#azura the valour hand

[jurygarroth]

Azura my poor fail girlie who never had a chance…

+ graduation day at the guard academy

[chameleonspell]

176: grace

They had sailed all day, all night, and now dawn was breaking over their bows. Viatrix, upright in the stern, missed it. She had spent some time dozing, and some helping Blatta with the practicalities of the small fishing boat. Mostly, though, she had sat facing west, watching herself sail away from Vivec, further with every gust of wind that filled the sails, every wave that slapped against the hull. I have abandoned my faith. Vivec was my teacher. Have I learned nothing from my Lessons?

Mehra was sleeping close by, her eyelids swollen. She had done little but weep for most of the journey, locked inside a grief Viatrix had no key for. Where is my grief for the god I have betrayed? Am I so unfeeling that I would leave her holy city forever, without even one tear? Viatrix used male pronouns for Vivec with older Temple colleagues, who were likely to be scriptural hardliners, following a masculist tradition of interpreting the Thirty-Six Lessons. She used gender-neutral ones with most others, this being as close as she could get to the subtle and intricate network of pronouns used in the original Dunmeris. In the privacy of her own thoughts, however, Vivec was always feminine. She still believed she had done the right thing. Viatrix didn't do regret. She also lacked practice at doubt, but occasionally she allowed herself to doubt whether this was a virtue. Nevertheless: she did not doubt her decision. She only wondered at her own continued self-possession about it. In the wrenching instant when the Intervention spell had translated her body to Ebonheart, and her soul hung in elastic suspense, ready to follow, she'd felt something. A farewell, or perhaps a blessing. Warm, familiar, and imbued with love, like Vivec's eyes, during their one meeting, when she'd knelt on the cold Palace floor, all unworthiness. But, then as now, this love did not want her submission. It raised her to stand, lifted her chin to the horizon. And it was not only a shared love, now, but a shared pride in what she'd become. The way mothers felt, perhaps, when they saw their daughters married. There was no Grace of Obedience, she realised, suddenly. There was valour and daring, justice and courtesy, pride, generosity and humility, but no obedience. Not that you'd guess, from talking to anyone in the rigidly structured Temple hierarchy. Some days, she could hardly draw breath without being told: "it is forbidden". To Almsivi, of course, nothing was forbidden. Sotha Sil was beyond all restriction, having examined it, unravelled it, and discovered no use for it. Shielded in the bright raiment of divinity, Almalexia walked through fire and filth, emerging unscathed and unsullied. And Vivec... deceptive, impossible, glorious Vehk, gave themselves over to forbidden things and was crushed and cleaved and violated. And each time, they endured, and stole new secrets, and used them to rebuild themselves, each time stronger, each time more beautiful. Weeping and laughing and teaching us: yes, it will hurt. Yes, it will be worth it. "Vivec is a liar," a now-ex-friend had sneered, when she told them of her religious conversion. "Vivec is a poet," she had retorted. Later, after months of study, she would have to admit that her friend had been right. Vivec was a liar. And yet, however misleading and twisting Vehk's words, she found there was always truth in them, if not always on the surface. "My mouth is skilled at lying and its alibi a tooth." "This is a forbidden ritual," "This Sermon is forbidden." Forbidden by whom? Not by Vivec, not explicitly. "This Sermon is untrue." Then where is the truth? "The first meaning is always hidden." "Do as I say, but not as I do. It's all so convenient." Wherever did I get that last one from? It's quite incorrect... the opposite, in fact. Vivec is a liar, who teaches by example. The true lesson is: Do as I do, not as I say. What, then, has Vivec shown me? She stared blindly out to sea, nails scraping the gunwale, breath caught in her chest. It's not a prohibition, it's a test. To see who has truly learned their Lessons. The lessons of poetry, creativity and stealing power from those who seek to control you. Mehra was still sleeping, eyes ringed with sullen mauve. Viatrix gazed at her, filled with love and a brief flash of pitying derision. Then, laughing, she shook the little librarian awake and dragged her upright. "Look!" Viatrix cried, "look at the horizon! Do you know who stands there?" Mehra groaned and blinked against the morning sun, croaking nothing intelligible. "No one," Viatrix told her, "not yet. But it's where we are going, and Vivec has blessed our way. This is the proof of the new, Mehra, this is the promise of the wise!" Mehra could not bear the bright horizon, shielding her face, eyes filling with tears again. "My gods have taught me nothing but lies," she husked. "I can no longer follow where they lead." "We were never intended to follow, once we'd learned enough! We were always intended to lead ourselves, to explore our limits, and seize our destinies!" "I'm no leader." A sob. "I want to go back to the Library." "Grace through Troubles, Mehra. Faith is forged in the crucible of suffering. The Temple has stagnated, no wonder the Palace doors are closed in shame." She put her arm around Mehra's quivering shoulders. "It's going to be all right, I promise. We're going the right way. But if you need someone to follow for a while, you can follow me." "I dunno about that Temple stuff of yours," Julan called from the bows, "but you're wrong about one thing." He was leaning over the port side, hair streaming, squinting through the dawn glare at the distant humps of the mainland. He wouldn't see it, but Viatrix aimed a glare at him anyway. "What," she enquired icily, "am I wrong about?" "The horizon." "Excuse me?" Julan had clambered higher, and was now balancing on the gunwale, clinging precariously to a rope. "Someone is standing there." She considered explaining that it had been a quotation, a familiar metaphor to inspire Mehra, but curiosity overrode the impulse, and she hurried forwards to join him. At first she could see nothing, but in time, a figure emerged from the mist. It was colossally tall, yet graceful, its slender arms extended outwards. Obviously a statue of some kind, though she couldn't see who it represented. Mehra, appearing beside her, gave the answer. "Azura," she breathed, eyes shining with the first hope Viatrix had seen in them since her rescue. Above them, Julan's mouth had fallen open in awestruck wonder, and he looked like he might fall into the sea at any moment. When Mehra spoke, he glanced down at her and beamed. She smiled back. Viatrix restrained the impulse to knock Julan's legs out from under him. Viatrix understood the concept of the Anticipations on an intellectual level, but the Dunmer's appreciation for the Daedra was something she suspected she would never share. But Mehra's hip touched hers, so she stood and watched the statue pass by, placating herself with less obvious devotions, until Blatta called her to help turn the boat north. It would get worse, she realised, as she whipped a length of rope into taut coils. Her plan had been to head for the mainland, and lose themselves somewhere in the south, perhaps make the pilgrimage to Almalexia she had always wanted. But Mehra, between small sips of tea in Blatta's one good armchair, had whispered of a place called Holamayan, tucked away on a secluded island off the south-eastern coast of Vvardenfell. A secret hideaway for Temple dissidents, where she would be safe, and among friends. Desperate to comfort her, and under pressure from Julan, who adamantly refused to leave Vvardenfell, Viatrix had agreed. What she now overheard made her regret not standing her ground. Mehra was enthusing to Julan about the rumoured contents of the library at Holamayan. Although grateful the topic had finally returned some colour to the librarian's pale cheeks, Viatrix found it hard to share her joy. Holamayan was, she learned, a Temple of Azura, ostensibly linked to the Tribunal, but in reality, following far older traditions. Mehra might be among friends, but she wouldn't be. She would be a stranger again, a foreigner, a stuck up n'wah bitch. And not even her faith would be a shared point of contact, here, her devotion to Almsivi would be criticised, picked apart, dubbed naive and deluded. She glanced at Mehra, who was smiling and gazing out to sea. Julan said something to her with a smirk, and she laughed. Viatrix retired to the stern, fighting a sudden onslaught of tears for Vivec, which, it turned out, had only ever been lying in ambush. An hour or two before nightfall, they arrived at a small dock, hung with a single, golden-flamed lantern. "This it?" Blatta frowned at the map bearing Mehra's precise annotations from memory. "It better be, else we're lost in the damn Void." Mehra swallowed, and looked up at the craggy island. There were large, stone steps carved into the rock, winding several times around the summit, leading to the peak. At the top, camouflaged among the rocks, was something like an huge, stone seashell. "I think so," she said. "How in Oblivion d'you get inside?" asked Julan. He was right, the structure appeared completely sealed, without even a window. "Many of Azura's most sacred places observe rites of liminal boundary," said Mehra, and when this produced only blank stares, she added: "The doors only open at dawn and dusk." "Surely they will let us inside if we knock," protested Viatrix, but Mehra shook her head. "We must wait for the holy hour. Still, it will take some time to climb up there." She grimaced. "For my part, I hope I can make it by sunset. My legs are so weak, I may need to stop and rest, part-way." "Don't worry." Julan leapt onto the jetty, and offered her a hand out of the boat, oblivious to the look Viatrix gave him. "We'll give you all the help you need." "Thank you." Mehra gripped his arm, as she found her feet on the boards. "You really are quite different from most Ashlanders." She was smiling, intending a compliment, but, judging by his face, missed the mark. "You think?" he said, tone forcibly neutral. She blinked, confused. "I only meant--" "No, no. You're right." He replicated her smile, but with sharper edges. "Most Ashlanders are far nicer than I am." He didn't stop supporting Mehra by the arm, but his eyes were on the temple now, and he didn't resist, when Viatrix elbowed him aside, and took over. As Julan strode off towards the stone pathway, Mehra turned to Viatrix, eyes round. "Did I say something wrong?" "Never mind him," Viatrix told her. "He's quite insufferable. Really more of an acquaintance than a friend. I'm not sure why I even..." She shook her head, putting the thought aside, as she gazed up at the monastery. Ahead of them, Blatta was already following Julan. Mehra took a step forwards, but Viatrix didn't move. Pale fingers of tension were snaking through her limbs, and she could hardly feel Mehra's arm in hers. "Are you all right?" Mehra's soft, deep voice nudged gently at her ear. "Of course," she snapped - too harshly, she regretted it instantly, but Mehra didn't flinch, nothing but concern in the depths of her tawny eyes. "Are you sure?" She gave that smile, the one that felt like she was wrapping it around Viatrix's entire body, as if she'd spent her whole life crafting it for her, this smile that fitted every part of Viatrix so completely. Burn all my finery, let me wear nothing else for the rest of my days. She felt her mouth twitch. Stripped of her pride, she heard herself whisper: "I'm afraid..." "Afraid? Viatrix Petilia, who walked alone into the Ministry of Truth to rescue me, and only this morning claimed she was seeking her destiny, in the image of Lord Vivec? She's afraid?" "I'm afraid they won't like me, here." I'm afraid you'll never love me in the way that I love you, and I will never regret my choice if i live for a thousand years, but the fact I know it's worth it doesn't mean it won't still hurt. "How could anyone not like you?" Mehra laughed, and squeezed her arm. "And no matter what they think of you, please know that I shall always be your friend." She braced her smile against clenched teeth. Grace through Troubles, Viatrix. Sweeping her pride about her like a silk scarf, she set her foot on the first step of the mountain. next: 177: curses previous: 175: martyr beginning: 1: numb

[jurygarroth]

aphzura. azumau. is this anything