Everyone knows the siren song of a comfy bed, right? That's a universal thing?
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Chapter 11: The Man that Cried Wolf
He'd expected to be blind when he woke up, so that wasn't a surprise for Mohamara. What was unexpected was waking up in a bed--an unfamiliar bed from the smell and feel of the blankets. Mohamara suspected that tojay had been visual or auditory hunters since he didn't have the enhanced sense of smell that the cathay from Ri'saad's caravan possessed. But even with average noses, the smell of lavender oil in the pillows and blankets was not something found in the bard's college.
Only Ateia perfumed her bedding--with the smell of sunflowers. She'd insisted they be washed with the scent as well, which made it a pain to do her laundry before Mohamara was a student.
Which reminded him that, blind or not, he probably had to get up for Inge's class if he hadn't missed it already.
However, with a proper mattress to sleep on, a feather pillow, and thick blankets that didn't faintly smell of his own blood, he found it difficult to move.
"Curse you, comfiness," Mohamara grumbled to himself as he dug his face deeper into the blankets. "Curse you to the Indigo Room." Soon enough, he was asleep again.
--
Mohamara dreamed of clouds.
They each had names. Cirrus, Nimbus, Cumulus, and others. They were so different that he struggled to remember that they were the same thing. When he ate some, they tasted like butter. Perfectly fine, but after a while, the taste of butter alone grew unpleasant. So instead of eating them, he watched them.
The wind sculpted them into shapes that could last for what seemed forever or only a moment. Animals, places, Daedric letters, all could be made out of clouds it seemed.
When Mohamara tried to create a shape in the clouds, it was always gone by the time he got far enough away to see it. After repeated failed attempts, he just stopped and let the wind be the sculptor.
--
He was still blind when he woke up a second time, but he could hear people speaking from somewhere not too far away. Wherever he was, it was populated, and by rudely loud people.
As he got up from the bed came the embarrassing process of figuring out where things were orientated in the room. Usually, he found a piece of furniture by walking into it, except in the case where the door hit him.
It was preceded by two knocks, and Yagraz speaking from outside. "Hey short-stuff, I'm respecting your boundaries by asking if you're decent before entering…" And then the door opened and hit Mohamara square in the nose. "But asserting my position as your best friend by coming in anyway."
Mohamara was busy rubbing his nose to make sure there was no blood before he remembered he wouldn't be able to see if there was. "Where in the Ashpit are we?"
"Winking Skeever, I got us some rooms. Can't believe those bards had you sleeping on the floor." The door closed, and Yagraz handed a fresh sweetroll to the cat while he listened to her move through the room. "After the meeting with the Jarl, I'm thinking we stay until the festival if it's going to happen soon then start off to Whiterun. What do you think?"
The tojay had been nibbling at the sweetroll--Jorn always got to them first so he hadn't had one in a while, and wanted to savor it. "I can't leave yet--I've got to finish studying at the college and become a bard. Daedra's orders. And after that, I have to go off to Eastmarch then come back here."
Yagraz seemed to have found a chair and sat in it, eating something that sounded like ribs. Odd, she hadn't been a morning ribs person back home--she'd always been a morning grilled chicken person for breakfast meats. "Well, have them make you a bard for getting their festival back up and running. I gotta get back to Whiterun, and don't want to leave you alone in Solitude."
A week's worth of training to be a bard didn't seem enough time to actually be a bard, but Mohamara had to agree that being alone again after finding Yagraz would be… hard to recover from. "Maybe… I've gotten the quintessential parts of being a bard--I can sing and record history? Everything else is just sort of frills that help with getting a patron--I guess?"
"See? Using them college smarts to your advantage. Now finish eating--not to be mean but your clothes aren't fit for meeting a Jarl. I'm a Companion, so I get to just wear armor, but shorties like you gotta be fashionable."
Mohamara's ears went flat against his skull while he started to take bigger bites of the sweetroll. "And how do you intend to fix this issue when everything of mine you have is in Whiterun?"
"Solitude's got some of the best tailors in Skyrim--and I know someone that can help us out short-notice." A profound crunching filled the air, and Mohamara had to guess Yagraz was eating the rib part of her morning ribs. "I know a tailor that both owes me money and would kill for business with the Blue Palace."
With the sweetroll devoured, Mohamara got up to his feet to point in Yagraz's general direction. "I will permit them to stab me with their needles only seven times. For every time they stab me after that, I will kill you."
--
Mohamara had thought that running through Markarth in his skivvies had been humiliating. He'd thought being robbed of his clothes by a drunk Orc who assumed he was a child had been humiliating. But neither of those stacked up to being made to pose in the same state of undress for two High Elven tailors who had the audacity to comment on him while they took measurements.
He knew they were High Elves because no other race of Mer could put such visceral disdain into their words. Not even Telvanni Dunmer could match the average High Elf.
"Ugh, we're going to need a miracle to make something worthy of the Blue Palace for… this."
"Well if you thought we could use our children's stock think again--he's too skinny and lanky for anything we've got."
"You should have paid that Orc woman what you owed instead of giving her a favor."
"Well, it's gotten us a chance to get Radiant Raiment in Elisif's mind so we'll have to make it work. Stop moving your arms, fool boy."
The two High Elf women spoke to each other like Mohamara wasn't even there, except when he tried to move out of whatever pose they had him in. They didn't bother removing the strip of cloth Yagraz had tied around Mohamara's eyes to let people know he was blind, so at least they had some respect.
"At least he can't see so he can't tell us what he thinks of every fabric sample you bring in. What if he'd seen you bring in this, huh? We're saving that for the Jarl not some guest of hers or something."
"Well maybe if we want her to buy our products we should put our best foot forward--give the outfit something to hook the Jarl's interest, hmm?"
"...What are we going to do for shoes? Nothing we have fits."
"Oh damn it all."
Mohamara wondered at what point the profession of 'shoe-making' and 'clothes-making' became combined in the tailor profession. As he listened to one of the women frantically opening drawers and flipping through books, it almost amused him enough to smile. But he couldn't see it, so it didn't pass the smile threshold.
"Sandals! I can whip up some sandals no problem, won't take me but an hour to get them ready and fit for court." A door opened, and the woman's voice became faint. "When is he seeing the Jarl?"
"Later today," Yagraz answered.
The door slammed shut again. "Alright, plenty of time. Plenty of time."
"Could you perhaps get the trousers done first? It's drafty in here." Mohamara made sure to speak evenly, politely, and without judgment as neither woman had stabbed him with any needles yet.
"Oh, we can't do trousers on such short notice. We're probably going to have to make a skirt, or robes with some sort of vest or doublet."
Mohamara's ears went flat on his skull and his tail began to swish from annoyance. "I would prefer robes over a skirt, but you're the ones making decisions."
They continued to chat with each other as if Mohamara had said nothing. "Should we bother with the smallclothes? What he has now serves well enough. Probably even looked nice when it was new."
"We have the measurements, and it'll be one more thing we can credit against the debt you owe that Orc woman, so why not?"
"Oh, you're impossible when you're like this."
"You have time for smallclothes but not trousers? What is it with this place and refusing to let me just wear trousers?!" Mohamara broke from the pose the tailors had him in entirely to pull at his ears in frustration while Yagraz cackled in the next room.
--
"I feel like I look stupid. Do I look stupid?"
"You look so incredibly stupid. It's like… wow."
Mohamara's tail whipped around and smacked into Yagraz's legs as they walked. "Thank you for sparing my feelings."
"Hey," Yagraz rested her hand between Mohamara's ears to guide him away from a signpost he couldn't see coming. "I remember getting the same from you when I asked about my prom dress."
"Because you're an autumn and you were wearing spring colors!"
Viarmo, walking ahead of them cleared his throat to cut into the friend's conversation. "Alright, we're passing through the gates now. Thank you for agreeing to leave the spear behind, I don't want to risk being late by having the court wizard examine it."
Mohamara gave the High Elf's back a thumbs up, missing the window when Viarmo was looking by a solid ten seconds.
"You know short-stuff, it's probably for the best that you can't see right now," Yagraz informed him while using her hand on his head to guide him around the excessive number of decorative pillars the Blue Palace courtyard featured. "If you could see, you'd see something that… well, it would cause problems in there."
"Now you have me interested." Mohamara looked up at her solely to convey an arched eyebrow expression. "What's going on?"
"Now, if I told you it would be just as bad. I need you to trust me that it's something we can deal with later since I told you about it when I didn't need to, okay?"
"Alright, alright." Mohamara tail twitched in agitation, but he otherwise relaxed and let Yagraz guide him.
The trio was asked to stay in the Palace foyer with another man who had come seeking an audience with the Jarl, and wait for Elisif to finish court business. Shouting and threats from the throne room just beyond the foyer made Mohamara think that things weren't going well for the Hold.
"Political problems?"
Viarmo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The war's not going well--the Empire is asking Solitude to pay for pretty much all Imperial forces in the region, which in turn leads to higher and more frequent taxes. But that's not why we're here, and you need to remember that a bard is supposed to stay out of politics."
"Like the guy who betrayed Olaf to save this city?" Yagraz pointed at the repaired copy of King Olaf's verse that Viarmo carried with him. "Really apolitical move, that."
"I won't deny that sometimes it's impossible to stay out of politics--but a bard's role is to record history, not to shape it." Viarmo turned his back on the two, signifying the end of the conversation though Mohamara couldn't see this.
After a while, those seeking an audience were allowed into the throne room. It was on the floor above the foyer, accessed by two winding staircases. Rather than deal with the stairs, Yagraz scooped up Mohamara and carried him the cat's tail flicked all over the place.
"The first audience for the day is for Varnius Junius," announced a Solitude City Guardsman who stood alongside the heavily armored housecarl to Elisif.
Varnius, an Imperial man, stepped forward to appeal to the Jarl--about strange noises and lights seen from Wolfskull Cave. The very name made Mohamara's ears flick back. Wolfskull was an old ruin of necromantic energies not far at all from Kilkreath temple. The cave had possessed many names through the years--but it was the cave's existence that sparked the placement of Meridia's temple.
A garrison to stand guard and destroy all necromancers that tried to tap into the wellspring of evil energies within.
Curious, Mohamara tapped into the sympathetic bonds in the room to see what could be seen. The bonds between people were unbalanced, to say the least. There was a woman in the throne room to whom an excessive number of bonds forged. She wasn't the Jarl, for when Elisif spoke the voice came to the right of her. A thane, perhaps? Or another court officer?
Something connected her to everyone in the room, even Varnius. When he spoke, the sympathetic bonds forked between Elisif and the woman--like it somehow affected both of them. And when Elisif promised an Imperial Legion to scour the cave, the unknown woman sent an arc of energy directly down the bonds that connected her and the voice belonging to what Mohamara assumed was the Jarl's steward.
The cave issue was transferred to the steward, to find a spirited adventurer to solve the problem. Without missing a beat, Mohamara jabbed Yagraz in the side and looked up to her with a 'something's fucky' expression.
Next, it was Viarmo's turn to appeal to Elisif. The Jarl seemed tickled pink with the prospect of a reading of King Olaf's lost verse, and actually stood to hear it from the headmaster.
The new verses, discernable by a subtle change in Viarmo's tone from booming to something soft proved interesting.
"No monster in Numinex did you defeat;
No great honor was your conquest;
A sage and friend called to a feast;
Did you ensnare while he was your guest."
Elisif gasped like she was seeing scandalous news told to her by the latest sources. Some of the court had similar reactions, though none to the same degree.
"Olaf gave orders--destroy Solitude's archway;
Peerless death and destruction to follow;
But by one brave soul, his plan gave away;
And brought a rout to Winterhold, to Olaf--sorrow."
The Jarl had to sit down while Viarmo finished the reading, then bowed elegantly to the scattered applause of the court.
"I… I didn't know," Elisif started, haltingly. "I didn't know how… vile King Olaf was. He truly earned his burning, didn't he?" With a definitive clap of her hands, Elisif decreed that the festival was to be reinstated, and held posthaste.
Before the audience was officially done, Mohamara snapped his fingers in Viarmo's direction since he couldn't tell exactly where he was. "I think it's important for the Jarl to know why the verse was lost if you wouldn't mind?"
Viarmo sighed. "I know you two risked a lot to get it back, but that's such a minor detail that--"
"Oh? Is there a story to the verse's retrieval perhaps?"
Though Mohamara couldn't see it, Viarmo's face pinched dramatically when Elisif paused in her leaving the throne to listen in.
"I have enough time for a short bit of history, if so."
"Well, young bard since you feel so strongly about this, I invite you to tell the story to the Jarl."
Mohamara slipped out of Yagraz's grip without problems and stepped toward where he heard the young Jarl's voice. With a bit of searching via minor sounds, he bowed before her and got ready to speak.
"You're a bard? At such a young age?"
"Oh… no, my Jarl. This man isn't a child, he's just a short variety of Khajiit. I think he's only a few years younger than you, actually."
Mohamara nodded in the direction of Viarmo and started to speak for himself again. "This isn't the story of how the verse was retrieved. That story… well, it isn't worth telling honestly. No, what I ask you to listen to is how it came to be lost." A bit of pause to give the Jarl the opportunity to decline, after which the tojay resumed. "The bard who wrote this verse, Svaknir, was a servant of King Olaf. He broke away from One-Eye to warn Solitude about the planned attack. It is unknown if Olaf ever discovered his treachery, honorable as it might have been. But when the bard wrote down an honest telling of Olaf's rule, giving no praise but pointing out what he'd done wrong, Olaf had him buried alive with the only copy of the verse."
"That's… terrible. To be buried alive--what an awful death." Elisif's sympathetic bonds strongly connected her to the image of Svaknir trapped in the little room at the bottom of a hole. For whatever faults she had, the Jarl could clearly imagine what it would have been like.
"Yes, my Jarl." Mohamara tapped his fingers together rhythmically. "And… in the process of discovering this, it pointed out to us--to me, a vacancy in your court. You're young, you're in mourning, and you desperately want your people to be happy."
"Is this a request for patronage?" There was no anger or even annoyance in her voice. A perfect tone of political neutrality.
"For me? No. For the bard's college? Yes. I propose that every so often you have one of the bards from the college go among your citizens, hear their grievances, and bring them to you."
"A sentiment I can readily support--but my steward, Falk Firebeard, fills that function already."
"I'm not going to tell you your business, my Jarl, but perhaps consider that when Falk speaks of things like 'restraint' when your citizens make the trip to speak to you about fear for their lives--what issues he never brings to your attention at all?"
There was a silence so stiff and awkward it could have been Mohamara's junior prom.
"I'll… consider it. When I make my decision, I'll relay a message directly to your headmaster. You may go." Elisif once more turned to leave, before looking down at the blinded Khajiit. "Though I must say, you have excellent fashion sense for a blind man."
Mohamara bowed and walked backward toward Viarmo and where Yagraz had been. The tojay was surprised to find his Orc friend vanished.
"Thank you for trying to get more business for the college," Viarmo said and hesitantly patted Mohamara on the head between his ears. "But I think you might have overplayed your hand there. Waiting for the festival would have been a safer bet."
"There's no guarantee she'll even go, and after how they just shelved the talk of something weird going on in Wolfskull, I can't imagine she leaves the Blue Palace all that often." Mohamara shrugged and stood, waiting for Yagraz to return or for something else to happen since he couldn't see to be proactive.
"Excuse me, can we talk?" A cultured woman's voice spoke from behind the two men, prompting them to turn. "My name is Sybille Stentor, court wizard to Jarl Elisif. Young man, you have a strong magical aura around you--are you a wizard, perchance?"
Mohamara nodded. "I specialize in Mysticism and enchanting, you?"
"Mysticism? I can't say I've run into many wizards that even study that topic anymore. I'm a master of Destruction and Restoration myself, though I know enough Mysticism to do some divining. Would you perchance be willing to come with me and we can exchange information?" Though Mohamara could not see it, Sybille was a Breton woman, with shining gold eyes beneath a hooded deep blue robe. Viarmo visibly stiffened as he caught the Breton's piercing gaze, but did not speak.
"I… guess? I'm not much on Destruction myself, but I'd be happy to trade some Mysticism for Restoration if that's okay with you?"
"A more than adequate trade. My lab is in my quarters, please follow the sound of my voice." The Breton woman turned and started to walk away, with Mohamara slowly following behind.
"Could you tell Yagraz where I am if she comes back from...wherever she went?"
"Yeah, I can do that. See you at the festival later tonight, I guess," Viarmo hesitantly spoke to the leaving mages.
--
Yagraz returned to the main room of the palace to find Viarmo on his own standing in the foyer. "Hey string-bean, where's short-stuff?"
Viarmo looked up at her with a minor frown. "Ah, there you are. I've been waiting for a while now."
Yagraz nodded and rolled her shoulders. Several unpleasant sounding cracks echoed through the small room, each prompting Viarmo to jump slightly. "I was talking to the steward about the Wolfskull job. Made it an official Companions task. Took a bit to get him to agree on a price, but he and I made an arrangement. Now--where's short-stuff."
"He's with the court wizard, exchanging knowledge of magic."
Yagraz's blood went cold in her veins and she instinctively went to reach for her ax and turn toward the stairs leading up. Solitude guards were a joke--trained to look important and fight like they were wielding steel ingots with hilts rather than swords. She could carve her way through them, snatch Mohamara, and fight her way out of town if she got lucky and the Legion didn't involve themselves.
But to her surprise, she saw Mohamara with her walking down the stairs. The Khajiit held three thick books to his chest with one arm while Sybille held the other to help him down the stairs.
The bitch actually smirked at Yagraz when she saw the Orc woman standing in the doorway. Smirked enough to show fang!
"Ah, you're done already? I didn't expect to see you until the festival."
"This young man is quite intelligent," Sybille cooly informed the headmaster as she helped Mohamara down the stairs. "Able to succinctly and professionally answer my questions with Mysticism and a quick study with Restoration. Had any of those things not been true, we likely would have been at it all day."
"It oddly makes a lot of sense for a Destruction master to be good at Restoration," Mohamara commented, unaware that Yagraz was there and glaring daggers at Sybille. "You have to know how to put yourself and your students back together if something goes wrong."
"There are only so many times you can trust a priest to fix an amputated hand before you get fed up and learn to do it yourself, young man."
When Mohamara was close, Yagraz bent down to snatch him up, and quickly stepped away from the monstrous woman.
"My, overprotective, are we? Glad I got to speak to him when you weren't around then, Companion."
Mohamara was trying to tell Yagraz how okay he was, but she knew better. Her eyes never left the smirking witch as the Orc backed up to the palace doors.
"Mohamara, if you ever want to exchange more knowledge, feel free to come on by. We can talk over lunch."
Once outside, Viarmo gave Yagraz a befuddled look. "I know Lady Stentor has a harsh reputation, but that seemed excessive."
"You don't know what I know about her," Yagraz answered, and marched away with the Khajiit over her shoulder.
"So you're not going to put me down? Let me maybe get used to walking around blind since this isn't going away for at least a week?" Mohamara looked over at Yagraz, then splayed himself out on her shoulder like a dead animal. "Just going to give me the cold shoulder, huh? Guess I have no choice but to play like you killed me out hunting for a bit. Blah!"
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Those three books are Fast Healing, Heal Other, and Sunfire, btw.
