Clarity came to his mind as slowly as fog disappears from a mirror. The same way a reflection becomes defined, his head was able to connect thoughts and sensations. Cold… wet… dirt… the sky was framed by trees, tinted in a light grey color, no longer night, but not fully day either.
The warm breath coming from his nose created a soft puff of air that dissolved almost immediately. His skin felt cold on the outside, but upon further analysis, he figured he was oddly warm on the inside, with a mildly annoying pressure in his head. He felt well rested, which was something he had not felt in a long, long time…
And not only that, but his belly felt heavy.
He was full, satisfied, content to a degree, or at least that was the sensation he was getting.
What had happened, actually…
And as soon as he asked himself the question, an answer came. The memory was foggy.
Right, Tullius… he was sure that was his name… well, of course that was his name. He remembered the soldiers under his command, Solitude, the Stormcloaks, the ongoing war…
The stress. The imminent failure. The dead.
Suddenly his head throbbed, and he closed his eyes again.Ulfric was there, he remembered. So was his second in command; he remembered that voice. And Legate Rikke, standing in the middle.
Everything felt so confusing, nothing solid came after that. He only remembered sitting, looking down because he did not even want to face Rikke sacrificing herself to save a lost cause like him.
He had accepted his death.
And he had felt dead, that was certain. The fierce look of the Stormcloak leader, eyes burning with what seemed to be an odd yellow gleam, what he thought was probably what prey saw in a predator’s eyes right before dying.
But then…There was something else.
His stomach churned. It was a taste… one that simply had no description. In that moment, Tullius became aware of the sensation in his mouth. His eyes opened once more; the sky seemed slightly brighter. The iron taste soon became apparent, and as soon as he connected the dots, he realized it was blood… Not only that, but a rather grim memory came to his mind. Because now he knew why he felt full with the taste of blood in his mouth.
Fallen Imperial soldiers.
He had eaten them… or so he remembers
Why had he done that? He had been hungry. He had been very hungry.
A pang of pain ran through his skull, one that elicited a sound from him. His mind split between realization, fear, and also the contentment he remembered feeling while tearing flesh apart with his teeth. But had it really been him? The image felt almost distant, blurry, the physical contant numb. He remembers his hands and face feeling different. yet he also vividly remembered the unmistakable enjoyment of satisfying a deep, desperate hunger.
Why was he there? Wasn’t he supposed to be dead?
Then it came to him. Those dark eyes looking at him, that red undertone that could only mean danger. An indescribable taste being poured into his mouth when he knew he was a step away from passing away.
The old man’s eyes were still open, staring at the sky, processing the realization in silent shock. But the gentle, soft voice that called him from not too far away dragged his attention away after a second. He looked around, still lying down, until he found her. That small frame that could easily go unnoticed at first, her eyes watching him expectantly.
He did not know who she was. But he now knew she had also been there during the final moments of Solitude’s battle, siding with the Stormcloaks, standing behind Ulfric and Galmar.
But who the hell was she?
Tullius let out a deep sigh… that was a complicated question right now. He was feeling far too many things. Yet, even knowing that the logical reaction would be shock and most likely a breakdown, he was not physically capable of making a strong reaction. Sure, his body was a little sore, but that was not what was numbing him… and years of experience fighting mages had left him knowing when a calming spell had been cast on him. This one was subtle, however.
“Who are you? Why am I still alive?”
His voice came out rougher than he expected, his throat raw as if he had screamed through the entire previous night.
The woman tilted her head slightly. She did not answer. She simply stood from the old stump she had been sitting on and walked toward the Imperial figure carrying a soft fur blanket.
Again, Tullius did not react. He sat up with her helping hand supporting his back. He felt his balance was not fully stable, even sitting down, everything spun around him.
Another concerning situation that, for whatever reason, he was not fully processing was his clothes. Or rather, the lack of them. He was naked, and that made him cringe slightly, especially being this exposed next to an unknown woman…
Her voice came with a soft smile as the warmth of the blanket settled around his shoulders. Almost by instinct, he grabbed the pelt and wrapped it around his body.
How annoying this calming spell was, he thought. Stripping away his will to feel uneasy next to a potential enemy, even when he was as exposed as this.
“Better, no? Even in the south, Skyrim has proven itself to still be the coldest province. But Falkreath is lovely, isn’t it?”
Tullius mumbled in response, although his eyes were still unfocused on anything in particular apart from the wet grass and the muddy ground.
“Who are you?... What did you do to me?”
The questions came again, in a tone that was neither demanding nor angry.
The Witch did not answer immediately. Her hand gently massaged his sore shoulder for a moment before she stood beside him.
“I suggest we have this conversation in my house, after you feel better, drink something warm, and dress up.”
“How do I know you’re not going to hurt me? When you’re conditioning me into submission with magic.”
His voice remained plain, but his point was valid.
The Witch let out a small giggle. It was not a mocking one, she simply found it a little amusing, though understandable nonetheless.
“Makes sense that Imperials notice the influence of illusion spells quicker than Nords. Don’t we have that power in our voice anyway?... But worry not, the illusion is only there so you don’t freak out and make a scene.”
“Yes, you wouldn’t be the first one.”
She ran her fingers through his damp short hair, in the most tender and oddly comforting gesture Tullius had felt in a very long time.
The old man considered it. His other options were practically nonexistent, so he could not help but go wherever the Witch intended to take him.
So he nodded and slowly stood on his bare feet. With the blanket wrapped tightly around his body, he wobbled slightly, and the woman placed a steady hand on his arm, holding him upright.
“Careful. I know it must feel strange for you right now. We are not in a hurry, the place is not far anyway.”
