Flash Fiction February 2026 Day Twelve: Getting Off On The Wrong Foot (Anna)

 Flash Fiction February 2026 Prompt: Wrong (Write about a conflict that grows out of a simple misunderstanding)

“I think that something may have possibly gotten lost in translation…” I say to Farkas as we stand overlooking the quite frankly very confusing scene unfolding before our eyes. “You think?” is all he has to say in return. That’s all that needs to be said in all honesty. Where did this go wrong? Standing on a walkway looking down on the Castle Dour courtyard, stepping aside every so often to avoid patrolling soldiers on watch, we observe a rather peculiar sight. The Imperial Legion argue with members of The Thalmor who have taken up residence in part of the castle. Why the Aldmeri Dominion agents don’t simply stay in the embassy not too far away is beyond me, it’s really just a stones throw outside the city. On a clear day one can sometimes see its uninviting pointy spires in the distance. Since the end of The Great War there has been a pact in place giving the Dominion much greater control when it comes to matters of the Imperial Empire, a fact that is not much liked throughout the empire, and especially not here. With a language barrier at times in place it’s easy for matters to get lost in translation, and from there everything spirals until the whole plan has gone entirely wrong. That appears to be the case here from the bits and pieces we can overhear of the shouting. An argument behind closed doors between the two groups isn’t anything new, but out here in the open is certainly unexpected. Something must have really gone wrong for such a visible confrontation. “Do we really have nothing better to do than stand eavesdropping?" Farkas asks me, clearly growing bored as time passes and the conversation draws on. I wave him off “This is important information.” I say trying to catch more bits and pieces of the conversation “Important? Important for what?!” A soldier on patrol passes by giving us a questionable look. “For potential matters of national security and the fate of your country that’s what.” I tell him matter of fact-ly and am given a silent expressionless, unamused, stare in return. “They’re arguing over dinner.” At that moment I hear the familiar sound of a heavy wooden door closing behind me and turning around am faced with yet another peculiar sight. Out of the building housing the Thalmor agents has come none other than Lucien LaChance, or the spectral version of him anyways. “What are you-?” I begin to ask but am cut off by a very quick “You saw nothing. Nothing.” before he disappears into thin air. Why he bothered to come out the door at all rather than disappear to wherever it is he goes to when doing that while still in the building baffles me. Then again, Lucien LaChance has been and likely always will be a bit of a mystery, with motives and plans known only to himself. Though, when a frazzled looking Isabelle Belet comes out a moment later, haphazardly discarding a chef's outfit with utmost urgency on the way out before giving us a similar command I can only feel like their plan for the day may have gone more than just a bit wrong…