This Gentle Daughter of Oblivion

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

(William Butler Yeats, "The song of wandering Aengus")

Part One: Pariah Abbey, 2E 594

No one was paying much notice at first, so there may have been earlier incidents, but the first clear sign of something new in the skies around Pariah Abbey came in the summer of 2E 594. The person at the center of this incident, who was also the one who reported it and the only surviving witness, was a young woman living in the area, named Mirille Pariel. She lived outside Wayrest, but was employed on the Wayrest docks, and would often start work very early in the day so that she could take an extended break to avoid the heat of noon and early afternoon.

On the day in question, when she was going from her parents' home to her workplace, a long walk but one that should have been safe in these days of peace, she was accosted by a fellow-worker whom she had laughed off when he had declared his passion for her several weeks previously. The spurned suitor, not a very stable person at the best of times, brooded over his rejection until he convinced himself that he was justified in seeking revenge. Knowing her habit of coming to work in the very early morning, when no one else was likely to be about, he ambushed her on a deserted stretch of road and took her captive.

What exactly the fellow intended to do will never be known. Harassment? Rape? Murder? The second would probably have entailed the third, unless the attacker was so deluded as to have thought that Mirille could be terrified into silence. Her clothing was partially torn off, so it would seem to have been planned as a sexual assault, a humiliation, at the very least.

In the event, his plans proved irrelevant, since Mirille broke free and escaped into the gray light of dawn, and later that morning the attacker was found dead with deep slashes in his head, neck, and stomach. All Mirelle could remember was his being knocked away from her by a savage blow from above, and a dim grey shape that seemed to be that of a large bird. Everything else was lost in the confusion. The wounds on the dead man were very similar to those left by a harpy attack, but the only harpies that remain in the area live a long distance away and are too prudent to wander far from their native cliffs. Moreover, the attack had been completely silent – harpies are noisy, especially when excited – and one of the attacked had been slashed to death, while the other had not received a scratch.

Deeply shocked by the experience, and horrified at what had happened to the attacker, even though he had brought it on himself, Mirille decided to make the short trip to Pariah Abbey and pray at the shrine of Azura. Why she was drawn to the Abbey, she could not say. She had never visited the place, and knew nothing of what went on there. Her family was not religious at all, and although she had seen the priests and nuns from the abbey often enough, she had never had the occasion to speak to one. But ever since the attack, she had dreamed of the Lady of Roses every night.

Mirille arrived at the Abbey at noon, a beautiful end of summer day with a cloudless sky. No sound came from the buildings, and there seemed to be no one about. She felt a bit foolish. Her mother had questioned her wisdom in visiting a shrine to the Queen of Dusk and Dawn at a time when both Dusk and Dawn had been banished by the sun, but Mirille, for obvious reasons, did not like to take the chance of traveling in the half-light.

She pushed open the door of the chapel and stepped timidly inside. It looked like any other house of worship she had ever seen, except for the striking beauty of the statue that dominated the apse at the far end of the chapel: the Lady herself, Queen of Dusk and Dawn. Half-fascinated, half-terrified, she crept up to the statue, intending to place her offering, a bouquet of flowers and a few other simple things, and leave without delay.

A shape moved in the warm darkness to her left, and Mirille froze. For a moment, she panicked, as if she were under attack again. However, the mysterious stranger was a servant of Azura, dressed in a hooded robe. On closer inspection, he proved to be an old Orc, very old, she guessed. This again startled Mirille, though it did not frighten her; it was just that Orcs were not very famous for their spiritual qualities. In fact, this was the first Orc cleric Mirille had ever met.

"Welcome to our humble shrine to the Queen of Dusk and Dawn. I am Abbot Durak. What brings you here, daughter?"

Mirille was too shy to speak at first. She merely showed the Abbot the wreath and flowers that she had brought, and looked toward the foot of the statue of Azura. The abbot took the offerings, and examined them carefully, one by one. Then he smiled.

"Not at all an orthodox gift for the Lady of Roses, but that is good. My Lady has always valued sincerity over the sort of glib perfection that some people mistake for reverence. You are sincere. I am sure this will please her. But again, what brought you here, not a member of the regular congregation, on perhaps your first visit to this chapel? You need not answer if you do not wish to. But perhaps I can be of more service to you if I know more."

Mirille nodded. She sat down on one of the benches, her eyes on the floor, and hesitantly at first, told the story of the attack, her unexpected and bloody rescue, and the dreams of the Queen of Dusk and Dawn that she had had every night after. When she finished, she looked up for the first time and saw that the abbot was listening with his eyes half-closed, nodding his head as if he were listening to a familiar tune. She asked him, in a soft voice,

"Do you know what it was that saved me? Was it a creature of your Lady's? It came at her time, the early dawn. And it was silent, and saved me from being shamed, or worse. Was it one of Her servants?"

Abbot Durak did not answer at once. He turned and walked over to the foot of the statue and laid Mirille's offerings at its base, directly below the Dreamshard. He looked up at the image for a moment, as if seeking confirmation or permission, and then turned back to Mirille.

"The name of your rescuer is Rielle, the Beautiful One. Rielle was once a fetch, a magical projection modeled after one of the lesser daedra, a nameless servant to Our Lady, at her side in Moonshadow, Our Lady's plane of Oblivion. Learning how to call these up is standard training for a student of magic aspiring to master sorcery. But now, this one has a name of her own. She has become..."

He hesitated a moment.

"...something else. A changed thing. But not, as you have learned, an evil thing. I am not surprised that she has turned to watching over the helpless, and a betrayal of love would make her particularly angry. Because of her past, you see. She serves Our Lady still, but...in her own ways. As do many of those who honor Her."

"I don't understand," Mirille said, slowly. "I suppose if there are good Daedric Princes, there can be good daedra, or fetches, or whatever, but why did one choose to come to my aid?"

Abbot Durak shook his head. "Who can say? No mortal knows or will ever know the true extent of Our Lady's powers, or which of those powers, to what extent, she chose to gift to Rielle. I can only guess that your pain and terror, and your attacker's lust and hatred, were somehow sensed by her, when she was nearby, and so she acted. Have there been no stories recently of a large creature with bat-like wings seen flying in the dusk or dawn skies?"

Mirille replied, "Not that I have heard. Seamen are always spreading strange tales, of course, but there's been nothing like that, at least nothing that I have heard."

"That's just as well," Abbot Durak said, and smiled. "I don't need the whole of the area at my door to ask what I know. And in any case, I don't know everything concerning this. Only Our Lady does..."

His voice trailed off, and when he spoke again his tone was more serious, "...and it may well be a sensitive topic with her, one we best stay away from. Our Lady is tolerant and gracious, but all toleration has its limits."

Mirille smiled. She liked Abbot Durak, even though he had confused her quite a bit.

"If it's like that, I suppose I don't need to know the whole story," she said firmly. "It's enough that I have brought my thanks to the right place."

Mirille got up, and the two walked slowly to the chapel door.

"Come back if you wish in a week or so," Abbot Durak said as he opened the door for her. "I will ask Our Lady's counsel, and try to discover what I can tell you, and what must be left silent."

"Thank you, Abbot. I may be back. But in any case, peace to you and your Abbey. May your blessed work prosper."

The Abbot watched her walk to the gate in the outer wall and pass through, and then turned and closed the door against the bright light of early afternoon. Mirille would not return, he knew. For her, it was an episode in her life best forgotten, brought to a formal close by the giving of thanks to the Power that had saved her. For himself...

So their great love has returned to keep watch over others, here near where their earthly lives ended, he thought, and looked at Azura's image in the colored lights of the windows, now struck full by the afternoon sun. They were right to have faith in You, and my doubts and fears were not justified. I have been too severe. Please forgive Your servant. Your mercy has always been greater than I have ever dared to anticipate.