~Chapter 3~

Locked arm in arm, Casavir and the Dragonborn made a trek towards The Jewel. “I’m not sure, my Lady,” he said, perplexed. He’d never had to ponder clothing preferences before, especially ones for a woman. But as he considered her inquiry, his imagination suddenly stirred. Images of her out of her armor and in a deep, crimson red dress flooded his mind. It clung to her curves, particularly her hips, and as she moved in it, her graceful strides made him instantly blush. Casavir, he thought to himself. By the Gods, stop these illusions. They were highly inappropriate and he nearly wanted to drop to his knees then and there to pray for forgiveness. “I’m confident that a woman of your taste will not struggle to find the right dress, however,” he said, breathing hard as his boots hit the marketplace cobblestones. “You strike me as a woman with wonderful style.”

Laughing, the Dragonborn clutched his arm tighter as her leg brushed against a thicket of bushes lining the road. “That’s very kind, but I am not any better at shopping than you seem to be,” she said. “Like I told you, I’ve never purchased a ball gown. That was something my mother enjoyed far more than me. I suppose I never inherited that appreciation from her.”

Smiling, Casavir looked down at her. It pleased him to hear her reference something so personal. Everyone frequently thought of her as this legendary icon, as if she wasn’t a real person but rather a mythical being that had no human history. He himself often endured the same issue in his Order. He had performed many good deeds and his comrades treated him more like a hero, but he knew he was anything but. “Well, if you do not mind me saying so, whatever genes you did inherit made you into an incredible person, my Lady,” he replied. “Skyrim is very fortunate to have you in its service.”

“Aww,” she said, her cheeks turning a tinge of pink. “Thank you, Casavir. I believe the same must be true of you, as well. We are in similar professions, after all.”

Bowing his head, he was immediately struck by her words. If only that was true, he thought. He was no saint and nothing to admire. He had spent his entire time, the past decade he’d been with the Order, trying to atone for the sins of his past. Still, he did not want to let on that her compliment had disturbed him. She had meant it with good intentions, and he wished to be gracious upon its reception. Nodding gently, he halted before her as they arrived at the shop’s door. “I appreciate that, my Lady,” he said. Reaching for the handle, he was about to pull it open for her when she grabbed it instead.

“Don’t mention it,” she responded, pulling it open before he could. Staring up at him, her blue eyes were like dusky orbs twinkling in the faint sunlight. They almost seemed like stars themselves, stalling the breath in Casavir’s lungs. It was as if she was both an angel of the light and night with how her beauty transcended both times of day. “By the way, I don’t mind being called ‘My Lady,’ but if you ever want to call me by my name, it’s Raina,” she said. “Raina Rockchester.”

Raina. Hearing her name, the corners of Casavir’s lips quirked upwards in content. It was regal and yet exotic all at once. From his own background, he knew her name meant “queen,” at least it did back in his homeland. He loved it, and the idea of calling her by her actual name excited him. Alas, he had been trained to always formally address people of such standing as the Dragonborn. He wasn’t sure if he could find it in himself to break with such a protocol. Nevertheless, it appeared she wanted him to in this particular case, and he did not wish to deny her if that was her desire. “Very well, Raina,” he said. As her name departed his lips, the musicality of its syllables drifted into his ears and lingered in his mind. He stood there, savoring it briefly before he followed her inside.

A few moments later, he stepped over the shop’s threshold and was promptly greeted by the sounds of chatty female patrons and rich piano music playing from a mysterious source. It was curious to him how it could be playing when there was no visible instrument in his proximity, but he surmised it must be coming from a room deeper within the shop’s interior. If that was indeed the case, he would not be surprised. From the sight that was now before him, it appeared as if the shop was quite cavernous. The entry room had low hanging walls in the front and was filled with tables stocked with various shoes, dresses, and jewelry pieces. The back was the sole elevated location. There, a tall tree with many branches stood under a stately stained-glass window. Gobs of light filtered through it, illuminating the leaves of the tree like flecks of gold. It was a radiant display, and one that Casavir greatly appreciated.

“I’m going to go with this lady and try on some dresses,” Raina said, looking at him a short distance away. Returning her attentions, Casavir looked at her as she stood beside a woman who he assumed was the owner. She had a tiara on with a sapphire in the center and a flowing, white v-necked dress, marking her as distinctly different from the other staff members who were busy offering assistance to the other patrons. “All right,” he replied. “I shall await you here at this tree when you are ready.”

“Fantastic,” she said, smiling at him brightly. She then followed the lady into a side room, disappearing behind an emerald-green curtain. The moment she left, Casavir’s insides clenched. He had only been by her side a brief time, but it had been more than enough to long to remain there for eternity, and even a short duration away from her seemed to displease him. It alarmed him, and he cleared his throat trying to suppress his distress.

Taking a few steps forward, he found a bench by the tree and lowered himself onto it. He then crossed his arms, thinking about all of the nobles he would meet at the ball. He hoped to be able to have an audience with a Thane or the Jarl of Falkreath. He’d heard stories of their many wars and the severe toll it had taken on their communities. Hundreds had died and it was a known fact that the hold was known as a bastion of death. The Hall of the Dead itself was even situated there, and he wished to be able to help them. Then again, Markarth suffered a similar fate. The Forsworn and bandits there were causing a nuisance, especially along the roads that led to the city. And then there were the tales emerging from Winterhold. Most of it had been destroyed by a major geological collapse and the College of Mages was the only reason people visited it anymore. It amazed him how much carnage the land of Skyrim suffered, and the Civil War between the Stormcloaks and the Legion was not helping matters. I do despise all of this needless bloodshed, he thought, shaking his head. As much as his Order had allied itself with the Legion, he did sometimes question if their actions actually made things better or worse. He wished there could be some common ground found between the Stormcloaks and the Legion, but he knew Ulfric would have none of that. He was too bent on his ways, according to Casavir’s sources, and hopes of a reconciliation had been dashed the moment Ulfric began kicking citizens out of their homes so his forces could use them as a base. He and his militia had also killed and butchered their way through one too many towns. It was completely wrong and unjust, so Casavir and his Order felt they had no other choice but to side with the Legion. The Stormcloaks were simply too barbarous, too single-minded for them to consider anything else. The Legion was not perfect, but it was as close to it as they could get in these troubled times.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Casavir leaned his head against the wall and allowed his eyes to drift close. His desire to help the people of Skyrim was as unwavering and strong as a blade built in the Skyforge, but the notion of it was also equally exhausting. There was so much to be done and he had to be careful not to let it overwhelm him. Forcing himself to relax, the notes from the piano music soothed his nerves like a tonic. They reminded him that in just a few short hours, he would be on the ballroom floor with Raina, dancing with her in his arms. Now that was a much more welcome visual than meeting with a bunch of stodgy nobles. His mind began to wonder what it would feel like to have her silken skin so close to his own, but he was careful not to get too absorbed in it. Those were dangerous, sensual thoughts that could entice him to break his vows, and that he had to avoid at all costs.

“Casavir,” a voice said in the distance. It was every bit as musical as the piano notes, and together, they sounded like a melody composed by the Gods themselves. Knowing it was Raina’s, his eyes popped open immediately. The second they did, his heart froze and his eyes widened to the size of the shield he sometimes used. There in the center of the entry room, she stood by a lit candelabra on one of the merchandise tables. Her ivory skin glowed as the flame flickered over her. As it moved with the draft coursing through the small space, her long hair, cascading like a waterfall down her back, curled ever so slowly around her waist, making it appear like she had wings on either side of her. But, as magnificent and lovely as she was, the dress she wore was what made his heart restart itself with such a fury, it about flew from his chest. Just as he imagined before they arrived, she wore a crimson red dress that went down to her ankles, the fit of which was beyond anything he could ever dream. It hugged her curves so perfectly, so precisely, so meticulously, he could swear to the Divines that it had been made specifically for her. His eyes couldn’t help but wander over each part of her exquisite frame, and as he did, his entire mouth began to salivate and his breaths turned into something more akin to pants. By the Gods, he thought, his mind abuzz with stimulation. She is positively gorgeous. He hadn’t conceived it was possible she could look more beautiful than she did when he first saw her, but there she was, and the mere sight of her was doing terrible yet wonderful things to him.

“So,” she asked, spinning around on the balls of her heels so he could see her from every angle. “What do you think? Is it too much?”

Shaking his head through a daze, he found himself yearning to touch her, but then like an invisible leash, his subconscious snapped him away from such desires. Stop it, he reminded himself. Rising to his feet, he looked down at the ground, careful to not so much as allow himself to glance at her. Once he was close enough, he stopped and took a deep bow. “No, my Lady,” he said. “It is just right for you.” Do not look up, he commanded himself. He didn’t think he’d survive the endeavor without lying at least one finger on her, especially at this range.

“Oh that’s good,” she said. “I was so worried. I’m exceedingly bad at this.”

“I do not know why you believe so,” the lady who she’d gone with said. Her voice was youthful and mysterious, as if she had a hidden beauty. “You really do have better taste than you believe, Dragonborn. I do not understand why you worry so.”

“I’ve spent the better part of my life in the woods with a sword and shield in my hand, Victoria,” Raina answered. As she moved, part of the dress’s fabric grazed Casavir’s cheek. It electrified him, and he could feel her warmth emanating from underneath it. Stop it, he told himself again, this time aloud a little.

“Casavir?” Raina asked. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

Oh, goodness gracious, he thought. His cheeks flushed with heat. He hadn’t meant her to hear that. Straightening his posture, he took a deep, annoyed breath and looked her head-on. “No,” he answered. “I am sorry if I confused you.”

Smiling, she cupped her hand around his shoulder and stared at him tenderly. He had no idea why she was being so hospitable towards him, but he appreciated her attentions nonetheless. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I should probably get out of this thing so it won’t wrinkle. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“As you wish, my Lady,” he murmured. She then released him and turned around, walking back behind the green curtain. As she did, Casavir watched her intently. Her stride down to the way she lifted her feet sang to his soul, and it was then he realized how much of a problem he had on his hands. If he couldn’t so much as handle being with her this way, he had no idea how he was going to manage dancing with her hours from then. Attending the ball with her seemed like such a pleasant idea before, but now, it felt like something closer to torture. Still, he was determined not to let his urges get the better of him. He was a trained, professional Paladin who had sworn his allegiances to his vows and the Gods on High. He had steeled himself against every manner of dragon, demon, and beast in both his homeland and Skyrim. For those reasons, a dance with an intelligent, elegant creature like Raina could not undo him. He wouldn’t allow it – not now, not ever. I will be as resolute as is necessary, he thought, drawing the deepest breath he ever had as he reached for his coin purse to pay for her dress. It seemed like the least he could do, and as he withdrew the gold with his fingers, he hardened himself for what was sure to be the greatest battle of his life. I will win, he told himself, squeezing the gold piece to the point where his knuckles turned whiter than the snow in Dawnstar. I must, for my vows and her honor depend on it.