled craftsmen. I’ve had no response from them.”

“The Legion is stretched pretty thin,” I remarked. “The patrols have been decimated by these Oblivion Gates, and the provinces are hard hit as well.”

“They’ve always been stretched thin,” Matius’s tone held bitterness. “But I’m glad that we have Anvil and Skingrad for neighbors. I’d rather we were beholden to them than to the Elder Council.” I sensed his head turn to me. “Julian, would you have asked me for those men if Manus had not brought the subject up?”

I considered his question. “I’m not certain,” I said finally. “I know you’re tight on resources, and security is a problem. I’ve noticed bandits have become more prevalent on the roads since this crisis started, and it’s because of the daedra attacking everything and anything. Skingrad lost two contubernii worth of men to that Gate, and Anvil nearly as many.”

“And we lost one of the legionaries when we took Kvatch back,” Matius added. “It can add up over time.” We stood silently for a few moments. “Julian, tell me the truth?”

“Of course, Matius,” I responded.

“Will this ever end? Will we survive Dagon, or will we fall to him?”

I closed my eyes against the despair I heard in Matius’s voice. The past couple of months have taken their toll on him. I had been dismayed by how gaunt and worn he had appeared when he joined us for dinner. Though he had been glad to see me, I could see the nightmares that still shadowed his eyes. What can I tell him to give him the courage he needs to go on?

“I can only tell you what I keep telling myself, sir,” I took a deep breath. “We can beat him. Some of the best people in Cyrodiil -“ Martin’s worn visage bent over dusty tomes crossed my mind. “- are hard at work on finding the way to close these Gates for good. I have no doubt in their ability to find the means to do so.”

Matius looked down at the ground, scuffing the dry dirt. “You sound like you believe it, too,” he muttered. “I don’t think about it when I’m up there,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the mesa behind us, “but at night, when I’m trying to sleep -“

“Matius, I’ve cleaned up enough battlefields to know what you’re dealing with up there,” I put a firmness I didn’t feel into my voice. “These are your friends, your family, your neighbors that you’re pulling out of the ruins. Some of them you can’t even recognize anymore.” Matius’s stillness told me I had hit a nerve. “And when you let yourself have a quiet moment, that’s when it hits you. Hard.”

“Then how do you keep going?” Now I could hear strain in his voice, the strain I saw in his face when he greeted me earlier that evening. “What keeps you from giving up?”

“The thought of what will happen if we give up,” I could hear the fatalism in my voice. “I’d rather try with the chance of failing, than never try, for that way is certain failure.”

“Wish someone would tell Ilav Dralgoner that,” Matius remarked. I glanced sharply at him again. “He’s the only surviving priest here, since Brother Martin left with you.”

“And he has given up?” I asked. Matius shrugged.

“He says the Covenant between Alessia and Akatosh has been broken,” the former bodyguard looked away. “He believes the Enemy has won. I imagine he means Mehrunes Dagon.”

“Dagon hasn’t won yet,” I replied automatically. After a few moments’ consideration, I took a deep breath. “Has Dralgoner been telling people it’s no use?”

“More or less,” Matius rubbed at his close-cropped hair. “He stands on the switchback to the gates of Kvatch and waylays people. The guards ignore him, but some of the refugees that are helping clear the ruins are being affected by his despair.” His dark profile turned toward me. “Not everyone, who needed to, heard you speak of Kvatch as being triumphant as long as there are people.”

“I can see how that would make it so much harder for you and Boldon to keep morale up.” I tilted my face toward the double moons. “Hopefully the aid from Anvil and Skingrad will go a long way toward convincing your people they are not alone.”

“I hope so,” the fervent whisper was barely audible from behind the visible sigh that escaped Matius’s lips.

Firestone was an excellent bit of world-building.

A nice little episode showing the tribulations of the Kvatchites, who have a lot of hard work ahead of them, and little to look forward too. It is enough to make anyone give up. Especially the way they are completely abandoned by the Elder Council, Legion, and the rest of the government.

“Julian, if I may have a few moments with you?”
Hubba, hubba... Does Matius have blue eyes?

So Ilav Dralgoner is the local doomsayer eh? I wonder if he is really a priest of Akatosh, or one of Marooned Dragon?