Post by Sibyl on Feb 13, 2013 2:15:37 GMT -5
The nearer Sibyl came to the capital, the more her worries began to return. She remembered the summons for her to go and speak with the Legate, and her whole being returned to the clenched knot of fear that it had been the day she left the camp in Hjaalmarch. He’d placed in her hands a very urgent message, she’d been told, and her orders were to deliver it to Castle Dour within the following three days. Very rarely was Sibyl given such a harsh limitation on time, and she couldn’t help but ponder agitatedly over what, exactly, was in the sealed envelope she had tucked inside her leather satchel. By the time she reached within sight of the silver towers of Solitude, her hands were trembling upon the reins of her horse, try as she might to stop them.
Through her growing anxiety, she could recall seeing a Stormcloak camp not too far northeast from the camp as she had been riding away. Were the Imperial soldiers of the camp in ant danger? Was that the reason that the Legate was so desperate for his missive to be sent?
Sibyl’s hands tightened until her knuckles grew white.
Such speculation was not for her, however — her job was to deliver, nothing more. The courier let her horse’s gallop slow into a trot as she rode onward, her presence acknowledged by the guards watching the perimeters of the city. She slipped off the stallion and gave him a loving pat along the crest, then handed him over to the stable owner before trudging up the slope to the gates of Solitude. The first time she had come to the capital was when she’d first decided to join the Legion; she’d looked upon it with such wonder. Compared to her uncle’s humble dwelling, Solitude was a sprawling mass of elegance and enduring beauty, almost as extravagant as its splendor. There were no simple wood huts to be found there — all was flawlessly built, the burnish of their surfaces glowing blindly in the sun.
The city gates slid open, welcoming her back into the safety of its walls. The blonde heightened her pace and raised a hand to her eyes as a sheen of light bounced off the polished rock of the cold stone and crafted structures. As her sight adjusted, she continued on, increasingly fearful of what words were contained in the piece of paper hidden within her of her satchel. Around her, children shouted and laughed as they flitted about like wayward beams of light, falling to the ground in their haste only to rise up and run once more.
When she reached the foot of Castle Dour, she marched purposefully past its high stone walls and arched gateway, past the guards training in archery and swordsmanship, past the guarded door into the headquarters of the Imperial Legion. There stood a handful of soldiers gathered around the map room, few of which looked up as Sibyl approached. She held her head high and walked into the room with a stride that belied the quaking unease that shook her within, then hastily fished the sealed letter from her bag and held it out for someone of higher ranking to take.
It would have been a lie to say Sibyl knew what came of that, to say whether her worst fears had been confirmed or denied. For, just like every other occasion, one of her superiors took one look at the letter, glanced at her fatigued form, and dismissed her. She had left the confines of the interior before any discussions resumed. It was nothing new, but some part of Sibyl had hoped that this time would be different. That this time, it meant something more than a nod of obligatory appreciation — but those hopes and possibilities were lost amongst the chatter of the courtyard and the clash of steel against steel.
With some degree of resignation, the Imperial woman sauntered out of the fortress, a hint of sweat still dotting her brow from her rush to hand over the missive. Her hands smoothed down the front of her armour, then adjusted the strap of her bag that was slung across her slender build. Little tendrils of light hair clung to her damp cheeks, though the thick braid down her back stayed mostly in place. Once she was a fair distance away from the source of her distress, Sibyl finally slowed to a stop. From her satchel, she retrieved a flask of water and took several long gulps of its content. Her memories of the surroundings made known her location — she was perhaps somewhere halfway between the Bard’s College and the Blue Palace, with very little understanding of how her feet had brought her there.
A sigh escaped her lips as she leaned against a stone wall by the roadside. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she tilted her head back, calming herself as she counted up to ten and down again. She leaned her upper body forward, pressing her palms into her lap as she did so, unaware of the unfamiliar faces that walked past her as she took in breath after breath.
Through her growing anxiety, she could recall seeing a Stormcloak camp not too far northeast from the camp as she had been riding away. Were the Imperial soldiers of the camp in ant danger? Was that the reason that the Legate was so desperate for his missive to be sent?
Sibyl’s hands tightened until her knuckles grew white.
Such speculation was not for her, however — her job was to deliver, nothing more. The courier let her horse’s gallop slow into a trot as she rode onward, her presence acknowledged by the guards watching the perimeters of the city. She slipped off the stallion and gave him a loving pat along the crest, then handed him over to the stable owner before trudging up the slope to the gates of Solitude. The first time she had come to the capital was when she’d first decided to join the Legion; she’d looked upon it with such wonder. Compared to her uncle’s humble dwelling, Solitude was a sprawling mass of elegance and enduring beauty, almost as extravagant as its splendor. There were no simple wood huts to be found there — all was flawlessly built, the burnish of their surfaces glowing blindly in the sun.
The city gates slid open, welcoming her back into the safety of its walls. The blonde heightened her pace and raised a hand to her eyes as a sheen of light bounced off the polished rock of the cold stone and crafted structures. As her sight adjusted, she continued on, increasingly fearful of what words were contained in the piece of paper hidden within her of her satchel. Around her, children shouted and laughed as they flitted about like wayward beams of light, falling to the ground in their haste only to rise up and run once more.
When she reached the foot of Castle Dour, she marched purposefully past its high stone walls and arched gateway, past the guards training in archery and swordsmanship, past the guarded door into the headquarters of the Imperial Legion. There stood a handful of soldiers gathered around the map room, few of which looked up as Sibyl approached. She held her head high and walked into the room with a stride that belied the quaking unease that shook her within, then hastily fished the sealed letter from her bag and held it out for someone of higher ranking to take.
It would have been a lie to say Sibyl knew what came of that, to say whether her worst fears had been confirmed or denied. For, just like every other occasion, one of her superiors took one look at the letter, glanced at her fatigued form, and dismissed her. She had left the confines of the interior before any discussions resumed. It was nothing new, but some part of Sibyl had hoped that this time would be different. That this time, it meant something more than a nod of obligatory appreciation — but those hopes and possibilities were lost amongst the chatter of the courtyard and the clash of steel against steel.
With some degree of resignation, the Imperial woman sauntered out of the fortress, a hint of sweat still dotting her brow from her rush to hand over the missive. Her hands smoothed down the front of her armour, then adjusted the strap of her bag that was slung across her slender build. Little tendrils of light hair clung to her damp cheeks, though the thick braid down her back stayed mostly in place. Once she was a fair distance away from the source of her distress, Sibyl finally slowed to a stop. From her satchel, she retrieved a flask of water and took several long gulps of its content. Her memories of the surroundings made known her location — she was perhaps somewhere halfway between the Bard’s College and the Blue Palace, with very little understanding of how her feet had brought her there.
A sigh escaped her lips as she leaned against a stone wall by the roadside. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she tilted her head back, calming herself as she counted up to ten and down again. She leaned her upper body forward, pressing her palms into her lap as she did so, unaware of the unfamiliar faces that walked past her as she took in breath after breath.
