She is not the leader I think I love. You are.
She is not the leader I think I love. You are.
She is not the leader I think I love. You are.
She is not the leader I think I love. You are.
The words swirl round and round in my head as I ride to Solitude.
Veezara can't love me. It's just too out of character for him. He's too...Veezara. It doesn't make any sense. It doesn't make any sense. Plus there's the fact that...well, he's an Argonian and I'm a Breton. How would it even work? How much older than me is he? I try to recall a conversation we had once about our ages. I think he is three years older than me, maybe two, but I can't remember exactly.
I can't think about love right now. I have to focus on killing the Emperor.
When I see Solitude approaching in the distance I dismount Shadowmere and whistle softly. Shadowmere nickers and a black pool of water appears next to us and he walks into the black pool, disappearing. I straighten my dress and unpin my hair, letting it fall about my shoulders. Walking into Solitude could be dangerous. I know people that live there that are friends with mother. Jarl Elisif, for one. Theoretically, she should be High Queen but there's a huge political tension in Skyrim at the moment, with rumours of Ulfric gathering his forces in Windhelm to march on Solitude and take power back. I hope it won't come to that.
"Who goes there?" the guards call when I reach the gates. It's late in the morning.
"A passerby," I reply. "My name is Lysa Roantree,"
The guards open the gates and I lower my head as I walk in. Many of the townspeople are in black, mourning the death of Vittoria. Nobody saw my face at the wedding, the shrouded cowl saw to that, but I still feel uneasy as I walk to Castle Dour. Then, sure enough, I see Commander Maro standing outside the entrance with a harrowed look on his face. I finger the Writ of Passge in my pocket and get it out ready.
"Stop right there," Commander Maro grabs my arm when I walk near and I resist the urge to flinch away. "The tower is off limits until further notice,"
"I am the Gourmet," I sniff, acting the role of an arrogant chef. I present the Writ of Passage to him.
"What's this now?" he looks skeptical as he reads it. "Order of his eminence...possessor of these papers...the Gourmet..." then a look of shock overcomes his face. "By Azura...the Gourmet! I'm sorry! Your clothes - of course - I should have realised! Please, excuse my ignorance. Gianna, the castle chef, has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. You should proceed to the kitchens straight away,"
"Thank you," I smile graciously and proceed into Castle Dour. Too easy. Did he not get suspicious that the Gourmet is so very young? I slip my bow and quiver off my back and leave them by the kitchen door. My daggers are strapped underneath my dress in their sheathes.
"Hello - who are you?" asks a surprised-looking woman in the kitchen, who I assume is Gianna.
"The Gourmet is here to cook, not talk! Let us begin," I say, keeping up the fake arrogance.
"Oh! Yes, but of course. Ahem!" Gianna flusters. "The Emperor has requested your signature dish - the Potage le Magnifique. I've taken the liberty of getting it started. But the cookbook only says so much and everyone makes the Potage differently. I would be honored if we could make it...the Gourmet's special way. The base broth is already boiled. We can get started right now. So...which ingredient should I add next?"
Crap. She's got me there. I don't know the first thing about cooking. "A sweetroll,"
"Ooohh.... how decadent. I never would have guessed it. What next?" she nods eagerly and adds it to the mixture. What an idiot.
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That's Madness (a Skyrim fanfiction)
FanfictionMaryse Whitemane has a lot to live up to. Her mother is the legendary Dragonborn, the hero of Skyrim, and the Harbinger of the Companions. Her father is one of the most renowned swordsmen in all of Tamriel and her Uncle was one of the most brillian...
