~Chapter 2~

Casavir had to work overtime to restrain himself while approaching the Dragonborn. As concerned as he was for her welfare due to her correspondence with such a dastardly cretin as Bishop, he had no desire to startle her with quick, sudden movements. Of course, he knew quite well that she’d encountered many dangers on her journeys. Hasty movements on his part would probably not make her so much as bat an eyelash. Still, a rapid pace was unbecoming of a Paladin. Those in his station had to exhibit control, both in body and temperament. Despite how worried he was for her in Bishop’s presence, he was determined not to betray the integrity of his etiquette.
“Take your horse to the stables, ma’am?” one of the guards asked, standing by the Dragonborn with hands stretched out to grab the reins.
Jumping down from her saddle, the Dragonborn nodded. “Yes, thank you,” she replied. As she spoke, Casavir came to another grinding halt. Hearing her voice was like music to his ears. It was pure and sweet, like nectar from the most luscious wildflower from a field in the Rift. Before he could savor its sound, however, he saw Bishop climb down off the saddle and wrap his arms around the Dragonborn’s waist. “Where to now, Princess?” he asked, coming thisclose to nibbling her earlobe as he teased it with his nose. “That stupid Legion or a nice, comfy bed at the Skeever with yours truly?”
You vile monster, Casavir thought. His chest rose in irritation as he watched him fondle her. The disgusting display imbued him with a second wind, powering his legs to approach her again. He couldn’t wait to teach him a lesson about touching her, and he’d make sure it was as thoroughly unpleasant and memorable as the scene he was being forced to witness.
“We are not going anywhere,” the Dragonborn answered, prying his hands off her. “You are going to the Skeever to get us a pair of rooms while I take care of what I need to do with the Legion. We talked about this, remember?”
Smiling, Casavir was pleased to see how authoritative she was. She had moxie, and he felt his admiration for her go up a tick. Stopping in front of her, he waited for her to turn around to see him before he spoke. Much to his chagrin, though, the set of eyes that fell on him first did not belong to her. They belonged to Bishop.
“What the?” Bishop asked, his thick eyebrows rocketing up to the sky. “What in Oblivion are you doing here?”
I could ask you the same thing, Casavir thought. He was the last person he wanted to see. Appearing to want to know what the fuss was about, the Dragonborn turned around to face him. Staring up at him, her eyes were even lovelier up close, and Casavir resented Bishop more for causing him to be unable to bask in them. He had the nasty talent of being able to taint everything and anything beautiful. He was a purveyor of destruction to everything he touched, which was why it was imperative that Casavir keep her out of his filthy clutches.
“Who is this, Bishop?” the Dragonborn asked.
“My name is Casavir, my Lady,” he replied, determined to speak first. He didn’t want to give Bishop an opportunity to poison her mind against him, especially after they’d just met. Along with causing destruction, Bishop was adept at spewing lies about those he didn’t agree with. If he had it his way, Casavir would be strung up on the gallows for all the alleged misdeeds he was convinced he’d committed in his past. He wasn’t one to talk, of course. He wasn’t the model of decency himself, and Casavir prayed for an opportunity to remind him of that.
“Nice to meet you,” the Dragonborn said, extending her hand out to him.
Reaching out slowly to shake it, Casavir lightly smiled. “I’m pleased to make your very esteemed acquaintance as well.”
“Careful, Ladyship,” Bishop said. “You don’t want to get too much of him on ya. He’s like slime. Hard to get off.”
At that, Casavir tore his eyes off the Dragonborn and scowled. Still, he knew giving into his insults would only encourage him. Deciding he wasn’t worth it, he returned his gaze to the beautiful woman in front of him. As he did, he was promptly reminded of his true ambition and what really mattered. “My Lady, it is a privilege to meet you at long last. I was told you would be here and I dare say, I have waited all day for this opportunity.”
With raised brows, the Dragonborn looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean you were told I would be here? Have you had me followed?”
“By the Gods, of course not!” Casavir proclaimed. “Allow me to allay your concerns, for I can see you have many. I am a Paladin sworn to uphold peace and virtue in the land, as is the Order of which I belong. Because of its reach, my Order has many connections and one of them is the Imperial Legion. I was told you were meeting with the commanding Legate here in Solitude and so I arrived in hopes of encountering you. Believe me, I am no stalker and I mean you no harm.”
“Pfft, yeah right,” Bishop snickered. “Where have I heard that before?”
Humph! Uttering a low huff, Casavir about wanted to smack him. What a despicable excuse for a man, he thought. His lies and the extent of his idiocy truly knew no bounds.
“Well, that’s very good to hear then,” the Dragonborn said, apparently ignoring Bishop. “And I commend you on the honorable nature of your profession and your Order. I have never met a Paladin before, but I have heard that you can perform healing magic. As much as I’d like to know if that is true, I am more curious as to your reasoning for wanting an audience with me. What business do you have with me?”
Appreciating her directness and astuteness, Casavir’s smile widened. She was not only gorgeous, but also practical and observant. It was a wonderful combination, and Casavir couldn’t help but be charmed by her. Regardless, though, he had to remember not to be too charmed. He did have his vows to consider, after all, and he didn’t want to compromise them. “I wanted to ask you if perhaps you would attend the Grand Crystal Ball with me,” he began. “I am new here. As such, I need to meet with as many of the nobles and Jarls throughout Skyrim as I can so I can best learn how to aid them with the problems that beset their lands. I am told you are quite familiar with many of them already and you know how to navigate the murky waters of the social politic. I realize this is quite uncouth and we do not know each other well at all, but be assured I would treat you with the highest respect and I would be most honored if you were to accept.” He then tilted his head to the side, imbuing his eyes with the hope that burned within him.
“Oh no, no, no!” Bishop said, waving his hands as he shoved himself between him and the Dragonborn. “I don’t think so, Cas. She’s not going anywhere with you. You’re probably lying about this ball shit anyway. Besides, she’s not the type to do such nonsense.”
Sighing, Casavir grimaced. With a shake of his head, he reached into his satchel and pulled out the invitation he had stored there. Once he had secured it within his armor-clad hand, he held it up for him and the Dragonborn to see. “As evidenced here on this official stationery from the Blue Palace, I am clearly not lying.”
“I never thought you were, Casavir,” the Dragonborn said. Laying her hand on Bishop’s shoulder, she gently pushed her way beside him. “Don’t mind him. He gets so testy about these things. He doesn’t speak for me either, so don’t accept his word as an indication of my decision.”
“What are you saying?” Bishop asked, raising his voice. Smoke looked like it was seeping from the top of his head. The display would’ve pleased Casavir in normal circumstances, but this one was anything but normal. The Dragonborn was present and he was afraid Bishop might lose control. Slowly, he put the invitation back in his satchel and cupped his hand around the hilt of his blade. You lay one finger on her and you’re a dead man, he thought.
“I’m saying I am considering his invitation, Bishop, and you’d do well to remember I am the one in charge here. I know you’re only trying to look out for me, and I always appreciate that, but I am the maker of my own destiny,” the Dragonborn said, staring at Bishop as she held him by the shoulders.
“But he’s using you! Can’t you see that?” Bishop shouted. “He’s just trying to snake his way into getting power or something – and probably your bed, while he’s at it. Trust me, my Ladyship, you can’t believe a word this man says.”
Feeling his cheeks flush with heat, Casavir about wanted to unsheathe his blade right then and there and plunge it deep within his heart. He wouldn’t dare manipulate or defile the Dragonborn! He’d sooner chop off his own arm. Even without his vows, he wouldn’t have done anything against her expressed wishes.
“Enough, Bishop. You’ve said your piece and I respect it, but I will make my own judgements. I don’t know what the matter is between you two, but as far as him being a liar, I must say he has been very straightforward in his reasons for wanting me to attend the ball with him. It doesn’t sound the least like a romantic evening and as he said, he needs to meet with all the nobility so he can further his aims for peace. I actually think he’s being very prudent and smart in his approach.”
Wanting to beam, Casavir fixed his gaze on the Dragonborn. “Why thank you, my Lady,” he said.
“Pfft, man, he’s got you snowed already! I’m disappointed in you, Princess,” Bishop yelled. He then stared at Casavir. Daggers came out of his eyes as his irises pulsated. “I don’t know how you do it. Your lies are like a bottle of wine from Skingrad. They just get better with age. But you know what? That’s all right. When she sees who you really are, and she will see it, you are going to be the one in hot water.”
“Is that a threat?” Casavir asked, tightening his grip on his hilt.
“No. It’s more like a premonition,” Bishop replied, pointing back over his shoulder with his thumb. “You think you’re so tough and your will is as strong as that armor you strut around in, but believe me, this woman is more than able to test any man’s fortitude. You’re going to be so sorry you took those oaths that your gut is going to scream for mercy.”
That does it, Casavir thought. He’d had enough of Bishop’s disrespect, his bravado, his insults. It was time to put down this mangy mutt, especially before he could cause the Dragonborn any further distress. Before he could slide his blade out from its sheathe, however, the Dragonborn laid her hand on his shoulder. “That’s not necessary,” she whispered, curving her pouty lips into a small smile as she glanced down. “Keep that where it belongs.” Her voice was almost sufficient to send him into a trance. It had a lilt and a melody that sang to his very being, like the songs performed by the choir in his Order to celebrate the holidays. The only difference was her song was infused with subtle hints of sultriness and command, and it made him feel more alive than the ones in his Order ever had. Still, his desire to protect her roared through, and as a result, he wasn’t sure what to do: stay his hand as the Lady bade or permit the tip of his blade to puncture the closest artery it could find in Bishop’s chest. Neither option was preferable. The first meant Bishop’s survival while the second didn’t cause him nearly enough damage to satisfy him. Deciding to settle himself for now, he nodded and kept his mouth closed.
“Bishop, please go and get us those rooms like we planned,” she said, turning around to face him. “You know how the Skeever runs out of them quickly and I –”
“You know what, your Ladyship,” Bishop said, holding up his hand to her. He smacked his lips together, annoyed and frustrated. “Don’t bother. I know when I’m getting the brush off. It’s clear you want to take up with his fool, so be my guest. I’m leaving, and don’t bother trying to find me, either. Whatever it is we had is over. We’re done!” He then whirled around on the balls of his heels, whispered something down to Karnwyr, his wolf, and the pair of them walked off through the open gate. As he did, the Dragonborn watched him. Casavir had no way of knowing what the look was in her eyes, for her back was still turned to him, but the quiet sigh he heard her utter told him all he needed to hear. They must’ve been close, he thought. He wasn’t sure if they had a sensual relationship or not. He hoped to the Gods it wasn’t. He despised Bishop and would never think he was a positive influence on anyone, though all of that hardly seemed to matter right now. The Dragonborn, the most divine, precious creature he’d laid his eyes on since arriving on Skyrim’s shores, was troubled by his absence, and that was all that concerned him. Resting his hand on her shoulder, he wished there was something he could do to ease her. “I am sorry about his…nature,” he mumbled, letting the edge of his chin settle just above the waves of her hair. “He has always been petulant in these matters.”
“It’s not your fault,” the Dragonborn responded. Turning to look at him again, he could see the void Bishop had left there. His heart felt numb and icy as he stared into her anguish-filled eyes. For a moment, he’d regretted trying to seek her out at all. If he hadn’t, it wouldn’t be there in the first place. Her pain is my doing, he thought ruefully.
“May I have that invitation?” she asked. “It was intended for me, after all.”
“Of course, my Lady,” he said. Gingerly reopening his satchel, he withdrew it and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she replied. Taking it from him, she read it over. “Formal dress, naturally, and here I am with nothing suitable to wear. I’ve never been to a ball before. You may regret asking this of me, Paladin,” she continued, her voice rising with joviality.
Feeling himself raised by her spirit, he cracked a small smile. “Never,” he countered. “I am simply pleased you have accepted. That is, if you indeed have.” She hadn’t officially accepted, and he knew he’d be remiss to make assumptions.
“Yes, I have. Do not fret,” she answered. “But now, I have a favor of my own to ask, if I may?”
Taken aback, Casavir nodded. He wasn’t certain what he could do for a woman who seemingly had it all like she did, but he would gladly do anything she requested that was within his means and ethics to fulfill. “I am at your service, my Lady. You need only say the word.”
“Excellent,” the Dragonborn replied. Folding the invitation up nicely, she stuffed it in her pants pocket that peeked out from underneath the hip flap of her armor. “Now that I’m going to this ball, I need to go shopping for a dress. Would you come and help me pick one out?”
A ball gown? Casavir’s brows wrinkled at the idea. He’d been asked to do many things in his life: slay diplomats and evil warlocks, kill daedra that had infested the land, and deliver important documents from city to city. But never in all his days did he think he’d be taking a woman shopping – and for a dress, no less! Still, if it’s what she wanted, he could find no reason to refuse her. “I’d be happy to,” he answered. He then offered his arm for her to hold. “I did see a store around here. It’s called The Jewel. It might have what you need.”
“Great!” the Dragonborn replied. Coiling her arm around his, she took the first step. “So tell me. Which color do you think would be best for the dress: red or blue?”