By the time y'all finish this, you can probably guess what was in the box.
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Chapter 7: The Cat that Sings
Solitude, known historically as Haafingar, was one of the most beautiful cities in Skyrim. Even in ancient times when the fortress city was primarily built of drab stonework that borrowed heavily from Cyrodiil, Mohamara could see the city he would come to know in sixteen thousand years' time.
Perhaps that spoke poorly of Solitude, then. Markarth would grow to be the capital of the province in time, to be a center of industry and the dominant culture in all of Skyrim. But if Solitude in ancient times even passingly resembled Solitude in the Twenty-First Era, did that mean that the city would never be greater than it was? The sympathetic magic of Solitude was less tangled, but also less noticeable. Either the bonds simply didn't exist, or they were so fine his skills weren't sufficient to detect them.
At the top of a rather steep hill were the Solitude gates. Made of iron and steel, and artfully done they cast a far more inviting appearance than Markarth. The guards who stood watch furthered the separation by having red in their armor and their sigils. Solitude was symbolized by the wolf's head, where Markarth had been the ram's horns.
Mohamara's cathay escort ran him through strategies of what to do if certain situations came up. Someone trying to rob him, kill him, or other unpleasant things were okay to stab or lob spells at. For everything else, he was to try a guard first. Nobody was to be completely trusted once he got into the city, according to the cathay. Especially not any Khajiit seen in the company of Thalmor--the High Elf government's dominant political party at the time.
Once they had ridden up to the gates, Mohamara hopped down and leaned on the spear Sheogorath had given him while his backpack was removed from the saddlebags. Then he watched the cathay ride back down the road to the caravan with a strange feeling of wistfulness.
But! There was work to do, and Daedra to appease. So the Khajiit hobbled his way over to the Solitude gate and found himself
not being stopped by the guards at all. In fact, the guards came to help the tojay open the thick iron doors.
"Welcome to Solitude," one of the guards said in a clearly well-rehearsed tone. "Capital of Skyrim, home of the Legion. Enjoy your stay."
"If you need someone to look at that bad leg, talk to Freir at the Temple of the Divines," the other added as Mohamara hobbled through.
The tojay turned to look at the more informative guard, and did his best to turn up the 'adorable eyes'. "Which direction is the temple, sir?" For his effort, Mohamara had the temple's general direction indicated to him which then became his direction.
Which unfortunately took him past a public execution. A Nord man was to face the headsman's ax, for collaborating in the murder of the local king from what had been said. However, there were some Nord children attending that wanted to see the action but were in the process of being driven off by their parents. Mohamara immediately knew the danger he was in and attempted to hobble away faster, but it was not to be.
"Look, why don't you go help that Khajiit boy get where he's going? Bet he could tell you all sorts of stuff about living in the caravan."
Mohamara wanted nothing more than to be able to spear with speed the neck of the frustrated father who had foisted his child on the crippled cat. But in short order he had two Nord children and a Redguard boy all up in his grill, asking so many questions because they assumed he too was a child. Some of the questions, such as 'where's your tail?' cut deep.
"My dad gave me the spear, for protection while I was in Solitude," Mohamara answered them while he started up the series of ramps that led to Castle Dour and the attached temple. Hobbling up a slope was significantly difficult he found as he quickly fell backward and was caught by the Nord girls.
"Wow, you're so light!" One of the girls, who identified herself as Minette, commented to Mohamara's horror. She was a brunette girl who had commented her family owned the local inn. "Even with that backpack on I think I could pick you up all by myself."
The other Nord girl promptly let go, and Minette's guess was proven true. "Dang, your family must not feed you right." The Redguard boy commented with a chuckle. "Too poor to afford food or something?"
"Yes, actually." Mohamara had found that when people asked stupid questions meant to make him angry, agreeing with them put them off their game. Such was the case with the Redguard boy, who had no idea how to respond, and now had two Nord girls calling him out on being 'mean'. "Could you help me up these ramps? The guards said I could go to the temple to get a healer."
"Oh yeah, sure." Minette had no trouble catching Mohamara any time he started to fall backward from walking on the ramp, and the second Nord girl would often help with pushing him up the steeper ramps. "Why aren't your folks here to help?"
"Mom's not around, and dad's… he's sorta gone crazy. I was staying with my grandpa for a while when pa told me to come to Solitude."
The Nord girls and even the Redguard boy then started a chain of mostly inane questions about caravan life, which Mohamara answered to appease them. The Redguard boy, going by the named Kayd, found it profoundly amusing that Mohamara's leg had been messed up by a bear trap and being stabbed.
Castle Dour lived up to its name; bleak, uninteresting, and far too serious. Thankfully from the courtyard inside the curtain walls, Mohamara was pointed to the temple of the Divines. From the victorious cheers from down below, it seemed the execution was over with, so the children abandoned Mohamara as quickly as they'd come over to him.
"That Minette's a sweet girl, hope she grows up to kick Kayd in the dick," the tojay muttered to himself while he hobbled to the temple doors.
Inside were rows of pews flanking a long carpet that stretched from the doors to the alcoves where shrines of the Eight Divines were set up. A ninth alcove stood empty--perhaps for cleaning? Mohamara rather liked the effect of the light streaming in from long, narrow windows at the top of the alcoves. Imperial basilica designs were good for that sort of thing--which was why he liked going to Dawnguard for Temple before the Meridian community had been shoved out.
It also helped that Riften had a better community than Kilkreath--fewer hoity-toity folks looking down on people for showing up to Temple in anything but picture perfect fashion.
No priests or priestesses were visible so Mohamara hobbled his way to the front line of pews to sit and wait. As a stranger, a clearly armed stranger, someone would eventually come to talk to him.
"Blessings of the Divines upon you, child." A balding, red-headed Nord in orange robes was the first one to greet Mohamara after close to ten minutes of waiting. "What brings you to this holy place on this joyous day?"
Mohamara kicked out his bad leg, to let the scars from the bear trap and the heavy bandaging around his foot speak for itself. "The guards said I should speak to a… Freir?"
The Nord priest bent down to examine the tojay's leg, turning it and applying pressure to the spot where his metatarsals were broken to judge the injury. Compared to the bear trap and having his tail bitten off, all other pain seemed paltry. "Yes, this looks like it hasn't healed properly. And this foot injury is in dire need of treatment."
"The last healers I had look at it were at the temple of Dibella in Markarth, they gave me this to try and fix it more." Mohamara took off the regeneration ring and handed it to the priest.
The man squinted at it and sadly shook his head. "I think we need to ask someone from the temple of Kynareth to go out to Markarth and teach those Dibellan priestesses how to heal properly. You are not the first person to come here because they could not treat their injured." He stood and handed the ring back. "I will go and fetch Freir, she will examine you and start the healing process."
The priest departed, then quickly returned with two priestesses, a Nord and an Imperial. The Nord woman knelt down to examine Mohamara's bad leg and tsked when she finished looking at the bear trap scars. "The bone was twisted when they healed it--it's going to require rebreaking before we can set it and heal the injury properly." She looked up to the Imperial priestess and pointed out of the temple. "Go to Beirand's forge and ask for a strong hammer, or have Beirand himself come. This is going to be painful, but we should be able to fix you up perfectly fine." The last part was said to Mohamara.
The tojay had his ears flat on his skull and decided that he needed to learn healing magic of his own if he wanted to stay alive in the Fourth Era. Relying on priesthoods for healing was turning into the equivalent of trusting a medical intern.
Having his shin rebroken hurt about as much as was expected, but the burly blacksmith who did the job made sure to strike in the right spot so that it was only the mishealed portions that broke. The bone being set hurt far worse than the initial bear trap had, and the high priest of the temple--the balding Nord man who answered to Rorlund--found himself stunned by the sheer volume of curse words Mohamara knew.
But the priestesses were fantastic healers. After a few minutes of having shining golden light shoved into his leg and foot, they were confident everything was completely healed. They asked him to test the load-bearing capabilities of the recently broken leg, and of course, Mohamara had to go overboard--by balancing on his bad leg while leaning forward until he had to physically hold up the robe to remain decent.
"Alright, looks like you're all fixed up. And with balance like that, perhaps you might be able to learn dance at the bard's college when you're older."
"I'm not a child, I'm twenty years old. I just happen to be short." Mohamara informed the priestess while he put on his other shoe.
The Nords made indulgent faces, which Mohamara could understand. In the Nord's country, it was hard enough to get them to see other sides of racial issues before factoring in the nuances of race.
"Could you tell me where the bard's college is, by the way?"
"Alright, little Khajiit, but they'll turn you away when you get there. Just head out to the Avenues district, there's a large building with a sign. Can't miss it."
With his leg back in working order, Mohamara had the freedom to move
far faster than he had before once he was outside. He could physically jump over slow people on the road, get over garden walls to make shortcuts, and even used the spear as a pole-vault to get around a wagon stuck in the road.
The bard's college was a large stone building only a few rows of houses away from the magnificent Blue Palace. Three floors tall, with the most prominent feature being the absolutely enormous courtyard that transitioned into a pseudo-amphitheater near the city wall. The porch connected to the second floor while the street connected to the first--perhaps it was actually a basement?
Either way, Mohamara made his way up to the most decorated door which happened to be the one connected to the courtyard.
The inside of the bard's college was filled with dappled light from the strange glass in the windows, sort of wavy and uneven. The result was a beautifully decorated interior became even more so with how the weather outside adjusted the sunlight coming in. Somewhere, someone was burning peppermint incense.
In a seating area next to the door was a High Elf, one of the rare ones that took to growing a beard, dressed in royal blue quilted clothes similar to what Ri'saad's usual outfit consisted of. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, noticed the spear and craned his neck to see who held it before Mohamara coughed and drew his gaze downward.
"Oh, hello young man," the High Elf greeted in a gravelly voice--as if he had been a smoker in his youth. "Welcome to the bard's college, are you perhaps here for a delivery?"
"No, I'm here to enroll." Mohamara wagged the spear a bit when the High Elf started to chuckle. "I'm not a kid, alright? I'm just
short. You got anyone in here who knows Khajiit? Ask them about the tojay."
"As a matter of fact, I believe our dean of histories spent a few years in Elsweyr. I will consult with him, take a seat young man." The High Elf stood with a pained grunt that spoke of arthritis and walked around a corner passed the front door.
Obediently, Mohamara sat on one of the wooden benches that the seating area provided. Because a proper sofa in Skyrim was completely unrealistic. His large ears picked up the High Elf speaking with someone with a Reach accent before two sets of feet started to approach. The High Elf rounded the corner with a Breton in similar clothes to the elf, but in earth tones, and sporting a bizarre hat that would have been conical if it could stand on its own.
"Goodness me, a tojay!" The Breton's face, creased with lines to indicate middle age, positively lit up when he saw Mohamara. "And… the Spear of Bitter Mercy?!" His lit up face became positively ecstatic when the seven-foot-long spear was focused on. "I thought for sure that museum in Morrowind would never part with it."
"So that's what it's called." Mohamara didn't feel the sympathetic magic in the spear change any from him knowing its name, which to him indicated that the item wasn't self-aware enough to register it
had one. "I know it better as 'don't frivolously ask Sheogorath for help'."
Mohamara speaking seemed to terribly startle the Breton, who lost all his excitement as quickly as it had come. He looked at the High Elf and Khajiit for a moment before taking the High Elf back around the corner.
"That's
definitely a tojay, but I have some concerns, Headmaster."
"But is he a child?" The High Elf's priorities were almost where Mohamara could respect him for. "If not, your concerns need to be severe to keep me from giving him a place in the college."
"Tojay don't grow to be much bigger than a six-year-old human, so he's probably fully grown. But they have this
very specific accent, only found in the Tenmar Forest. That man in there is talking like he was born here, in Skyrim."
Mohamara tucked that information away in his mind--he was even more of a freak than he had previously thought.
"Giraud, that's
hardly a concern. There have been Khajiit in Skyrim for almost a thousand years--by logical deduction, some of them had to have children here, and some of them had to have been tojay."
"No, the tojay have a special role in the Khajiit society. They're sort of priests but also related to moon sugar in some way that even I don't fully understand. When I was in Elsweyr, Khajiit mothers who had tojay children had to make long pilgrimages to the Tenmar Forest and give their child up."
"I'm
still not hearing concerns worth withholding admittance."
"Well, how about that the Spear of Bitter Mercy is an artifact of the Mad God, we live a stone's throw away from Pelagius' palace, and with a tojay that acts
nothing like a tojay in our midst could mean he's actually a madman?" A long pause stretched out, where Mohamara could only imagine the facial expressions being exchanged. "There? You see?"
"...A test, then? We keep him around for a bit and see if he's stable enough to attend classes. Perhaps ask him to keep the spear locked up in his quarters or something. Even if he
is mad, we aren't getting as many new students as we used to."
"There is also the Thalmor problem, but I have someone in the Legion's administration office that can keep them from finding out about this. I hope."
"Good, I don't want them snooping around our premises again." The Headmaster and 'Giraud' turned the corner once again, their faces a mask of professionalism. "Hello again, sorry about that. We--"
"In the interest of being completely and utterly honest with you two: I heard everything you said." Mohamara plucked at his enormous red-backed ears. "You need to be at least twenty to thirty feet away next time."
The Headmaster's face was frozen mid-word like he was wearing a mask capturing the precise moment. Still wearing the expression, he slowly turned to Giraud who had a moment of realization and rubbed the back of his head.
"That would have been helpful to know, wouldn't it, Giraud?"
--
Mohamara was given a bedroll and tall wardrobe in the students quarters in the basement, even though he was not technically a student yet.
They had given him a 'probationary' position with the college whose duties basically boiled down to being a janitor and kitchen helper. The Spear of Bitter Mercy was kept locked up in the tall wardrobe out of necessity, it was the only container in the entire college that could hold ie, even diagonally.
He stayed out of the way of the four students as they went about their days--most of them were nice and would offer to help move heavy furniture so Mohamara could clean behind them when they saw him struggling. They were Illdi, an insecure Nord woman who seemed to care too much what people thought of her, Jorn, a Nord man who was an absolute sweetheart and proud Empire supporter with the intent to join the Legion, Ataf, a Redguard man who was aggressively eager to please, and Aia Arria, an Imperial woman who was both incredibly haughty about her skills and in possession of skills worthy of being haughty.
The staff were… less pleasant. The Headmaster, Virarmo, was distant but as the arbiter of Mohamara's position in the college, the tojay frankly wanted him that way. Giraud, the dean of histories, frequently asked alarmingly specific questions about Khajiit that Mohamara never had an answer he liked. Inge Six-Fingers, because she had additional fingers not less, was the second oldest member of the college staff and a proper harridan of a woman--direct, to the point, and clear that she vehemently disliked her students. Pantea Ateia, the vocalist instructor, was visibly the richest member of the staff and had the same haughtiness that Aia did--but Aia had more skill and everyone Mohamara talked to knew it.
The last member of the staff was the cook he assisted, Bendt, an elderly Breton man who was perfectly pleasant so long as Mohamara followed instructions and did tasks on time.
All in all, the experience of being the bard's college janitor was rather like growing up in Kilkreath temple--lots of chores, little promise of reward, but respect for a job well done. It helped that Mohamara's ability to jump high and navigate narrow ledges let him get to the very tops of the highest rooms for cleaning without disturbing a lesson with a ladder.
After a week or so, he felt comfortable enough with the staff and students to bring out his slate regularly. Most of them found it odd that he asked them to stand still and smile while holding it up, but when he later presented them a portrait burned onto leather or paper it improved their moods--except for Inge. She was allergic to happiness.
So it came to pass that after the vocalist auditorium was done being used for the day, Mohamara brought the slate in with him to clean the floors, windows, chandeliers, and replace the candles. The auditorium was sound-proofed once the door in and out closed--surprising given Mohamara wouldn't have thought soundproofing would be invented for several thousand years. Perhaps it was one of those things that was discovered, lost, then rediscovered?
Either way, once he closed the door he set the slate up somewhere where it could carry well and set it to play a song to distract him while he worked. One of the rare non-love songs he had in his library, for it was Sundas and he wanted to sing a hymn to Meridia. It was one of the oldest hymns to Meridia in recorded history--dating back to the Second Era when the faith frequently had to pass as being followers of Mara to even approach open worship of the Lady. For this purpose, a portmanteau of the two goddesses' names was created:
Maria. The faithful thus became known as the 'Friends of Maria'.
The Marans, when this was discovered, by and large, had no problems with it--or so Mohamara had been told.
"Hail holy Queen enthroned Above," the tojay sang with the music as he swept the polished stone floors. Meridia was the Sun, she was Magnus, for no other star could equal her beauty or impact on the world.
"Oh Maria!"
Mohamara had no difficulty getting the floor swept and the dust piled up to be dust panned into a corner where it would then be moved to the hallway once he was done. The task of cleaning the windows with their caked on dirt kept Mohamara from singing for a short time, but soon enough he could join in on the hymn again.
"Our life, our sweetness, here below: Oh, Maria! Our hope in sorrow and in woe: Oh, Maria!"
While the cat climbed his way up the uneven stonework of the wall to get at cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling, a gentleman with a cane appeared in the room. A Nord with hair and eyes of milky white, and clothes of orange and purple. He soundlessly strode through the room to where the slate was and waved his hand over the device. Unnoticed by the tojay, the earpieces manifested on his ears, and the slate no longer broadcast to the room at large.
"
Aether and Nirn resound the Hymn, Salve Regina!"
The last thing the gentleman with the cane did while the tojay sang out into the room was go to the door, and open it wide. When the wooden and iron door hit the wall without a sound, he began to fade. It started with his toes and ended with his wicked grin.
As the refrain of the song began, the words spilled out into the college. The students down in the basement's meal area paused in their food to listen to the unfamiliar voice singing the unfamiliar song. Even Brendt stopped turning a pot of soup to listen. On the floors above, the staff roused themselves from their private meals to investigate the source.
They found Mohamara, sitting on the chandeliers, knocking the old candles off so that he could put replacements on. Once he was done with one, he would swing it and leap to the next without breaking his hymn. He purposefully slowed down the candle replacement on the last chandelier to coincide with the final note of the hymn, as it was the last task he had to do and marked a record time for cleaning the room.
By the time this had happened, the students had ascended the two flights of stairs to investigate as well. So when Mohamara looked down at long last he had nearly the entire building looking up at him. Atar and Jorn clapped a little, but seeing so many people and knowing they'd
heard him drove the cat to try and make himself as small as possible on the chandelier.
Inge Six-Fingers glowered up at the cat, then smacked Viarmo in the shoulder to get his attention. "Not bad, but it woulda been better if he'd been training since he was four."
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Or maybe you can't. I'm not your dad, I don't make those kind of decisions for you.
And yes, I've been looking for an exuse to use that song as a hymn to Meridia since I first heard it years ago.
