Meryndor's hand on her arm and Sabrinda came back to herself, grounded as always by her beloved husband's touch – four hundred years since they'd met and she couldn't imagine life without him now. Maybe she was the decorated war hero, but he was the one who reminded her why she fought in the first place.
“Are you all right?” he whispered in her ear.
“I'll have to be,” Sabrinda whispered back. “But thank you, love.”
She squeezed his hand and together they entered the Keep. Inside it was bigger than Sabrinda could ever have imagined, huge hallways carved into the rock itself and more ReachGuard on watch under the silver banners with the red eagle emblazoned on them, not entirely dissimilar to the blue and gold eagle flags of the Aldmeri Dominion. But this wild land was not Alinor and its barbarous natives were not Altmer.
Deeper in the main passage led, guards standing to attention as they passed by and then Sabrinda felt it. A long, slow uncurling of magicka, a mage's magicka field let go, slowly and casually flowing out, filling the Keep, and if Sabrinda had thought this place wild before, now she knew it was completely lacking in manners. Honestly, no Altmer of any age over forty-five had any business letting their magicka go like that, half the city would sense it, it was just vulgar to advertise one's power so broadly, particularly if you had the bad luck or ill wit to be stronger than one's social superiors. Whoever this was must be particularly ill-bred – magically formidable perhaps, but in no way anyone she wanted to associate with.
“Mamma!” Ancalime gasped. “Mamma, someone just let their magicka go, I can feel it, where are they? Are they in trouble?”
“They should be, but I daresay that's for their King to judge,” Sabrinda sniffed. “Don't think that means you can do it, Ancalime. You keep yours under control like I've been teaching you.”
“Yes Mamma,” Ancalime said softly. Sabrinda patted her on the back, feeling rather proud of her youngest. Gentle, docile, probably the best-behaved out of all three of her children – Haldyn had thrown tantrums and answered back constantly, while Liriel always had to ask why. Sabrinda knew that curiosity of hers would get her in trouble one of these days, and look how things had turned out.
“Sab,” Meryndor said quietly. “Sab, I think that mage is the King.”
He was looking up ahead to where a steep set of stairs led up to a balcony where various Orc and Reachman servants could be seen going about their business... and in the middle was another set of steps leading up to a throne – and it was the source of the magicka. Steeling herself, Sabrinda stepped forward, following the Reach-Princess as she went to address her father.
“Da, we have visitors,” the young Breton announced cheerfully. “They've come all the way from Alinor, look!”
“I know, Cicero told me... eventually,” the man on the throne growled and as the Princess stepped aside, Sabrinda got her first look at the monster who'd corrupted her little girl.
He was getting to his feet, dressed in blue and gold robes that reminded Sabrinda of a fancier version of her own, a circlet on his head and a red-gold necklace similar to his daughter's round his neck. Silver braided hair down to his shoulders, bearded like most of the men she'd seen so far, although less facial hair than most. He was standing on the steps leading up to his throne, arms folded, and Sabrinda had the feeling he was waiting for her to come to him. But what struck her the most were the eyes – silver-grey eyes that seemed to stare right into you, and although he probably was a fraction of her age, Sabrinda had a feeling he'd packed a lot in to the few years he'd had. She could certainly imagine him facing down an Oblivion gate without fear, shouting for his soldiers to do likewise.
Not that she admired him. Of course not, the man was a monster who ruled over animals, but it would be wise to respect the magic if nothing else. This one had power.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Thicker Than Blood 3.2
Date: 2014-01-31 12:02 pm (UTC)“Are you all right?” he whispered in her ear.
“I'll have to be,” Sabrinda whispered back. “But thank you, love.”
She squeezed his hand and together they entered the Keep. Inside it was bigger than Sabrinda could ever have imagined, huge hallways carved into the rock itself and more ReachGuard on watch under the silver banners with the red eagle emblazoned on them, not entirely dissimilar to the blue and gold eagle flags of the Aldmeri Dominion. But this wild land was not Alinor and its barbarous natives were not Altmer.
Deeper in the main passage led, guards standing to attention as they passed by and then Sabrinda felt it. A long, slow uncurling of magicka, a mage's magicka field let go, slowly and casually flowing out, filling the Keep, and if Sabrinda had thought this place wild before, now she knew it was completely lacking in manners. Honestly, no Altmer of any age over forty-five had any business letting their magicka go like that, half the city would sense it, it was just vulgar to advertise one's power so broadly, particularly if you had the bad luck or ill wit to be stronger than one's social superiors. Whoever this was must be particularly ill-bred – magically formidable perhaps, but in no way anyone she wanted to associate with.
“Mamma!” Ancalime gasped. “Mamma, someone just let their magicka go, I can feel it, where are they? Are they in trouble?”
“They should be, but I daresay that's for their King to judge,” Sabrinda sniffed. “Don't think that means you can do it, Ancalime. You keep yours under control like I've been teaching you.”
“Yes Mamma,” Ancalime said softly. Sabrinda patted her on the back, feeling rather proud of her youngest. Gentle, docile, probably the best-behaved out of all three of her children – Haldyn had thrown tantrums and answered back constantly, while Liriel always had to ask why. Sabrinda knew that curiosity of hers would get her in trouble one of these days, and look how things had turned out.
“Sab,” Meryndor said quietly. “Sab, I think that mage is the King.”
He was looking up ahead to where a steep set of stairs led up to a balcony where various Orc and Reachman servants could be seen going about their business... and in the middle was another set of steps leading up to a throne – and it was the source of the magicka. Steeling herself, Sabrinda stepped forward, following the Reach-Princess as she went to address her father.
“Da, we have visitors,” the young Breton announced cheerfully. “They've come all the way from Alinor, look!”
“I know, Cicero told me... eventually,” the man on the throne growled and as the Princess stepped aside, Sabrinda got her first look at the monster who'd corrupted her little girl.
He was getting to his feet, dressed in blue and gold robes that reminded Sabrinda of a fancier version of her own, a circlet on his head and a red-gold necklace similar to his daughter's round his neck. Silver braided hair down to his shoulders, bearded like most of the men she'd seen so far, although less facial hair than most. He was standing on the steps leading up to his throne, arms folded, and Sabrinda had the feeling he was waiting for her to come to him. But what struck her the most were the eyes – silver-grey eyes that seemed to stare right into you, and although he probably was a fraction of her age, Sabrinda had a feeling he'd packed a lot in to the few years he'd had. She could certainly imagine him facing down an Oblivion gate without fear, shouting for his soldiers to do likewise.
Not that she admired him. Of course not, the man was a monster who ruled over animals, but it would be wise to respect the magic if nothing else. This one had power.