dear_mun | (no subject)

It seems a fair place to start. Short of asking a dragon, you don't have many options.

[ Stratos says it neutrally, although he's hoping to Talos it isn't that simple. That they won't just find a stable path that leads from bleak hillsides to misplaced dunes. He's considered his likely fate if he gets dragged back to this man's homeland and on balance he'd really rather not. ]

[Bennet really doesn't think it will be that simple either, though a man can hope. And the sureness of having a clear path for his boots is, as ever, a fortifying experience for him. He is not quite so encouraged as to smile, but he does look a good deal less dour now.]

Come then, let us set out. As I said, the valley is fifteen leagues away by my reckoning. If we keep a steady pace, we can be there by midday on the morrow.

[ He can hardly wait. At least he'll have plenty to occupy his mind. ]

Very well. [ Stratos turns in roughly the direction Bennet pointed out before. ] This way, you said?

[ He'll just assume the lead. It's not as if he's unfamiliar with this procedure. ]

[Frankly, he is ready for something that will occupy his body rather than his mind. After these many strange revelations and this stranger still situation, a fair bit of trekking ought to do him good.]

Aye, just over those hills and from there down across a bit of a ridge. The ground awaiting us is treacherous, so mind your step.

[He quickly takes up step beside Stratos. Yes, the mage is his guide and his prisoner, but what he is not is a human shield. Bennet has no intentions of using him as such.]

[ Stratos gives him a sidelong look: considering how close Bennet's come to killing him over the last hour, it feels peculiar for the man to be warning him about his footing. ]

I'm accustomed to unsteady ground. [ A double meaning, yes, so lest it be taken ill: ] I was raised on icy mountain slopes.

[Bennet meets Stratos's gaze blandly, without a hint of suspicion or anger. Whatever else can be said about him, he is not a man who dwells in the past. What has happened before his before; his concern is for the here and now.]

Far north of here, then? [The question is put gamely, as though he were interested -- and he is.] A perilous place to call home, I would think. I was myself raised in a small peasant village in my native France. Living was difficult, but not for the land -- that at least was fertle and welcoming.

[He moves at a brisk pace, swift and sure-footed, clearly in his element.]

[ The steady, sustainable pace of the legionnaire's march is something he's been trained to; even with his hands bound, this is somewhat easier than trying to adjust to riding with a mounted unit. ]

South, actually. The city of Bruma in the Jerrall Mountains. [ The last place Skyrim touches, and mountains are every direction in Skyrim. ] Terrible ground for farmers, but not bad for hunters. Or soldiers.

France is a peaceful land, I take it?

[He finds himself pleased with the man's pace; Stratos does not slow him down nearly as much as he expected the mage to, and he barely has to adjust his pace at all.]

South? [His dark eyebrows lift in surprise.] Are we truly so far north then? The air is not as thick as north should be, or mayhaps we are not simply high enough.

[A wry smile.] Aye, and nay, and every which way besides. Have you ever been to a nation that can be said to be at peace, yet within its borders wars are waged with pen and quills? A nation where there is enough for everyone, not no one has enough? Where men are called equal and treated as not?

Stay until winter returns and you won't mistake it. [ It's milder than his hometown, but compared to the warm greenery of most Cyrodiil this is a harsh and bitter province. ]

There's no magic to guarantee justice - nor unity. [ He glances at the sky, and almost smiles. ] Certainly not to keep scholars from quarreling. Count it a blessing when you can soothe unrest and keep invaders from your lands.

Forgive me for saying so, sir, but I have no intent on remaining in your lands that long, the Lord willing. [He crosses himself as he takes the oath; even though this realm is not at all unpleasant to his tastes, he still has pressing business elsewhere.]

It is not magic that brings justice or unity, only men. [His tone is stern, but only there, and he proceeds on without qualm.] Nor do simply the scholars quarrel in my land. Nobles quarrel with nobles, peasants with peasants, kings with kings. Only a mission as sacred as redeeming the only one could possibly have brought a people like mine together. Be grateful that your own lands are quieter.

Far be it from me to keep a man from his own realm.

[ If he glances at Bennet, it's only to note the odd ritual gesture. ]

You needn't tell an Imperial about diplomacy. [ It's murmured, hard to tell if his tone is wry or weary. His mouth does quirk at the next part, though. ]

Ah. Perhaps I should mention the risk of encountering rebel forces.

[ And bandits. And saber cats. And dragons. Maybe even Forsworn venturing northward. ]

Perhaps you should.

[He reaches the top of the hill and stops, waiting for Stratos to catch up.]

Thus far I have only encountered threat from the local wildlife. A great cat of some sort attempted to ambush me upon my first nightfall, but I drove it off.

[He smiles wistfully.] A shame I had not managed to cripple or slay it; a beast that large could have us both well.

[The mention of 'rebel forces' seems to make him antsy. The fingers of his sword hand tap his thigh impatiently.]

These rebels you speak of; how numerous are they? Are they well-armed?

Perhaps.

[ Stratos glances at him and nods a little in acknowledgment. Perhaps it's a blessing the only one with a sword is well able to use it. A mixed blessing, to be sure...

As promised, he doesn't struggle to find his footing, though he keeps his eyes on the ground as he makes it up the hill. At the top he stops to scan the view while he answers. ]

This far west they shouldn't be too numerous. Small scouting camps, at most. Their swords and axes are good Nord steel, however - and they know very well how to use them.

[From this height, they have a fairly good view of the ridges and surrounding hillsides. Considering the view, Bennet lets his hand drop from the hilt of his sword.]

Know you where they might be like to set up such camps? If you can instruct me on how to spot them, it would be child's play to infiltrate one under the cover of night and kill the party within before they had sufficient time to ready themselves.

[He speaks with the easy confidence of a man who has done precisely that before.]

I can outfight any vagabond in single combat. It is only their numbers that we need fear.

Hm. You don't let any foe pass you by.

[ He studies the way ahead. ] They'll seek sheltered ground, though not overhung or closed in. Better to scatter in this terrain than to let themselves be bottled. I'd expect them to keep their backs to a ridge, preferably on a slope with good cover.

[To that he gives the mage a sidelong look.]

Would you prefer to be ambushed and slain instead?

[Listening carefully, he lifts a hand to his chin and smiles.]

Ah, they do not think so differently from the English then. 'Tis a strategy I am more used to having used by friends than foes, but I know it well. And they are used to looking out for the threat of your Legionnaires, aye? A single man they would not expect, for they would themselves consider such suicide.

I'm not readily ambushed, when allowed to work.

[ There really isn't much to choose from between Bennet and the Stormcloaks. ]

They'd consider it an excellent death. [ A slight smile, at that, before he concedes. ] But you may be right. Of all the threats they'll watch for, that one is unlikely.

Oh? [Dark eyebrows rise in polite surprise.] You do have some proper field experience then?

[That is... not entirely unexpected, given how sure-footed his captive has been thus far, but still interesting to have confirmed.]

Tell me of it.

[ Well, he needn't say it like that. Stratos gives him a faintly puzzled look that says he's not sure Bennet wants to know but has learned better than to say so. ]

Four years as an auxiliary in Cyrodiil; six hunting bandits and a few would-be warlords in the kingdoms of High Rock. The last two, working with a mounted unit to track down and eliminate magical threats.

[ The irony doesn't escape him. He keeps an eye on the knight's expression as he goes on. The way he reacted to simple spells, Stratos isn't sure of the reaction this will receive. ]

I have enchanted weapons, cleared rockfalls, healed wounds and lit signal fires. I've warded arrows from my comrades, stood night watch; fought rebels, common thugs and rogue mages. Primarily, of course, I've cleaned armour.

[ There are curses that cannot be escaped, no matter your rank or specialisation. ]

[Folding his arms, Bennet turns around to give Stratos his full attention. His expression remains coolly neutral throughout, save for that mention for 'tracking down and eliminating magical threats', which earns a definite lift of the eyebrows.]

If I am to believe this, Stratos Caelus, then it seems you have a fair bit of field experience indeed. And if so, then you would be far more able to assist me were I to free you.

[The observation is calm, dispassionate, without trace of apparent suspicion yet save in the slight flicker of his mouth. It is pointed, though, the way he does not refer to the mage's claimed rank.]

Of course, were I to free you, you would also be able to act in other ways. Perhaps to warn these rebels, if they indeed be rebels at all. Or perhaps to run away in the dead of night, or even restrain me as I sleep.

[He taps one finger against the pommel of his sword. Despite his words, his tone remains even-tempered.]

So tell me, Stratos Caelus, why should I free you? Your allegiance is to your Legion. I fault you not for it, but as a stranger in a land not my own and without allies, I must safeguard myself. [Letting out his breath in a soft sigh, he shakes his head regretfully but firmly.] No, your present level of service is enough. I will not require your assistance to overcome these vagabonds of yours, merely to identify them.

Though I will be sure to permit you to clean my armour when the fighting is done.

As you say.

[ If the knight thinks he's lying to talk his way out of the bonds, well, Stratos betrays no disappointment at the failure. ]

After all, the only things now compelling me to aid you are my promise to see you returned to your people and, perhaps, my orders.

And the promise was made under duress. None among your people would fault you for breaking it.

[There's no particular hostility for the mage as he says that, Bennet just notes it dispassionately, as a simple statement of fact.]

Come. [Clapping the smaller man on the back, he nudges his captive forward.] If we're to find one of these camps, we'll need to do so before the daylight turns against us.

[ Stratos makes a note: the man's more self-aware than he may sometimes seem. ]

Very well. [ He moves on, seeking a downward path that won't trip him too badly. The ground is pocked and unsteady, yes, but at least there's no ice to make the rocks slick, no snow to hide the holes, and he keeps his weight toward the hillside. Better a slide than a tumble.

He's not at all convinced they'll find a camp, but he'll welcome the darkness. ]

[They move on that way for a time, the mage finding his footing carefully and Bennet pressing on ahead, swift and sure-footed as a mountain goat. The ground is steep and uncertain, 'tis true, but no more so than the Alps he spent much of his youth cutting his feet upon. They go forth in silence, Bennet clearly being of the sort of temperament that does not require constant conversation, until--]

Wait.

[The command comes softly, but he throws out his hand to prevent Stratos from going further, not looking over at him. His eyes are focused ahead, to seemingly nothing but more of the same: rocks, ridges, and barren ground. There are no unusual sounds, no sign that anything at all is amiss, but every nerve in his body has begun tingling on high alert. This is not the first time in his life he has felt this.]

[Should Stratos try to speak, he'll be met only with a palm clapped quickly over his mouth.]

[ Stratos halts promptly, knowing better than to add any noise. Instead he looks to Bennet, follows the direction of his gaze. Since he's not permitted the means to alter his sight or senses there's little he can do, but he stills, listens and breathes deeper, in case the wind carries a telling trace of smoke. ]