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fireintheforest · 3 years

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It just hit me that these two didn’t have time to carve bones, but did have time to craft a fucking ornament that includes an emerald, white ribbon and fuck knows what other little shinies and trinkets Altmer use to basically tell someone “you’re swell, wanna copulate?” and decorate a whole fucking knife and blade to be pretty to tell someone “I’m at your mercy, wanna bang?” like these two are really absolute idiots that fell in love

ALSO, Marcello wears the Redoran colors and had a hand (and spoon, and knife, and napkin, sometimes bowl) in helping pick the food.

Can you describe what Saufinril’s wedding would be like?

OOC: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH'

Ok so I don't know much of TES lore, but I do know (based on some of the things I've discussed with @meh-ayleidion and researched thanks to @thatoneshadyshop), that in Bosmer culture it could be seen as good luck if strangers come to your wedding. On top of that, Rialas's clan is pretty extensive and I cannot fathom the idea of a small family gathering so Sau's side is pretty big (add in the people of the Den, Sau's friends, like Jesus dude). In Toivon's side it'd have mostly close friends and some of the family members that don't mind him marrying an Altmer, such as his brother and his family, his mom (she does mind, but she loves Toi more than the discomfort of seeing him marrying an Altmer), his grandma, some of his cousins, etc so his side isn't as big as Sau's.

I like to think that Toivon would use the colors of his House in his wedding day, as per could be the tradition. So he'd wear red and yellow. Also as per the tradition he should be wearing a piece of clothing passed down by his father, from his father, but his dad is VERY against this union. So his grandmother was like "LMAO fuck that" and she and her daughter (Toivon's mom) gave him the headpiece they wore when they got married. My man's looking dapper and traditional and we're here for it.

Sau was a little tricky because this mfer has a MixTM. So, since he was adopted by an Artist, his wedding attire would be a robe and, I quote,"An Artist is entitled to wear a fencing cape of spun gold [...]" (@thatoneshadyshop, 2017), while "A member of the Merchant Caste, for instance, is entitled to line their attire with golden thread." (@thatoneshadyshop, 2017).

So ok, we got the lil fencing cape. I personally think Sau would line the collar of the robe with gold thread, in honor of his biological father who can't be in the wedding (because, you know, he's dead) and the paternal side of his family that he wishes could be here but, alas.

Neither of the grooms are going to wear the crown of vines and flowers that @thatoneshadyshop has in his headcanons, because neither groom wants to die before getting married. It's a whole place filled to the brim with Bosmer, it's just a Bad Idea.

NOW, the ceremony. I think deciding this was the hardest part because they both wanted to do it in their respective culture's ceremony but Toivon thought Sau's way took too goddamn long and Sau was NOT going to go to a godsdamn volcano like what in the fresh hells-

So the ceremony is Bosmer. And the only thing they could agree on was in a period, before the actual wedding ceremony, in which there's days of prayer to their ancestors/gods/daedra/aedra to bless the union.

The wedding bands: Since it was a Bosmer ceremony, technically they would've made a collar of bone or pearl or any other animal-related material that counted each day of courtship so they could wear it. Did they do it? Of course not.

Instead, Sau snuck all the courtship gifts he gave Toivon and made a lil ornament that he carried on his robe and put around Toivon's neck on the ceremony as a weird, new way of mark that that's his husband (because we were days away from the wedding and we just don't have the time to hunt a wild pig, dry their spine and start carving).

Toivon, on his side, presented Sau with a decorated knife. There's this post on Tumblr about how gifting a dagger would be better than an engagement/wedding ring because it's basically telling your sweetheart "You have full capacity to hurt me. You know me, you can use everything you know against me. I choose to trust you and know you won't do it. I place my trust in you." Just like Sau, he carried the knife and then gave it to him when the ceremony required it.

After the ceremony, Toivon lets his beard grow (I headcanon that facial hair is a marker of married mer from the region Toivon comes from. Single mer have to shave, married mer don't have to. Widower mer shave when their spouse dies, and afterwards their beard is trimmed close to their face or shaved off completely). Sau loves his fukken knife too much and has saved his ass in more than one occassion.

With the families, like I said, a lot of people on Toivon's side are not happy with his decision so they don't go. These people include his older sister and her family, his dad, most of the paternal side of the family. The maternal side and his older brother, though, got his back. So he does see most of his nieces and cousins at the wedding.

Lillandril and Rialas, I feel like as long as they know for sure that Sau is happy and loves Toivon, they'll be fine with the union. Muraz hates it all but Amara would probably hold a strong grip on him because like HELL will she have anything ruin her best friend's wedding. She got her hair done for this.

And to conmemorate this question, I actually drew them in their wedding day some days ago!

The brown necklaces they're wearing SHOULD be the marriage beads Bosmer do, but at the last minute I reasoned that if it took them that long to decide what ceremony to make, they probably didn't have time to do the necklaces. Oh well.

I'm sure there's a lot more I haven't thought of yet regarding the wedding, but this was fun! Thanks for the ask!

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fireintheforest · 3 years

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Can you describe what Saufinril’s wedding would be like?

OOC: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH'

And to conmemorate this question, I actually drew them in their wedding day some days ago!

I'm sure there's a lot more I haven't thought of yet regarding the wedding, but this was fun! Thanks for the ask!

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fireintheforest · 3 years

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I am much ashamed, I assume the rude ask was mine (about altmer and mother being hooker in Isles). I realize now seeing it how rude it was, I am sorry, it was an attempt to "play" character for Saufinril and see how he'd react to someone insult Rialas, but I should have given more context. My only poor excuse is I wrote it late at night. I'm truly sorry for having made you feel bad, I love your blog xx

Thank you for coming forth and apologizing, I really do appreciate it xx I understand how late night can make the brain go "lEtS dO x!!!" so there's no resentments. Thank you for visiting my blog, and if at any moment you want to RP with me, I'd be more than happy!

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fireintheforest · 3 years

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If Saufinril was a dog, what breed would he be?

OOC: I took several quizes to give the best answer, and here they are:

Buzzfeed says Sau would be a labrador

Brainfall says he'd be a Scottish Terrier (when I tell you this is HYSTERICAL-)

Howstuffworks.com says he'd be a Rat Terrier (THIS IS THE SECOND TERRIER-)

Playbuzz goes with Saint Bernard

So there you go! 50% goes with one kind of terrier or another. Sau would be a terrier.

#plot twist I don't particularly like terriers

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fireintheforest · 3 years

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What does Saufinril think of Lillandrils bad dad jokes?

OOC: They're an eye-roller for sure. They're so bad he can't laugh at them. They're not something he can stop, though, so he has to sigh and endure them like any other child would with their parent's bad dad jokes. And the ocassional groan when they're especially bad.

#would Lill be a dad if he didn't say bad dad jokes around a teenager he adopted?

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fireintheforest · 3 years

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I'm having a bad day :(can you tell me what sau loves pls

(BtB spoilers after the "keep reading" thingie, just fyi)

He loves the heat of chili peppers (or fire ant sauce, if in Valenwood) in his mouth contrasting with the softness of fish when he eats his favorite dish.

He loves the first rays of sunlight when the sun is rising, those first specks of gray, orange, pale yellow that eventually brings the blue

He loves stories where the protagonist outsmarts the obstacles or villains to achieve their goal. He loves stories in shadow puppets. He loves when Shira, an old Bosmer, is the one doing the storytelling.

He loves when the wind is strong and his hair is lose; his hair whips around everywhere, the wind currents caress his scalp, the strands are so long, and it feels wonderful.

He loves when he has late night conversations with his friends that turn into them laughing until their stomach hurt, their faces are red and their eyes tear up.

He loves catching those fugitive gleams of pride in Lillandril's eyes or the hidden warmth in Rialas's smile. He loves knowing they love him. He loves loving them back.

He loves lightly tapping bread dough. Slapslapslapslapslapslapslap. Poking it is fun too. So is flicking it. Antagonizing the bread dough is fun and feels so soft and sticky.

He loves seeing Marcello be so carefree and happy, and he loves seeing him enjoy life. It's something he admires and respects in him.

He loves hanging upside down. It was his favorite thing to do as a kid: he'd climb a tree and hang upside down its branches or sit atop and swing his legs back and forth, or lie on a branch and look up at the folliage and the sun that peers from between the leaves. If he's sure he's alone, he climbs a tree and hangs upside down, just for a bit.

I'm sorry you had a bad day, anon. Thankfully, all bad days come to an end, and new ones always begin right after.

BTB SPOILERS

He loves when Toivon wraps his warm arms around him and rests his forehead on his back. Especially when he gives him a little squeeze. Or a lil kiss. He loves curling with Toivon in bed, he could pass the days and nights like this with him.

#get better soon anon

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fireintheforest · 3 years

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Behind the Blue, chapter 23, part 1

The day was shining with a promising sun, a cool wind that blew now and then and teased some of Saufinril’s hairstrands as he combed his hair. It’d been a while since he’d sent a message to Lillandril and Rialas; they’d be bound to have received the previous one by now. They hadn’t busted into the area in all their sassy, magic throwing, arrow shooting glory, so he guessed they were perfectly fine and happy that he’d communicated with them, busy believing he was fine and correcting the way he wrote his g’s.

“At your age,” Saufinril imitated Lillandril’s tone as he kept brushing his hair, clutching the leather strap with his teeth, “one was capable of writing letters to the Queen and the jarls of Skyrim with such fine writing that when Julianos himself saw it, he wept and it created the ocean. PAH!” He moved to tie his hair back, “Your h’s look like long-necked dogs- NO!” he cried out as the leather strap broke, “Fuck!” He sighed and moved his long long hair to the side and started to braid it, tying the end of the braid with one half of the leather strap. This is what he gets for mocking his elders.

Standing up from the dresser, he went to his luggage and ruffled through his clothes for something to wear for the lunch. After trifling for a while, though, he sighed and put his clothes aside. He needed to present Cyremin in a lunch with a Thalmor officer, Armellon and the target of this theft and sell it with the adequate clothes, but none felt quite right. And he couldn’t go back to Marley- so far not enough Altmer had been attracted to the clothes the way he’d promised they would, Marley might as well know by now that he was a con mer.

Maybe if he sold something of his and got another robe from another seamstress or tailor, at least for today…Saufinril rubbed his temple. He needed to go out. Reaching up to tie his braid into a bun, he threw on clothes from the top of his baggage and hurried out the door, walking out past the streets, past the flowerbeds and chattering people, until he reached the streets lined with businesses on either side and started to peer at the windows. Bakeries, flower shops, jewelry stores-

“Monsieur?”

Saufinril turned around and found Dean, Marley’s nephew, approaching from a short distance away, where Saufinril must’ve walked past him. Saufinril immediately gave him arched eyebrows.

“My uncle wants to see you at the store.”

“And you ran all the way here?” Saufinril tapped the boy’s head with two fingers, earning a puzzled (and somewhat mad) look. Saufinril just chuckled, “Lead the way.” He masked the resignment in his face as he followed the Breton boy. Fuck, here comes the ‘I haven’t received any clients, hold your side of the deal’, with what money would he pay him back?

Before he knew it, the store showed up ahead of him, open and awaiting customers. They stepped inside, and not long after Marley came from the back of the storefront. When his eyes found Saufinril, they lit up with a smile.

“Monsieur!” he exclaimed, his usual sunny demeanor shining through as he opened his arms.

“One’s been told you wanted one.” Saufinril purred with a wink. Dean gave Saufinril a disgusted look and walked to the back of the store as Marley laughed nervously.

“Indeed, I sent my nephew to find and fetch you.” Marley cleared his throat, smiling, “I called to thank you!”

The arched eyebrow Saufinril gave him was natural, “Thank one?”

“This morning,” Marley began, “a gentlemer came asking to see one’s robes, claiming he’d seen an Altmer wearing beautiful clothes and he’d been asking to see who made them, and he was directed here! To me!” Marley’s eyes were positively shining, almost like a puppy’s, Saufinril thought amused, “I-I had no idea it could be you until I asked them to describe you and-well he seemed confused that I did, but when he did I-I knew, I knew and you were right!”

Saufinril hid his own surprise with an eyeroll and a smile, “Of course it worked.” He forced a laugh, -“One told you it would, didn’t one?”

“You did, and-I-“ Marley passed a hand through his hair, “I-I had my doubts, monsieur. I haven’t had that many clients since I moved from Dunlain, it was looking grim but…but it worked!”

Saufinril gave him a sweet smile, “Of course it worked. You didn’t need to bring one here to tell you that.”

Marley paused, and then scratched the back of his head, offering an embarrassed smile. “I guess I was excited about the order and wanted to thank you in person, I hope I’m not interrupting your agenda. To be honest, it didn’t cross my mind that-”

“It’s quite forgiven, Marley.” Saufinril walked towards the tailor and traced a finger down his chest, “If, that is…” Marley’s smile faded as he observed the golden finger gently go down, then to his chin as Saufinril made him look up at his eyes, “you give one another of your creations for this afternoon.”

Marley blinked twice, “Th-this afternoon?”

“Mmm. One has a meeting with some officers, and one knows just how marvelously you can work.”

“My uncle is not a dressing servant!” both grownups turned to Dean, who both had forgotten was in the store. He was at the end of the counter, jaw tight and nostrils flaring, eyes set on Saufinril and fists curled tight.

No, holding tight. There was a parchment on his hand, where Saufinril could vaguely see the silhouette of a wolf holding what seemed to be a wet seed on his mouth.

“Don’t mingle in adult conversations, boy!” Marley exclaimed, his voice aiming for stern but only managing embarassment. Saufinril raised an eyebrow. He’d had plenty of dimwitted ideas in his past but at least he knew he’d NEVER butted in in an adult conversation. Unthinkable, both back in the Isles and living with Lillandril.

“But uncle!” the teen pushed, and Saufinril immediately understood why his younger years had been so amusing to Ria, “It’s the truth! You can’t let some-some outlander boss you around, expecting you halt your business and have everything ready for him!”

Annoyingly, the child had a point. But he had a job.

“’Tis fine, one can look for another tailor if this is too short notice.” Saufinril offered, arranging his face to one of disinterest and displeasure. He removed his finger from Marley’s jaw.

“Dean” Marley spoke, this time with an angrier edge, “Stop this at once.”

Dean’s face turned a rose color, mumbled an apology, and left to the back. Marley turned to Saufinril, face twisted with embarrassment.

“I am so sorry about him, monsieur, he’s my sister’s son. I took him in to show him the trade and help her- she has seven children, see. And he’s, he’s had his share of trouble back home, he doesn’t know how to hold back…”

He didn’t know what it was, but something about Marley’s speech bothered him. Still he just smiled.

“Nevermind that.” Saufinril said, “Back to the matter at hand. One might have to meet with more officials, and one will need clothes for such occasion.”

“Of course. If you give me some days-”

“Days?” Saufinril let out a short laugh, “One is due in hours! Good evening, monsieur.” He turned around and began to walk out the store.

“Wait!” Marley called, making Saufinril stop and turn, “I…I don’t have anything for right now.” Marley admitted, then sighed in defeat, “But, I know this seamstress. She might have something for you.”

Saufinril scratched the underside of his chin, arching an eyebrow, “Where is she?”

“Let me write the address for you.”

Five twists and turns, two dead ends, a Breton girl stopped for directions and a brief stop at a bakery for a quick breakfast of chocolate-centered pastry and Saufinril was finally in front of MICETTE’S, as the sign outside of the store advertised.

Saufinril had been able to trick Marley into lending him clothes for free. Self-doubt started to creep in as he wondered if he’d be able to do the same to this Micette or if he was going to have to fork over money for robes he would wear only once.

He sighed. As much as he rolled his eyes at them, sometimes he really appreciated Rialas’s and Lillandril’s confidence in things.

“ ‘Onwards and upwards, as the mentally challenged would say’ ” Saufinril muttered to himself, while mentally he heard those words in Lillandril’s voice. Back straight, arrogant face, it’s showtime. He pushed the door and went in.

Saufinril immediately understood why Marley had accepted the deal of working for exposure when many others would’ve refused (Rialas, if proposed with this, would bite the person’s face): his store was empty. Every time he walked into Marley’s, there were orders getting made, but the store remained empty. Saufinril assumed that it was because his rich clients sent their servants to fetch their orders, and since not that many people were of the merchant middle class, not everyone could afford his creations.

Micette’s store, however, also had orders being made. And also had servants. But there were around four or five, waiting for their packages. And while Marley had the help of his loudmouth nephew, at Micette’s counter there were two other girls attending the servants. And these servants’s shirts and blouses were made of a nicer material than Toivon’s and Sorcise’s.

Micette’s was higher class, then. What the FUCK. Marley accepted the deal because he was desperate. Micette has high-profile clients. What would she have for him? How would he pull the same trick on her?

He didn’t have a chance to mull it over too much, because the blond girl at the counter spotted him. She gave two servants some parcels and sent them their way before approaching him.

“Good morning.” She said, giving him a cordial smile, “Are you here to see our wares?”

“One is here to see Micette.” Saufinril replied, slipping easily into the Cyremin act. For a second he thought this girl was going to look at him up and down and send him on his way, but instead she gave a brief nod and replied, “Right this way.” Before leading him up a set of stairs on the right. Once they reached the second floor, Saufinril was greeted with the sight of a waiting room with light blue, soft seats, a fur rug, various porcelain vases with roses and Mara’s tears, a table with a plate that had dainty strawberry tarts, cream puffs, mini rose sweet rolls and apple and lavender dumplings. As soon as Saufinril sat at the seat, the girl that brought him in served him some tea, leaving the mug and the clear teapot with the underwater blooming jasmine flower in the table.

“I’ll fetch her for you, monsieur.” And with that, she went to a door next to the stairs they’d come up from. Her steps indicated it was stairs. Once she was gone, Saufinril relaxed and looked around better. The smell of roses was starting to get to his nostrils, which meant in a little while it would impregnate the whole room. Lovely. If there was something he and Lillandril could probably agree, it was how tacky it is to leave a store with the stench of whatever scent the owner decided to bathe everyone in. No offense to perfumeries, of course, just-

He heard two sets of feet come down the stairs behind the door.

#behind the blue #btb #altmer #breton #I have to give more kudos to Ben and Kris for beta-reading this chapter #and being patient when I'm intensely asking for it #you guys really are the mvps thank you #in which Sau has to convince someone else that he really is a rich elegant artist #brief glimpse of karma

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fireintheforest · 3 years

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Behind the Blue, chapter 22

Although he didn’t get the need for servant corridors (something about “servants aren’t to be seen” and “great houses work like a clock, with parts in the back for the face to be seen” and other crockshit sentences Aubry said when Toivon started), Toivon was certainly thankful for them. They allowed freedom of movement, anonymity, shortcuts and most importantly for him, the chance of eavesdropping without being seen. Hawkcroft’s house wasn’t big enough to have servant corridors in every corridor, just in four strategic places: the long stone corridor connecting the kitchen, laundry room and servants quarters to the dining room, the stairs on the far south end of the house that connected the top and bottom floors (we can’t have common servants going up and down the stairs the good people use, are you crazy?), the smaller stairs that went to the attic, which housed the once Hawkcroft’s nannies’ bedrooms (close to the children’s bedrooms for easy access in case of a night emergency) and the corridor that snaked around the west wings’ rooms and down to the first floor.

When Toivon had first arrived, Sorcise had shown him these architectural secrets, to be used for the daily work without being seen. Most of the maids and footmen used them. Sorcise had confided that the west wing had this longer corridor because Hawkcroft’s personal office and library were in it.

Thanks to these corridors, Toivon had heard the most mudane fucking conversations he’d ever heard (and never cared of hearing in the first place), trivial “troubles” Avelle had with her clothes and her friends, long business monologues between Hawkcroft, his secretary, and sometimes Armellon and Bertraug, and what (in his mind) was Louis’s and Katherine’s dangerously monotonous marriage. They needed help there. As soon as possible.

That morning, Toivon opened the passage, stepped inside and closed the entrance behind himself. Headed down the simple corridor that contrasted with the one he’d just left behind. Down he went, walking past walls that contained faint voices, muffled steps, and even one that had music coming out of it (probably the one where Avelle was at, getting piano lessons from her tutor).

A strong thud on his left caught his attention, as did the subsequent noise that came from the other side of the wall. He should listen to this.

“Maybe something just fell.” He wondered, a fleeting thought that fluttered through his mind.

A blunt, strong noise again, that sounded like a heavy object being pulled on the ground, came from the same place. He should listen to this.

He took a step to the wall, taking care to distribute his weight to avoid any sound from creaking floorboards of the servant corridor. He leaned and cupped the hand next to his ear to listen.

Due to the thickness of the walls, he couldn’t clearly hear what was being discussed on the other side, unlike what novels and theatres liked to pretend happened. Still, just the kind of movement that had happened had caught his attention. Which room was this? He had to find out as soon as possible. There was just some muffled low speech going on at the time, not high enough for him to listen. Let’s see, he’d entered this corridor next to one of the sitting rooms, the pink one. That was between Avelle’s room and the music room, and he’d walked past said music room since Avelle was now practicing. And down the corridor, the other rooms were…

“…asking too much!”

A voice, a sad one, was clear. Another familiar voice replied with just as much feeling, but Toivon couldn’t place who he was talking to. He hadn’t been there this morning to receive any guests; that had been Aubry. He’d been outside cutting logs and pulling the tanks of milk to the cool storage. Toivon silently pressed himself to the wall, straining to hear something, cheek against cool stone.

Footsteps. Someone was pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, while another set of steps travelled to the right (the same direction where Toivon was facing) and then came the sound of a scraping. Something heavy being dragged on the ground, the same noise as before. A chair? Too heavy to be a chair.

“…not the way I wanted it to go”, The sad voice said again

Toivon felt himself get surprised at the fact that he could hear conversations from the other side of this stone wall. Could it mean that there was a hole in the wall, an opening of some sort?

“Nothing is.” The familiar voice replied. Toivon would bet his fingers he’d heard this voice before, but the haughty tone eluded him as to where. It was only when the voice continued talking that it hit him that that was Emmanuel. The first voice said something in a low, pitiful way.

“And you think I don’t know that, Verloin? Do you think me stupid?” Emmanuel hissed, “Of course I am aware of foul play! Damned the gods, do you think I was born yesterday?”

“I didn’t mean that-”

“A dead thief, stolen jewels and the little high elf tramp giving Armellon doe eyes. All in less than a week.” Toivon felt a skipped heartbeat and a face flushed of anger.

“But, she hasn’t been out since Edwinne passed away. She’s kept safe. They bit the bait, this means you know who sent them?” A pause. Toivon held his breath.

“Avelle.” Emmanuel said, this time his voice had sourness that didn’t quite cover hurt, “My own daughter.”

“I could’ve never believed it.”

“I guess I could. I always gave her everything she wanted. EVERYTHING. Why not her mother’s sapphire? But to humiliate me in front of guests, on her party…I don’t see where the piece fits.” Another pause, “Suppose that what hurts me most is that she doesn’t have the decency to wait until I pass.”

“Now, Emmanuel.” The voice chided, “I’ve told you time and time again, you’re healthy as a horse. This obsession of yours with your death is not normal.”

“Told you…you’re healthy” could this be Bertraug, if he knew of Emmanuel’s health intimately?

“You call it obsession, I see it as being a cautious man. I spent years on the sea, battling scurvy, pirates, hunger, thirst and storms, fought the circus that is the Merchant’s Council and their every ridiculous request to amass my wealth and I won’t lose it to some impatient brat or, or…a bunch of dirty, lice-filled bastards and smooching whores.”

“Hmm.” The voice replied, then added in a low volume that Toivon had to strain to hear, “Orsen is very ill. I don’t think he’ll make it. Never again ask me to do that.”

Toivon frowned. Do what? What does Bertraug (assuming it’s him) have anything to do with this person?

“Oh, please. The lad is young, he’ll be fine. At his age- what, how old is he, 21?”

“24”

“They’re fit as a fiddle at that age. He’ll live.” A nonchalant answer for a topic that was setting off alarms in Toivon’s mind.

A shuffle from the men in the room.

“Anyhow-” Emmanuel began, but was interrupted by the visitor.

“I think, if you truly wish to protect your money, you should listen to Armellon’s advice.”

“Why would I listen to advice from an elf with his tendencies? You know I have a deep gratitude for him, you know how close we are, but his request…this request…is irrational to me.”

Heh, tendencies. Toivon nodded to himself. He knew that one.

“He believes that to be possible, just because of his, his Isles upbringing and how he did it. He just assumes it’ll be normal!”

“But that’s not just in the Isles, Emmanuel. People could talk. He wants-he wants, see, he’s your lawyer. He-that is, we- are looking to minimize risk…to avoid a scandal. Plenty of people would jump at the first chance to grab your bones if you fell from public favor. And you know how he prides himself on his discretion, in professional and personal matters. He kept the whole issue of the ba-”

“Shhh!” a pause of silence. Never before had Toivon wished houses be made of thinner material than at that moment, “Didn’t I tell you not to discuss that topic here?!” Emmanuel whispered angrily.

“You have, I’m sorry.” Again Toivon had to strain to hear.

“The less people know of this, the better for everybody. You saw what happened when Edwinne…” and the voice quieted until they were a murmur, despite Toivon’s best effort to listen. But slowly, the volume rose again.

“-been taking a fancy to him.”

“Do you think so? I never thought Armellon would go for someone so young.”

“While he talks about being discreet. He’s lucky nobody knows his expressions like we do.” Emmanuel laughed, “Armellon, you old fox.”

“He would-” whatever Bertraug was about to say was suddenly interrupted by a loud CLACK! of an object falling to the wooden floor of the servant’s hallway, mere meters away from Toivon. He felt his face turn cold and looked around himself. Had he dropped something?! His floor was clear. A dead silence got settled.

“What was that?” Bertraug asked

“It came from the servants’ passage.” Two sets of footsteps and the sound of a door opening. Quick, Toivon separated himself from the wall and looked around. Empty. He decided to go around the corner and see who had ruined the eavesdropping for everybody when he heard the passage’s door open and someone step in. The force of his steps made Toivon almost fall, but some comical arm-flailing kept his balance. He turned around and started down the dim hallway, as quick as possible in soft steps so as to not make much noise. Though the passage was dark, these were Bretons and it was a sure bet that they’d have a light spell. He had to get out of here. By the time the two Bretons came to the hallway he was in, he was a silhouette against the dark.

“Someone’s there!” Bertraug cried out, and now the footsteps ran after him. Toivon sped up.

“Stop!” Emmanuel ordered, but Toivon kept going. Left, right, jumped up the three steps in one part, left, left, now right.

“Stop there!” they kept up with him, he could tell. The blue light of a spell they produced by magic to guide them danced at the edge of Toivon’s periphery, behind him like a nagging ghost or a guilt that never goes away, no matter how hard Toivon ran.

“There he goes, left!”

Don’t turn around, no chance for them to get his face. Could they see his ears? His skin tone? The blue hue told him they were close but not enough to see him. Was he sure of that?

“STOP!”

The narrow, curved staircase with its 8 inches of tread and 9 inches of rise, was right ahead. Placing a hand on the wall and another on the banister, risking getting seen by the light and his pursuers, Toivon ran down them. Easy considering the shortness of the tread, hard in the event that a fall would break his hips, get him caught and ruin the mission.

Taptaptaptaptaptaptap, his feet ran down

Creakcreakcreakcreak, the wooden stairs replied under his feet

ToptoptopPORORORORMPOMPOM went, at first, the Bretons’ feet until th

ey, with a strangled gasp and an “Augh!”, fell down the stairs, rolling in themselves and each other, hitting step after step, a human boulder barreling to Toivon as it released cries and curses.

Toivon ran down the stairs to avoid joining the rolling boulder, his breath in gasps burning his throat, tempted to look back in a panic but also frozen into dashing down in the same feeling. The human boulder crashed behind himcursing and groaning and banging on every step, and Toivon could now hear it approach his ankles (and only hear, since the minute they lost their footing, the Bretons’ spells died down, leaving them in darkness). The lack of light seemed to amplify the speed of everyone involved, or so Toivon felt the chase. The boulder was coming closer, his thighs burned, he was getting dizzy, PROMPOROMPORMPOM faster coming to him, run Toivon run!

A landing straight ahead! And a wall! If he hit the wall, the boulder was sure to follow!

In a desperate move, Toivon turned to his right, in a movement he’d done a thousand times and had taught Marcello a thousand more, and separated his left hand from the wall to place it on the bannister. He jumped, pushed himself up and tucked his knees into his chest and his feet above the bannister. Then he stretched them forward to pass the other side, now releasing himself, as the boulder passed him and continued to the landing with a strong, dry hit. Meanwhile, Toivon landed on the narrow stairs, which didn’t provide him much of a proper landing space. Toivon felt his feet touch wood for a fraction of a second, then air, and then it was his body the one that touched the step.

Well, steps, since the fall caused Toivon to keep falling down in a vulgar speed, up until the next turn, where the Dunmer was able to get back up and keep running down, without looking back. He heard Emmanuel’s sharp tone of voice and Bertraug’s groans fade as he went on. He left the servants’ passages at the first chance he got, drenched in cold sweat.

#btb #behind the blue #altmer #breton #dunmer #round of applause to Ben for editing the awful awful grammar I wrote this on #and round of applause to Kris for reading this chapter a second time just because I wanted him to liveread it #you guys are the real mvps #no need to clarify that I haven't written SHIT because pandemic #here you go guys a thief almost gets caught for the second time #Toivon my dude hone your skills ppl are gonna think you're an amateur

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