The door opened and a gust of wind surged off the lake and into the house; the first whisper of autumn.
“My Thane, the carriage –”
Audric held up his hand, rather rudely, as he flopped into the nearest chair. “Iona,” he drawled, voice thick with sleep, for the sun had not yet risen. “Please. Please. For the love of all that's holy, stop calling me that. It’s so…” he wrinkled his nose, “Impersonal.”
Exasperated by this man who broke rules with his bread, she sighed. “Then what am I to call you, liege?”
“I don’t know, but not that, either. If you must address me formally, try using my name.”
She had woken an hour before him, and a cup of strong tea had seen her awake as day. Smiling fondly at him, she tried again. “The carriage is nearly ready, Master Bellamy.”
Critically, he squinted, but did not protest. “No, the driver is nearly ready, not necessarily the carriage.” Looking around at his beloved home, Audric realized that his floors were in terrible need of sweeping. Dust creatures roamed unchecked, without the usual clutter to inhibit their progress from under-bed to hearth. It had been a scramble, but in less than a week, he’d managed to collect his belongings – or, the important ones, at least – and pack them into a tidy set of crates.
“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Iona leaned in the archway, “I think it is you, not the carriage, that isn’t ready.”
“I do mind,” he said quietly.
“Your pardon then, for speaking frankly.”
She was irritated with him, he knew, and not her usual affectionate agitation, either. And could he blame her? He had – however politely – dismissed her service, indefinitely, had made secrets between them, and now he was uprooting her. Though that last responsibility, in his opinion, did not belong to him.
Then, as luck would have it, one last diversion appeared.
“I have to take this,” he said, grabbing the register off his bed stand. “Before we depart, I have to take this to Plankside.”
“To the Ratway,” she accused.
“It’s your guess; do with it what you will.” Dumping his heavy cloak in her arms, he told her to wait for him with the driver; he’d only be a few moments.
Riften’s streets were still dark, the lanterns burning low. Audric pulled his coat closer about him, a vain effort to ward off the chill. Along the canals, mist rose from the water, more and more rolling in from the lake. It would surprise him if, in Windhelm, the river had not yet frozen over.
He did not want to go. And he was only going because he’d been strong-armed into it – under his own presiding, comically enough. Really, it was the result of Tullius’ last power grab, a testament to the fact that he was still the head of this operation. Which of course was ridiculous, but it was Audric’s personal belief that a man was entitled to whatever helped him sleep at night. Besides, Tullius couldn’t take all of the credit; Brunwulf, concerned for the delicate state of his city, had motioned for Audric to be positioned there as collateral. If Ulfric so much as stepped one toe beyond the bounds of the agreement, it would be Audric who would report to Tullius, and the whole tower of dominos would come crashing down. In exchange, he would be given pardon, his home back, not to mention political autonomy in the coming months of contention.
And Audric had agreed to this. He’d agreed to it because he cared about a handful of Windhelm’s citizens; because he was ridden with guilt for betraying a friend; because he had worked too hard to get Ulfric reinstated to foil it all now. He would still be free to go about his business – given that his business was Alduin – but every two weeks, like clockwork, he would be expected to write his observations. Tullius knew him better than he cared to acknowledge, exploiting his nature.
And apart from all of this, a strange mix of emotion was churning in his gut. He was outraged to be on a leash, no matter how loose, and Riften was his home, and being taken away from that infuriated him...yet, he could not muster quite enough anger to draw a line in the sand. Somehow, he couldn’t be bothered to put up enough of a fuss to remove himself from the mire of politics, neither to focus on his destiny nor his desires.
"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 9a/??
“My Thane, the carriage –”
Audric held up his hand, rather rudely, as he flopped into the nearest chair. “Iona,” he drawled, voice thick with sleep, for the sun had not yet risen. “Please. Please. For the love of all that's holy, stop calling me that. It’s so…” he wrinkled his nose, “Impersonal.”
Exasperated by this man who broke rules with his bread, she sighed. “Then what am I to call you, liege?”
“I don’t know, but not that, either. If you must address me formally, try using my name.”
She had woken an hour before him, and a cup of strong tea had seen her awake as day. Smiling fondly at him, she tried again. “The carriage is nearly ready, Master Bellamy.”
Critically, he squinted, but did not protest. “No, the driver is nearly ready, not necessarily the carriage.” Looking around at his beloved home, Audric realized that his floors were in terrible need of sweeping. Dust creatures roamed unchecked, without the usual clutter to inhibit their progress from under-bed to hearth. It had been a scramble, but in less than a week, he’d managed to collect his belongings – or, the important ones, at least – and pack them into a tidy set of crates.
“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Iona leaned in the archway, “I think it is you, not the carriage, that isn’t ready.”
“I do mind,” he said quietly.
“Your pardon then, for speaking frankly.”
She was irritated with him, he knew, and not her usual affectionate agitation, either. And could he blame her? He had – however politely – dismissed her service, indefinitely, had made secrets between them, and now he was uprooting her. Though that last responsibility, in his opinion, did not belong to him.
Then, as luck would have it, one last diversion appeared.
“I have to take this,” he said, grabbing the register off his bed stand. “Before we depart, I have to take this to Plankside.”
“To the Ratway,” she accused.
“It’s your guess; do with it what you will.” Dumping his heavy cloak in her arms, he told her to wait for him with the driver; he’d only be a few moments.
Riften’s streets were still dark, the lanterns burning low. Audric pulled his coat closer about him, a vain effort to ward off the chill. Along the canals, mist rose from the water, more and more rolling in from the lake. It would surprise him if, in Windhelm, the river had not yet frozen over.
He did not want to go. And he was only going because he’d been strong-armed into it – under his own presiding, comically enough. Really, it was the result of Tullius’ last power grab, a testament to the fact that he was still the head of this operation. Which of course was ridiculous, but it was Audric’s personal belief that a man was entitled to whatever helped him sleep at night. Besides, Tullius couldn’t take all of the credit; Brunwulf, concerned for the delicate state of his city, had motioned for Audric to be positioned there as collateral. If Ulfric so much as stepped one toe beyond the bounds of the agreement, it would be Audric who would report to Tullius, and the whole tower of dominos would come crashing down. In exchange, he would be given pardon, his home back, not to mention political autonomy in the coming months of contention.
And Audric had agreed to this. He’d agreed to it because he cared about a handful of Windhelm’s citizens; because he was ridden with guilt for betraying a friend; because he had worked too hard to get Ulfric reinstated to foil it all now. He would still be free to go about his business – given that his business was Alduin – but every two weeks, like clockwork, he would be expected to write his observations. Tullius knew him better than he cared to acknowledge, exploiting his nature.
And apart from all of this, a strange mix of emotion was churning in his gut. He was outraged to be on a leash, no matter how loose, and Riften was his home, and being taken away from that infuriated him...yet, he could not muster quite enough anger to draw a line in the sand. Somehow, he couldn’t be bothered to put up enough of a fuss to remove himself from the mire of politics, neither to focus on his destiny nor his desires.