The Lionheart of Sunhold
Prologue
“When I first met Sairaorg Charandis I merely found him a simple curiosity, someone I could simply mold to be my sword and shield. Little did I know the prize I would win.”-Sapiarch Rylanor.
Sapiarch Elrandis Rylanor hummed to himself, sipping his Juniper Berry and Vanilla Tea as he strode through the halls of the Egrun Battlemage Academy in southern Alinor. The Sapiarch, considering himself an adventurous and spritely Mer, even if he was nearing his third century of life, was looking for a bodyguard. While at their core the Sapirarchs were simply teachers, there was a power in knowledge those in power feared and hated. Quite a few of his colleagues had expressed their umbrage with the third iteration of the Dominion, and while Elrandis himself was more in favor of the more egalitarian First Dominion under Queen Ayrenn, even he was not fool enough to say such things in public.
The rattling of steel and shouts and grunts of efforts rung through the training hall as aspirants trained with sparring partners or dummies made of polished wood and well-tanned leather. However, what caught the Sapiarch of Comparative Theologies was not one of the usual spellswords, strutting and spinning about like cocks trying to woo a hen. Standing in a corner, separate from his fellows, stood a most curious Altmer.
Cupping his chin, Elandris observed the Mer. He had a mane of flowing black hair, tied off in the center via a warrior’s wolf tail. A clean carpet of stubble wrapped around his chiseled jaw. He was bare chested, letting the perspiration glisten against his sculpted musculature, his muscles clenching and unclenching with every breath, every movement. His hands and feet were shorn in gilded gauntlets and boots, each resembling stylized lion’s paws. Around his waist he wore a simple pair of black pants. He bore no weapons, save for his clenched fists. Small scars criss crossed his body like a tapestry of combat experience. With gritted teeth and his amber eyes aglow, the Mer expertly jabbed at the training figure, even, to the Sapiarch’s surprise, some moves resembling the Khajiit Claw Dances. Turning his head, he gestured to an aide, one of those tasked with maintaining the training hall. “Excuse me lass, who would that be?” he pointed a slender finger at the lone Altmer.
The serving girl, a youthful maiden by the name of Karelia, gave a small bow to the honored Sapiarch, before straightening her posture and following where his finger led. “Oh.” she let out a squeak, running a hand to smooth out her smock. “That would be Lord Sairaorg Chandris, heir to the Baael and Chandris families. Is there anything else you require, Sapiarch?” With a gesture, she was dismissed, scuttling off to her other duties.
Elandris rubbed his chin slowly, as the gears in his head turned. The Chandris family were an old minor noble family from the southernmost coasts of Summerset, known for their affinity with lions, which made his leonine armor even more fitting. He had heard of the current young master of the family, born under the Atronach, with an ability for the mystic arts so miniscule, he could barely conjure a burst of lightning for nary a nanosecond. He was what one would call a Hulkynd, those cast out of their families for perceived or actual defects.Alongside this, rumors of his lady mother having the blood of Nords, or even their giant cousins, further ostracized the lad. While not a purely mystical society in comparison to that of say the Great House Telvanni, Altmeri society was known for producing some of the greatest magi in history for a reason, so more often than not, particularly in magic centric families, preference was given to the more gifted. Elandris had met Lord Veldspar Baael, Sairaorg’s father. The man was a staunch traditionalist, and rumors spread that the only reason the lad hadn’t been abandoned was either out of some smoldering,embers of affection he had held towards his estranged wife and son, or that Lady Lucatiel had made a bargain with some foul power. Whatever the truth was, Lady Lucatiel and her son were made to live in a small estate, with only a skeleton crew of guards and staff, on the very outskirts of his father’s territory. It was only after defeating his drunken braggart of an elder brother in an honor duel that Lord Veldspar begrudgingly gave the title of heir to Sairaorg, even if he preferred to go by his beloved mother’s surname.
Sapirarch Rylanor strode towards the young Mer with purpose, sizing him up. The young master before him stood a hand’s breadth or two taller than most other Altmer. His skin was bronzed, and well toned with muscle. His mane of raven-black hair was tied in a ponytail by a gold thread, and his beard was well trimmed. Across his left eye was a pale, claw-like marking, perhaps a birthmark or some old sparring wound. Meanwhile his right eye, from the bottom of his eyebrow to the bottom of the lower eyelid, ran a thin scar, no wider than a fingernail, He took quick jabs or palm strikes at the swinging dummy before him. The swings were calculated and targeted at where the weak points would be on a humanoid opponent. Elandris noticed the other Mer’s ears perk up, as he turned to face the Sapiarch. “Oh, my apologies for not noticing you Master Sapiarch.” he said, bowing his head slightly in deference to the mentor, to which Elandris returned. “Did you need something?”
“Please, you have nothing to apologize for.” Elandris said softly, waving a hand. While a part of him was glad that instructors were valued in Summerset, sometimes it could get a bit much for the old elf. He cleared his throat, “You see lad, I am looking for a guardian, a sworn sword to defend myself as many of my compatriots have. You would have lodging and housing within my home, as well as generous payment.”
At this the younger Mer’s cheeks tinted crimson. “Are you sure Master Sapiarch? I am not as skilled as some of the others here. Besides that, my magical aptitude isn’t the strongest so…huh?” He was stopped as the teacher clapped a hand onto one shoulder.
“Please, I can hire a mage anywhere on the aisles, what I need is someone who doesn’t depend on magic, and who has character, and you dear boy, seem to have it. You see, what I find with many of our fellow Altmer, especially the nobility, is that they depend too much on magic, someone who doesn’t is refreshing.” Elandris nodded his head, “You’re Sairaorg Chandris, yes?” The young elf nodded, “Well, I am Sapirarch Elandris Rylanor, though please, call me Elandris, I detest formalities.” he chuckled.
“Thank you for your kind words Sa-er, Elandris.” A small smile grew on his chiseled face. “It is a pleasure to meet you. So, you wish for me to be your personal guard?” Being a Sapiarch’s guard was considered a great honor in certain parts of Summerset. At this the Sapiarch nodded, to which Sairaorg bowed his head slightly, “I thank you for this opportunity.”
The Sapirarch smiled softly, “It is no trouble at all.” Reaching into his robes, he procured a small slip of parchment, “Here is my address,” he placed it gently into the other Altmer’s waiting palm. “Once you have all you need, feel free to drop on by.” He clapped him on the shoulder, “Until then.” Turning on a heel, the Sapiarch began making his way out.
“Of course, sir!” Came the other’s short reply. Elandris smiled to himself, humming a soft tune, affixing his robes.
His business concluded, he began his way to his abode. Despite his vaunted status, the Sapirarch was a fairly modest man. His home was not overtly elegant, and while spacious, he only had a handful of staff. A former adventurer before an incident involving a ballista shattering his kneecaps, the treasures of his past hung around, though they paled in comparison to the treasure trove of books. Though the finest healers and alchemists his family, Auriel bless them, had ensured he would keep his ability to walk, it did come with the downside that his knee joints would lock up if he squatted or some such activity for too long, and he would have to slowly stretch to make them unlock. Elandris had been fascinated by reading from a young age, and as a self-proclaimed proud bibliophile, had filled his home with all manner of books, from treatises on magical paraphernalia, history, to fiction. He ascended the dark mahogany staircase that led to the second floor of his home. In total, counting a basement and an attic/observatory, his abode held four floors, most of which was made up of filled bookshelves.
Letting out a yawn, the Sapirarch ascended the staircase to the third floor, second floor, wherein his bedroom dwelt. It was relatively spartan in terms of decor. He had a few of his more prized trophies from his days as a mercenary and adventurer, but otherwise all he had was a medium sized desk against one wall, a twin sized bed with pressed sheets and two simple pillows, and a few bookshelves. Cracking his back, the elder elf stripped out of his robes of office, and donned a basic, loose cream colored, short sleeved tunic and black leggings. That done with, he went to go and brew himself some tea.
It was about twenty-five minutes later, as his water kettle began to boil and hiss, that a resounding rapping came on his door. Snapping his fingers to extinguish the flames, Elandris strode to his front door. Opening, he found, to his complete non-shock, Sairaorg, dressed in armor, sans the leonine helm, which he carried tucked beneath the crook of one arm. Elandris inclined his head in greeting. “Good evening Sairaorg.” he took a glance, seeing a pack slung over the other Altmer’s back, a few travel bags set behind him. He mentally nodded in approval, Sairaorg was like him, a man who needed little in terms of creature comforts. “I trust you are well.”
“I am Elandris, thank you. So, where am I to stay?” The newly minted guard asked, striding inside his new abode, thanking one of the few servants the Sapirach employed who took his bags up to his room. He looked around, “Your home is rather nice. I do enjoy how well stocked your bookshelves are.” he gestured with an armored hand.
“Oh,” A smile tugged at the corners of Elandris’s face. “Are you fond of literature, Sairaorg?” he asked, a spark in his eyes. Could he have found one of his people, a kindred soul?
Sairaorg let out a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his head. “Yes actually, I grew up with a love of reading, thanks all to my dear mother.” he smiled wistfully. “I prefer fiction, or books on history or magical theory personally. My companions are fond of reading to varying extents.”
“Companions? Ah, I see you’ve formed a party.” Elandris replied, ushering him into the kitchen for tea. Placing an extra cup next to his own, he began pouring them some juniper berry tea, handing one steaming cup to his new guard. “That’s good. Adventuring can be lonely work, so having a bond between comrades in arms can help ease that burden, as well as helping shore up any weaknesses one may possess.” he sipped his tea, temporarily lost in memories of his younger years of wanderlust.
Sairaorg thanked him, gently sipping the warm tea, savoring the berry taste on his tongue. “Yes, perhaps I can introduce you to them sometime, if that’s alright.” he said, soon finishing his beverage.
Elandris beamed. “Of course.” he glanced outside, finding the shimmerig sun, Magnus, dipping beneath the horizon, bathing the aisles in a warm shimmer of orange and rich purple. “Hmm, it’s getting late. We can continue this conversation in the morning.”
Sairaorg nodded curtly, as he washed his cup, setting it in the rack. “Thank you for the tea. May you have a pleasant evening, and may the ancestors guard your dreams” he bowed his head slightly in deference to his employer, hands clasped together. A maid guided the tall Altmer to his chambers, a similarly spartan bedroom. “Thank you ma’am.” The maid, a mute, gave him a small smile. Stripping to just his warm black pants, Sairaorg set his armor aside, humming as he began to tenderly polish the gilded armor, placing them with reverence for the ancestors that had forged and worn it before him on the table beside his bed. Sliding under the covers, and whispering his evening prayers, the Mer slipped into the world of dreams.
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