Chapter Text
Listha-Kei and her mate, Kanelm-Mul, crouched low under the sparse foliage of the outer rough plains of the Morrowind fringe, little cover provided by the scraggly plants. Ahead, two Dunmer were leaning over a table, looking over a map with their backs to their unknown audience. For years now the Arnesian War had raged, both sides struggling to get the upper hand. This, in comparison, was only to be a small battle among many so far, but removing two skilled mages would hurt the opposition. As for the Argonians that now approached, they too were mages in their own right and cast a spell on themselves to aid their attack.
The two Dunmer barely managed to react to the ambush, one backing away to draw a bow while the other cast an ice shield and drew a shortsword. The Argonians were a surge of dark brown scales and curved swords, charging forth to meet their foes in a fierce clash of steel. Kanelm-Mul pressed the woman archer back, driving the two away from each other. His mate dueled with the man, her sword sending a shower of sparks to the ground as their blades met, a small brush fire ignited in the overly dry grasses.
In the aftermath of the burning plains, not one of them made it out alive. The last of them succumbed to her injuries, and Listha-Kei's last thoughts lingered on the egg she left behind at their base. She would never know her child; she wouldn't even find out if it was male or female. All she could do now was surrender to the voice of the Hist as it called away her soul from her body.
The blazing afternoon sun struck at just the right angle to hit his mirror, sending the reflected brightness right into his face. It happened every day, yet Aryon couldn't be bothered to shut the shades or move the blasted mirror. Instead he crouched deeper into his chair, brows furrowed tight as he frowned at the book he was reading. The young dark-haired Dunmer man was yet again holed up in his small, cramped quarters in Blacklight. It felt even smaller with all of the books he kept receiving now piled treacherously high to the ceiling, making his foul mood even worse. For the last fifty years, his whole life so far, he had spent his days studying. Being a high-ranking Telvanni wizard required immense knowledge, and he had his mind set on making it to the top. Maybe then, things would finally change!
The sharp rap on his worn door would have startled him if he didn't know who knocked like that. He groaned quietly to himself and rose to answer it. “Yes, Master Neloth?”
Neloth, one of the eldest Telvanni and master enchanter, often had a sour, put-upon expression on his lined face, but today he looked even more so than usual. He presented a sealed set of official papers – or at least they had been sealed until Neloth took the liberty of prying the seal open and shoving his nose into the young man's business. “Looks like the Argonians attempted to take the camp where your parents were stationed.” His expression didn't change, despite the terrible news he bore. “No survivors, including the attackers. I was in the second camp at the time, but our spies managed to get the names of the ones who attacked. Mages, both.” Neloth tossed the slip of papers onto a nearby desk, unperturbed by Aryon's shocked face. “Hmph, well I'm going back to camp in two days. The Arch-Magister wants to see you, by the way. You'd better get there soon.” With that he was gone, a mere flick of his robes left in his wake as he slammed the door shut.
Aryon's hands shook as he took up the papers left behind, prying open the loose seal and skimming over the words. He somehow made it back to his uncomfortable, beaten wooden chair, his plain robes awry as he slumped heavily into it. The sun had dipped enough to not be casting its reflection in his eyes, yet he still felt them sting at the thoughts running through his mind. His parents were dead, the Argonians with them. While he hadn't had the best relationship with them, they had still been an important part of his life. That they had pressured him into school and study until he wanted to break didn't factor into the loss he now felt.
With a sigh he filed away the papers into a folder to sort later, not sure what he wanted to do with them. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do with himself right now, either. All that was left in the abnormally empty thoughts was his goal to progress, to gain knowledge and skill so that he could finally be acknowledged as a noble Telvanni. Briefly his thoughts lingered on the names of the two dead Argonians, and he hoped they met whatever fate in Oblivion they had earned.
Third Era, 396
When Laje-tal hatched, it had been in a burst of tremendous fire. She had somehow managed to set her shell completely aflame, and yet she herself was fully intact. After the camp she had been laid in was overcome by Dunmer soldiers, she and all other Argonians in the camp had been captured, the adults taken in as slaves. An egg was of little immediate use, so she ended up in the temporary care of an old Argonian maid at a particularly pathetic orphanage. Barely a year after arrival, the poor old maid had died, leaving her to be looked after by the Dunmer matron who owned the building, raised among children who looked nothing like her.
Now, at the young age of seven, Laje-tal watched from behind a thick iron fence and a brace of shrubs as one of the orphans was led out the front door. There was only one reason, she had learned, that any orphan was allowed to go out of the front door. He was leaving. Her underfed housemate was looked over by a man in full chitin armor, even checking the boy's teeth like she had seen farmers check guars. Then, the man passed the old, sour matron a small stack of coins, all while the woman looked around to make sure the neighbors weren't watching. This had happened many times before. Guards or nobles would come in the guise of adopting a child, but it was all to put those children to work in places unknown. It was only a matter of time before she was taken too. She was well aware of what she was, and what her kind had been frequently used for.
At a loss Laje-tal crept into the one blind spot near the back edge of the building just as she had done many times before, shrinking into the crevice to practice her magic. For as long as she could remember, she had been a natural mage, the power coming to her almost by pure instinct. No sane person would train a pathetic Argonian orphan, she reasoned, so she hid her ability and practiced alone. The matron was apathetic toward her charges until they started complaining or begging for food, or when she decided a stiff beating was in order, so it hadn't been hard to escape now and then. With her strong sense of smell, Laje-tal located a few small shalks the size of her fist in the dirt. She speared the insects with a sharp stick and summoned a small flame to her hand to cook them.
Hungry orphans would eat just about anything, and she was no exception. Her forays into the fenced yard did give way to more food, if not escape. The thick wrought-iron fence had been driven deep into the ground and into underlying stone, the terrain too rocky for any serious digging. Under these rocks, however, she found a nice, big centipede and cooked it up too. If she fed magic into plants, she discovered they would grow much faster than was ordinary, so at times she could manage to grow them into food too. In all, she was the best fed of any of them. She might have been gracious enough to share with the others if they hadn't tried to harass her by pulling her tail or throwing stones. No, the rats, dead birds, snakes and insects were all hers. Those frail soft-skins would probably get sick from it anyway.
One year passed, and she knew the day had come. The matron was going to sell her, she just knew it. Her most likely destination was life as a slave. Her mind spun, trying to come up with some way to escape. The fence was still too strong for her small body to climb or get through. A guard would probably be sent to keep her from running. Her best option lay in going wherever she was to be taken and go from there. She may have a chance if she hid her magical ability and used it at the right time.
When the matron called for her, she was already at the woman's side. Obedience resulted in few beatings, but anticipating her needs led to even fewer. The matron's tired red eyes fell on her, a sigh escaping her lips. “There you are, child. Come now, there is a nice young man from Tear here. He's considering taking care of you from now on, so behave yourself.”
Entirely unconvinced, Laje-tal's calculating, golden cat-like eyes met hers. “How much are you selling me for?”
The question earned the small Argonian a harsh pinch on the face, which she didn't regret. “Hush now, you're being adopted by this man and I don't want to hear otherwise.”
She had no idea if it was because she would most likely never see this woman again or if she had lost her mind, but she felt very bold in this moment. “You sold all of the others. I saw you do it.”
“No more of this nonsense, you're coming outside right now!” The matron ushered her charge out the front door, which was typically locked with no less than three separate locks. To see the outside world from this angle only happened once – leaving for good.
Outside, a man in thick bonemold armor awaited, his armor rare in these parts. A small transport wagon pulled by a rather large guar waited for them. She hadn't seen a guar so large before, the lumbering creatures of the nearby farms and mines usually short and thin. The reptilian beast grumbled as the stranger looked her over. “Well, at least this one isn't as thin as a stick.”
Laje-tal endured the inspection as just like all the rest, her deep brown scaled skin and teeth were looked over, resisting the urge to twitch when he grabbed at her tail. Her horns hadn't grown in yet but he probably would have looked at those, too. Then, just as predicted, out came the coins. She couldn't help but shoot a look at the matron, who decidedly ignored her. When the man led her into the cart he tied her hands together with thick rope, which she found amusing. This could be easily burnt by her magic, though he would likely just try to catch her if she did that. She peered up at his bonemold helm as they sat in the cart, unable to see his eyes. “How much did you pay for me?”
Startled by her sudden, unexpected question, the guard turned quickly to her, stuttering. “W-what?”
“I want to know how many coins you gave her,” she insisted.
Surprisingly the man removed his helmet, his sharp red eyes baffled. “Why in Oblivion would you want to know that, of all things?”
“I just want to know.” Her eyes met his, unafraid and inquisitive. “She wouldn't tell me.” Both of them were jerked roughly as the driver urged the pack guar forward, heading onto the rocky plains down an ill-kept road. Her captor watched her, confused but at the same time intrigued by her tenacity. Finally he answered her.
“Fifty drakes.”
She looked out the small window, wondering if that was a lot of money. Quietly she thanked him, wondering if the amount of money was what she was worth. Did people buy workers who weren't slaves? Why did they buy children? Several questions roiled through her mind, not the least of which was where they were going. Tear, from what the matron had said. What little she had heard about that place wasn't anything good. She strongly suspected she would end up in some sort of mine, and as it turned out, she wasn't wrong.
In the farthest corner of the tiny slave shack she now resided in, Laje-tal lay on a small rough patch of ground. It was cold, but it was hers. The Tear glass mine had a total of thirty slaves, and her addition made for an odd number. Nearby slept a Khajiit man who was so old and gray she sometimes found herself waking in the middle of the night to check if he was still breathing. He stirred, mumbling. At his advanced age, he couldn't work the same sorts of duties the others took on, so he was charged with minding children and fetching supplies. As the only child, she was the only one in his shack.
Dro-jelan woke, his thin crooked tail clinging to his hammock as he rolled over. He often woke in the night but he now seemed to be looking around, wondering where he was. Nowadays he did that more often than not. Laje-tal came to his side, ready with a jug of mazte. She pulled her raggedly clothed arms closer, feeling chilled. The mazte was quickly downed by the old Khajiit and he looked down at her, confused. “Who...? Oh, yes, Dro-jelan remembers. You are new child.”
She had been there a month already but that was beside the point. This was her chance. Dro-jelan was the only slave among them that could read, and she was determined to learn. He may just be so far gone in his mind now that he forgot he had refused her before. “I saw a new sign they put up, what did it say?”
He sat there in his hammock, groggy, clearly trying to remember. “Hm, it said that we all must be in our beds on time, yes. Don't worry about the signs, little one. Dro-jelan is always in bed on time.”
Frustrated, she cut to the chase. “I want to be able to read them.”
Frail old Dro-jelan, however, wasn't entirely far gone and he frowned down at her. “No. Reading isn't allowed. Dro-jelan has told you this.”
“Then why put up signs?” She tugged at the edge of his hammock, knowing it would jostle him enough to wake him up more. “If we can't read them we won't know what to do.”
“Don't fret, child, the master always tells us where to be.”
She frowned. This wouldn't do at all. “Teach me or I'll run away.”
“Dro-jelan knows better,” he groused. “Running makes you caught, badly beaten. You will not do this, you must stay so Dro-jelan will not be missed when he passes.”
That reminded her of one thing she could still try. Khajiit often referred to death as traveling to the sands beyond the stars, and always had a wistful tone when they spoke of it. “You have said before that one must always read for the others. Who will read for everyone when you go to the sands beyond the stars?” That seemed to do the trick. Dro-jelan looked up to the ceiling, a short purr issuing from his throat.
“No one. No other can. Always need one. Dro-jelan must show you.” His bones creaked and joints cracked as he rose, making his way to a nearby table. The old mess of wood was nearly as broken and creaking as the man himself, and she worried that both wouldn't make it through the year. From the drawer he withdrew a worn scrap of paper, an old notice. “Never practice outside. Never.”
She nodded, eyes bright and eager. “Never. I promise.”
Two years later, Laje-tal stirred in the night and found that sometime since the last time she woke, Dro-jelan had passed away in his sleep. His cold, stiff form had been laid to rest in the wilderness like so many others, grave unmarked and secretly mourned by a few slaves who knew him. As for herself, she was alone. Ever since she came, other Argonians were too caught up in their work to notice the small scrap of a girl who brought them water or carried away buckets of raw glass shards. One, however, paid her too much attention.
Mular-da had a very bad habit of chasing women. Whether it was his fellow slaves or even the master's wife, no woman was off-limits from his advances. One Khajiit woman did humor him from time to time, if only because it kept him tame and she didn't mind it, but everyone else barely tolerated even conversation with him before chasing him off. Every time he looked at her, she felt those appraising eyes waiting, it seemed. Waiting for what?
One day Laje-tal looked down at herself and realized what it was. She had heard rumors of Mular-da advancing on girls if the women grew too coy. Thanks to her habit of continuing to forage for food at night and growing plants, she was quite well fed and for some unknown reason, she had started to mature into a more womanly form early. She had grown in places she had seen him staring at on the other women.
“Why hello there,” came a voice from behind her, one she dreaded. Every day since she had grown tall enough to just meet his shoulder, Mular-da would leer at her, and only occasionally did he have the bravery to approach. Unlike the others, she would fight him physically until he backed off, rather than run to the guards. The guards, in turn, never interfered in what she did to him. Mular-da had no allies here, and none were beaten or reprimanded for causing him harm.
Laje-tal hissed, baring her teeth and whipping her tail furiously behind her. She grabbed a nearby pickaxe, though it was still very heavy to her. Despite this she lifted it as well as she could, the steel tilting at a bad angle, ready to try to swing it if he came too close. His pale blue and gold skin looked sickly under the low amber lights of the mining cavern, and the sounds of the other miners were too far away for her liking. It was bad luck that she was stuck here picking up small glass shards left behind. “No, stay away! You're supposed to be down in the west mine!”
Unfortunately Mular-da seemed more determined than usual, tilting his head forward in a threatening show of thick, curved horns. “Ah, but there was no guard. He fell and had a terrible accident.” He grinned, light glinting on his sharp teeth.
A pang of fear shot up her spine at the implication. He may well have finally killed one of the guards! The pickaxe fell from her hands, discarded when she realized she now needed to be fast rather than threatening. Mular-da charged but she was small and nimble, as well as experienced in evading him. Her tail lashed, gashing his face, and she didn't hesitate to kick at him with her sharp toe claws. Despite being scratched and bloodied, he pursued her around the cavern, blocking escape.
Driven to desperation, Laje-tal grabbed a long, sharp shard of glass, not even sure what she planned to do with it. She had fought, but never like this. Her vision went red as she felt her survival instincts churn through her blood, urging her to put an end to this. There was one thing she had that he didn't – magic. The magic-draining bracers were too large for her small arms, and she was too young to be considered dangerous. Every night she practiced, unlocking basic spells, and she carefully charged her unarmed right hand with a shock spell.
Mular-da wasn't put off by her magical ability, and even seemed perversely pleased with how difficult a target she was. Her spell hit him with full force, his form jerking violently from the bolts traveling through his blood vessels, tracing red lines all down the front of his body. He recovered quickly, lunging, and before she knew what happened, her left hand moved forth in a powerful thrust, stabbing him straight through the heart with her spear of glass.
In the aftermath, no one witnessed her actions, though everyone knew she killed him. She had been the only one assigned to the area, and she was well known for her frequent violence towards him. While she had received a relatively light beating for it, she accepted her punishment with an inner smile, not regretting it one bit. Killing a guard was punishable by death, after all, and she had no qualms about being the one to mete out that punishment in response to his assault. From then, however, every slave avoided her entirely, terrified by her bloody murder. She found she didn't mind it. After all she had been through, she preferred to be left alone.
Today had to be the day to escape. More time had passed since the incident with Mular-da, and she had grown enough to be considered for the magic-draining slave bracers. Luckily she had found just the thing she needed to cause a distraction large enough.
Nobody had paid much mind to a leftover spell book dropped behind a bench one day, but she had swiped it up like so much treasure, learning as much as she could from it just as she had secretly learned to read to begin with. It was a complicated spell, one she had worked and worked on for the past two years, absorbing the strange terms and instructions with only half understanding. Now was the time to put it to the test, ready or not. She crept deeper into the bowels of the caverns, down to a place few came into. There was a dangerous sort of gas, from what she heard, but if it was flammable, she had her escape ticket.
A guard passed by on his rounds, refined bonemold armor gleaming in the wan light. Again she was grateful for her dark scales, not the blue or gold of her fellow Argonians. She closed her eyes, letting the guard's gaze slip right over her. Once he was well enough away she crept low, trying to sniff out that gas pocket she had just started to smell. It didn't have much of a scent, but she could somehow tell it was there. The trick now was to get close enough to launch a fireball, hide, and then make it behind the guards who would probably pile in to investigate. Not having any better plan she picked a likely corner, unleashing the ball of flame deep into the heart of the gas.
The explosion that followed was louder and more violent than anything she could ever have thought of before. Her ears rang with the sheer noise and pressure of the blast, disorienting her long enough to lose focus. Thankfully everyone rushing through the tunnels weren't at all focused on her, and she managed to recover enough to move in the opposite direction. In the confusion she eluded most of the people that ran past, and at long last, light glowed in the distance. Escape! Just as she rounded the corner, though, she heard a rough voice call out.
“Wait. Take me with you.”
There at the bend in the cave was a young Dunmer man, reddish hair filthy and the rest of him dangerously thin. Was he also somehow a slave? She could hardly turn him down. Dunmer or not, they were both in the same position. He might be able to help fight their way out of here. “Alright, come on then.” Handing him a small scrap of metal so he might try to pick his way out of his bracers, they hurried along while secondary explosions rocked the cave all around them.
“You did this, didn't you?”
She just nodded at him, not wasting time on too many words. They had finally come to the outside world, the sun beaming down on their grateful faces. It had been far too long since she had had the sun on her scales. As welcoming as the open field was, they kept low to the ground, evading more incoming guards and workers rushing to the site. Once out of sight enough to think about where to go from here, she frowned down at his progress on the bracers. “Let me have a try at them.”
“Might as well. If you can get them off, I'll be a lot more useful. A bit of sorcery might teach those fools a thing or two.”
His comment was reassuring; knowing she had a fellow mage with her was a relief. “Sorcery? Good, maybe you can tell me more about this.” Taking a moment to hand him the spell tome she had been looking at, she set about picking the lock. “If I can just make out that last passage, I can get us out of here for sure.”
He frowned at the book once he saw what it was. “You really mean to summon a flame atronach? Here, in the mine?”
“No, not in the mine, in front of the main house. If I can do that, it'll force the guards to go defend it and distract them from the mine, and then we can get the others out too.”
“You're crazy.” He paged through the book, though, and glanced at the last passage in it, all written out in Daedric. “Hmph, well it's in Daedric script. It says to pull the soul force towards your plane, concentrating it on the spot in front of you. Will it to look away from you, and focus on the enemy.” Looking down at the scrawny Argonian child, he had his doubts that she could even manage such a spell. “You're really sure about this? We could just set fire to the house.”
“No, they would just put it out. I need something that lasts longer. If you want to run, then go.” Finally the latch in his bracers came loose, freeing him from the draining spell. “Do what you want, I'm going.”
The man sighed a rueful sigh. “You won't be able to do it alone. You might be crazy, but I'm not one to turn down a little payback. Let's go.” His magic now restored, he summoned up a strong shield. They avoided the main road, sneaking near the house where the owners of the mine lived. It was naturally a fine house that was most likely filled with fine things, and with any luck they were fine flammable things. Just in sight of the door they stopped, and Laje-tal readied herself to cast the spell.
“I really hope this works.” Spacing her feet apart just as the book instructed, she drew upon her unnaturally large reserves of magicka. She never knew why she had been so tuned into magic, but right now she was glad for it. Focused fire melded at her fingertips, the conjuration spell surging into her mind. Then she felt it, the soul force the book had mentioned. It would have taken her by surprise for sure if she hadn't had that last passage translated. Drawing it out, she set her focus on the space of dirt in front of her, willing the creature not to look at her. The Dunmer man would be protected by his natural resistance to fire if she failed, but she didn't want to be burned to a crisp either. Just when it seemed like she might lose the spell, a fire atronach materialized before her, its sights set right on the thatched roof. It worked!
“Come on,” the man said quickly, pulling her away. “You managed to do it, but you better get away before it starts to wonder where it is. Let's wait near the mine and see what happens.”
She didn't question his advice, simply grateful he was giving it to her, and they hid in a crevice close to the mine as they watched the destruction. The thatched roof was almost immediately afire, the flame atronach roaring its defiance mindlessly. Its roars attracted the attention of the guards again, and once the two were sure the last one had come out, they saw a couple slaves had already had the idea to leave, a few Argonians and Khajiit scattering in every direction. “Maybe we don't need to go back in there for them after all.”
“Maybe not. Since you made one of the tunnels explode, it isn't safe in there anymore. I'll bet the guards were the only thing holding them back.” Sure enough a few more ran out of the cavern as the ground both above and underneath shook from further explosions, verifying the suspicion. “We'd better run too before the guards catch on. If the others don't think to escape, then that's just too bad. They're on their own.”
It was a cold logic, but a true one. She knew there wasn't much choice. “Alright. Where should we go?”
He laughed under his breath. “All of that planning and you didn't think of where you were going? I know a place, an Imperial town. Slavery may be legal in Morrowind but the Imperials don't want anything to do with it in their towns. I've got a few... friends out there who could help us.”
Her brow furrowed as her suspicion grew. “You're a thief.”
“No, no! I just, you know... get the right things for the right people, go through certain channels, and...” Feeling a bit nervous under her stare – which he shouldn't, she was just a child – he drew back from her scrutiny. No, she wasn't just a child, she was a child who just summoned a flame atronach like it was nothing. “Yes, sometimes I do a thing or two for them if they need it, but really it's all business! I just got caught, you know? That's why I was doing this stint in the mine, those guards caught me at it.”
“Thought so.” Craning her neck to see if the coast was clear she motioned him to come along. “Doesn't matter to me. If you've got a place we can stay until things die down, let's go there. Thieves Guild connections are probably better for an escaped slave anyway.”
“I've got Mages Guild connections too if it comes to that.” They both crouched in surprise as an explosion of flame shot off inside the house, the building bursting into pieces as guards shouted to each other. Nobody inside could have survived that. “Let's go.”
It was a long, hard run filled with evading and fighting, their reserves low from the hard life in the mines. Wild animals were avoided at all costs, some diseased or acting strangely. Nights were taken in shifts, not risking a fire and keeping a wary, watchful vigilance throughout. One night, Laje-tal finally asked a question she hadn't thought to ask yet. “What's your name, Dunmer?”
He gave her a bit of a smirk, noticing that she had called him a Dunmer, not just a dark elf. “Edd Theman, everyone just calls me Eddie, or Fast Eddie, whatever suits. If you ever need a bit of something here or there, I might be able to get it.”
As expected, Eddie did indeed have a way with finding the right people. He was clever and watchful, paying attention to every small detail of what people did. Apparently that was a necessary thing in a place like this. The town they were in was near the city of Mournhold, the great center of Morrowind. It was said that one of the Tribunal, Almalexia, lived and had her temple there. Something so grand was beyond her ken after living in the back of nowhere for so many years, but she knew she wanted to see it someday. In a small but tidy inn, they now sat in the back of a side room, a red-haired Dunmer woman across from them. Her posture was relaxed, her clothing plain and unassuming, and her smile did seem genuine. She was apparently Eddie's contact in the Twin Lamps, an organization dedicated to rescuing and rehabilitating slaves. Even so, she stayed wary.
“So, you must be Laje-tal,” the woman said, drawing their attention. She took in the young Argonian's tense pose and nervously twitching tail. “It's alright dear, I won't hurt you. The Twin Lamps have been around for generations, helping people all over Morrowind. You don't need to worry. Now, I think I may have found a nice family you can stay with, if you want. They're Imperials, but they have a good holding and are willing to provide you a place to live if you're willing to work for them.”
Laje-tal wasn't convinced. “It sounds like being a slave again.”
“You would be paid,” she assured, smiling at her sharp observation. “Also, if you find another place you want to work in later, you are free to leave at any time. You don't have to do this, but you might have trouble finding work on your own.”
Eddie nodded, facing her with a troubled smile. “I'd hate to see you begging in the streets, my friend. This isn't just a job, it's protection. Slavery is legal here, remember, and nobody would stop any slavers taking someone like you who is unaccounted for. I know you aren't familiar with Imperials, but they don't tolerate slavery. They would keep you well cared for.”
Her horned brows furrowed, concerned. “Where are you going?”
“Well, I can't join a family like you can. Too old, of course. I'm going to see if any of the Telvanni remember that they owe me a favor and go from there. Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'm still a Telvanni no matter what, I'll find somewhere to be and even send letters to you if you want.”
“Can I be a Telvanni?”
Eddie laughed when the woman across from them nearly choked on her drink. “Ah, you might not want to do that. They don't like Argonians very much. You're better off here.”
“What about my magic?”
Now he frowned, considering the problem. She had a point there. Eddie glanced at their contact, unsure how to approach this. “I did forget to mention it, but Laje-tal is already quite the mage. Her magic seems to be compulsory, if you'd believe it. There are mages who accumulate magicka even if they already have plenty, and the only cure is to use it up or take a poison. Argonians are immune to all known poisons, so there needs to be time allowed for magic practice. I recommend having training as soon as possible. Overfull mages are a great asset if well trained, and dangerous if not.”
The woman considered this fully, twisting a bit of her long hair between her fingers, staring at the ceiling. Finally she seemed to have an idea. “Alright, I know an Altmer near here who has been researching Dwemer ruins. A bit eccentric, like most mages, but agreeable enough. I think he might be interested in training an overfull mage. Such an opportunity is rather rare.” She held her hand out to Laje-tal. “I am Lenassa, by the way. Lenassa Hlaalu.”
Laje-tal eyed the offered hand dubiously before reaching out, offering a small, tentative shake before she withdrew. The prospect of magic training was too good to ignore. “I'll go.”
“You will?” Her brows arched high on her tall forehead. “You don't want to think about it?”
Eddie chuckled, draining the rest of his drink. “One thing I've learned about this girl is that when she sets her mind to do something, she does it! Even if it's summoning atronachs!”
“Blazes, child, you summoned an atronach?” Lenassa's eyes were as wide as could be. “How did you manage that?”
“Oh it was great, she found an old spell book on it and learned the spell. I helped her with the parts in Daedric. What? Don't look at me like that, it was a good idea! Turned out alright, anyway.”
Clearly suppressing what she wanted to say due to the presence of a child, she limited herself to a few choice words. “By Azura, Eddie, that was rash and insane! I will insist that this young lady be given proper training so she doesn't burn idiots like you to the ground!” She took one last sip of her drink. She needed it.
When Laje-tal was to meet the family of Imperials she would be staying with, Eddie agreed to go with her and see if they were suitable. The house stood on a low hill, surrounded by grassland and a few other homes and shops. It was moderately fancy, with several rooms and windows, a place that looked fairly grand to her. Later she learned that the place was quite average in comparison to some places afar, but out here it was very prominent. Hlaalu nobles from all over Morrowind and the Vvardenfell province would often come to meet here. Her role was to be a maid, cleaning and eventually cooking for the household, managing their linens and dishes, and other domestic duties. It did, at least, outshine the atrocities of slavery in a glass mine.
The lower level of the house was mostly pale stone and small, sparse wooden additions. The upper floor had mud and daub styled walls, whitewashed and wooden framed. Hard clay tiles formed the roof, a rarity with most homes sporting thick thatch. A few decorative plants and statues softened the austere structure, making it seem more welcoming. Eddie approached with her and knocked on the green wooden door, waiting until an Imperial woman answered.
While the woman did seem a bit tired, she had a kind smile. Her formerly dark hair only had a few strands left that weren't gray, and there were a fair few strong wrinkles on her face, but she seemed relatively happy and glad to meet her guests. “Oh, yes, welcome. Miss Lenassa told me you would be coming. Come in now, we'd best get you fed, yes indeed.”
Laje-tal made a small face at the woman's tone and Eddie smiled with a roll of his eyes behind the woman's back. He then urged her along into the entryway. Just to the right, a short hall led into the main kitchen and modest dining room. They were quickly seated at the table where the woman pulled a few dishes out of the warm oven. It was simple fare, a few cooked meats, vegetables and roots, but much of it was food she had only heard of. Was this for her? She looked over the spread, then to Eddie, who handed her a plate. “Go ahead, have some. Take it easy, though, your stomach isn't used to being full. You'll be sick of you have too much, believe me.”
Trusting his guidance, she let him dish up her plate, hardly believing her eyes. Most often she had subsisted on rice, bittergreens, ash yams and whatever she found under rocks or creatures menacing the store rooms. She stayed quiet, not wanting to say anything that may jeopardize her access to food, patiently waiting until her half-full plate was before her. She reached for a bite of meat, but the maid cleared her throat to get her attention. “Use your fork, dear.”
Laje-tal had seen wooden forks, but the one near her was metal. She took it in her left hand, holding it just as Eddie held his, spearing the meat and taking a bite. The flavor was unusual and rich, unlike the crudely roasted messes she had made. “It's much better than rats.”
Eddie barely held back an outburst of laughter when the poor maid gasped, her small hands over her mouth in shock. “Heavens, child! Rats, of all things! Oh dear, oh dear...”
She had a feeling she shouldn't talk about all of the other things she had eaten, never mind that they had tasted just fine. Instead she ate her food slowly and quietly until her appetite had been sated. Some food was still left, but she was sensible enough not to gorge herself. While it was good, she had to trust that there would be more later. “Thank you,” she said, remembering her manners.
“Well, at least you are polite. If you mind yourself, you will do well here. You'll have magic training, as has been arranged, but we'd best teach you proper protocol as well. We get very important visitors here.”
Protocol. That sounded boring. Still, she supposed her magic training had to be earned. “Alright.”
The maid turned to Eddie with a heavy sigh. “Goodness, is she always so short on words?”
He merely shook his head, chuckling. “Only with people she doesn't know. Well, my friend, I must be going now, but I can write to you if you wish. I'm sure I'll have a few decent adventures."
“We can read the letters to you, too,” the woman offered.
Laje-tal deferred that with a slight shake of her head. “No need. I can read it.” Quietly she considered the letters, and thought that she would indeed like to read them as well as write back. If he was to go out and see the world, she wanted to know more about it.
“Alright then, we will get you settled in and see your friend out. Come now, time's wasting.”
Chapter Text
Ch. 2
Life as a live-in maid started simply for a child. Laje-tal wasn't quite fit for the hardest work yet, so much of her early time was spent being taught. She would scrub and shine the wooden and stone floors, sweep, mend clothes and tidy rooms. The work was taxing, but it was worth it for what she learned. One of the older members of the household, a Breton man, taught her about Imperial history, protocol and geography. While she was especially wary around men, he had such a straightforward approach to everything that he seemed safe enough. It was also apparently proper protocol to not make unwanted advances on others, which was a relief. There would always be people who disobeyed the protocol, but she was expected to be professional and courteous.
There was such a plethora of information to take in! She had no idea how much of the world there was out there, and she tried her best to remember all of it. Her tutor shared stories of his travels to High Rock, Cyrodiil and some parts of Skyrim. Several cities took her interest when he described them at length, and she wondered if she would ever see any of these places.
One day she asked about something he hadn't mentioned. “Have you ever been to Black Marsh? That's where I'm from, right?”
He gave her a kind smile. “Your people are, anyway. You were born here in Morrowind but yes, Argonians do generally live there. I haven't been there, but I've heard it's bad for traveling.”
“Why?”
By now the question of why had been asked time and again, but he enjoyed her curiosity. “Well, there are many insects that spread disease, poisonous creatures, thick jungles and not much else. It's hardly the sort of place that someone goes to for pleasure.”
“Why do they live there, if it's so unpleasant?”
“Ah, you see, Argonians are immune to poison, very resistant to disease, and have the ability to breathe underwater. The swamps don't pose as much of a threat to them as they do other people. They adapted to it.”
She sat very still, tense and curious. “Will I go there someday, do you think?”
He smiled. “You're free now, child. You can make your own destiny if you work hard.”
Laje-tal did indeed work hard, especially when she heard she would be reviewed for magic training. She was eager to not have to burn off fire in the fireplace or make nearby plants grow unnaturally large. Her mentor was an older Altmer man who had been studying the Dwemer for most of his life. He would be showing her basic control and if she showed aptitude, perhaps even more. His current place of study was just outside town in an ancient Dwemer tower. Thankfully the place was free of the usual mechanical guardian centurions and spiders, so it was deemed safe enough for her to travel there.
She was escorted to the tower by one of the eldest maids, who would accompany her during her lessons. When asked, she was told the maid was there to help maintain her virtue. Her confusion resulted in a fairly awkward conversation explaining to her what virtue was, and she was yet again glad she had killed Mular-da before he compromised this apparently important quality. She didn't mention how close she had come, or her acts against him. Imperials seemed to be very particular about those who had committed some sort of crime.
Upon meeting her potential instructor, she surprisingly found that she liked him. The old Altmer man was very focused on his studies and disliked the thought of wasting time dallying with women, but he also didn't find her gender to be an obstacle. Altmer men and women both held a more equal standing among each other than Imperials, differing mostly in their level of skill and personality. He sat her down at a large stone table, her maid hovering nearby. Calcelmo, as she learned, was quick to evaluate what he was working with.
“So, I hear that you are quite the mage already, young lady. A mage with overflowing magicka, one who somehow learned to read and even summoned a fire atronach. Oh yes, I heard about that from your friend. You're not in trouble, certainly, I'm rather impressed. You'd better learn the correct way of conjuration, though, before you try something so reckless again. For now, I want to evaluate your current skills. Try a fire spell.”
“Yes, sir.” That was easy. She generated flames to her hand immediately.
Calcelmo inspected everything from the way she held her hand to the shape of the flame. “Good form, decent output. I assume you're holding back?” She nodded. “Great control. You've been using this spell quite a bit?” Another nod. “Indeed. We should see how much power you can generate when you don't hold back. See that stone wall over there? I want you to hit it with all you have! Don't worry, there's nothing flammable.”
Laje-tal rose, facing the tall, plain wall. It did look very strong, as most Dwemer buildings did. She hesitated only slightly before hitting it with a small burst of fire. When she saw it was alright, she hit it with a fiery stream, increasing the flow until it stung. Never before had she tried to strain her limits like this, and it felt very strange.
“Oh! Oh good! Yes, look at that! Go ahead and stop now.” He waited until she seated herself again, smiling at her success. “That sort of power is what I'd expect from one of my own kind. You must come from a long line of mages, surely. Can you use other elemental magic, such as frost or shock? Anything other than that?”
She brought to her hand a shock spell, lightning flickering wildly in her fingers. “I can make a charm for you if you have one of those blue or green stones.”
His graying brows furrowed. “Stones?” He sat back, puzzled. Could she be talking about soul gems? Did she know some rudimentary enchanting? “I think I know what you mean. These?” From a side drawer he took a few filled lesser and petty soul gems and a few common rings, placing them before her.
“Yes, those are good ones.” He had given her a few gems to choose from and an array of different rings. This could be some sort of test. She looked over each ring, choosing a steel ring with a garnet in it. Rings did seem to do better if they weren't just plain metal. Then, to his surprise, she sniffed the soulgems.
“What in blazes are you doing?”
She only continued what she was doing. “I'm finding which one has the most magic.” One petty soulgem was the strongest smelling, a peculiar scent she could never describe, and she chose it from the pile. Then, holding the gem to the ring, she poured into it pure magical power and bound an enchantment to the ring. Satisfied with the result, she handed the ring over to him.
“Well how about that.” He inspected the ring with a practiced eye, turning it this way and that. The enchantment was very crude, naturally, but it was done well enough. It seemed to have a small restorative spell attached to it, a fairly common charm. How she had determined which gem to use, though, was most intriguing. Now he set before her a very large collection of gems from lesser to grand. “Which of these do you think is best for a strong enchantment?”
Laje-tal had never seen so many gems like this before and her eyes widened. She came back to task, though, and smelled each in return. In the end, she handed him a grand soulgem with a Dremora Lord sealed in it. “This one.”
“My, my.” He took the gem with a smile. “In all my years, I've only known a few other mages who can smell magic, and some of them were like you with overflowing magicka. Anything else you've been trying?”
There was only one other thing she could think of but as she glanced over the stone walls, tables and numerous book shelves, she didn't see a single plant. Not one root or seed was in sight. “I don't see anything I can use for plant magic.”
“Ah, growing food, I take it? Yes, that explains quite a bit. I think I may have something you can try. Oh where is it...” He rummaged through a few drawers and muttered to himself, tossing aside random assortments of alchemical ingredients. “Ah! Yes, well, I suppose this will have to do. Here, see if you can make this one grow. I'll bet you've never seen such a thing before! It's a seed of a white lily from the gardens of the Imperial City. Don't worry, I have more of them.”
She took the small, off-white seed, the tiny thing barely visible in even her small hands. It was true she had never seen such a thing, and she had never tried to grow anything from a seed. Most of what she had grown were from established roots and partially grown plants. “I will try, sir.” Feeling uncertainty creep into her spine, she held the seed gently between her palms, sending small amounts of magic into the husk. Something so small most likely wouldn't enjoy being forced with too much magic, so she leaked small amounts into it until it started to unravel.
Little by little the roots sprouted from the hard husk, spreading and tangling down onto the table. As the roots grew more complex she closed her eyes to focus harder on the center, increasing the magical flow to the stem slowly emerging from the top. She had no idea how long she sat there, feeding a steady stream of magic into the roots but eventually she felt his hands pull hers apart. “You'd better stop right there, look at that. It's just about to bloom.”
She held the plant away from herself in shock, watching as a large white flower bloomed from the center of the spreading green lily pads. Even her maid looked up from her knitting with interest. “There are flowers like this in the Imperial City?”
Calcelmo found a bucket of water nearby and transferred the plant from her grasp, always encouraged when he saw such interest in scholarship. “Indeed, I do enjoy collecting some interesting things from afar. Say now, what was our agreement? Training once a week?”
“That's right.”
“I don't think that will be quite enough. You'd best come every day unless you are too ill or are otherwise unable to come. I will insist that you help me on my research, but I do believe you will require far more than just basic training from me.” His smile was warm and kind, one of the few such smiles she had ever received. “Some of us are born to be mages, child. You can bring about a great deal of good to the world if you work towards that end. All you need is to find a way.”
Laje-tal's magic studies were the most interesting part of her days. She never shirked her duties for the Imperials, still doing whatever was asked of her, but she looked forward to spending her free hours learning about the vast and intriguing world of the arcane. Most of the early work covered control and stamina, practicing spells over and over until she could cast them without even thinking about what she was doing. They rehearsed changing elemental spells from one to the other, back and forth, switching to shields and barriers. One hand could hold a destructive spell while another could hold up a barrier, being offensive and defensive at the same time. At times they would even hold practice duels, launching spell after spell at each other until they were drained. However, one day Laje-tal faltered early, collapsing to her knees and holding her head in pain.
The Altmer was startled by the sudden unexpected action and barely pulled back a spell he was just about ready to hurl at her. When he came close, he saw that she was bleeding from several points on her head and brow, tiny pricks of bone breaking the skin. He sighed with relief. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to go over restoration magic. It seems that you are growing into your horns.” It took some coaxing to get her to sit at a table, the pain too strong to think straight. A soft white-gold glow flowed from his hands as he urged the magic into her throbbing skin, easing the nerves screaming in agony.
“It's like being hit with the spiked whip, only on my head,” she said quietly with a groan, resisting the urge to hold her head. Whatever he was doing was helping and she didn't want to interfere.
“I suppose that's not entirely inaccurate. You have quite a few spikes coming in, from the look of it.” He avoided her mention of the spiked whip, not wanting to bring up her horrific past. Instead he concentrated on his restoration until the swelling went down and the pain subsided into a dull ache. A small damp rag was placed nearby. “Let's clean you up and get you home.”
They cleaned the blood from her head carefully, trying not to snag the cloth on the new spikes now protruding from her head. “Are we done already?”
“I'm sure you want to go get some rest and sleep off the worst of it. I've heard growing horns can be quite painful for Argonians, especially if there are many of them growing at once.”
“It's fine,” she insisted, getting to her feet and taking a stance. “I've had worse.”
“I'll say one thing about you,” he said with a chuckle, “you sure have tenacity. Good. You'll need to learn to endure pain in the midst of battle. Come at me with everything you have!”
Their lessons continued as the days wore on, and she did indeed have to cope with quite a bit of pain as her horns came through. At times the pain was only an ache and itch, driving her into scraping against trees or wooden posts to help the process along. She did at least be mindful of whose posts she scratched against, and tried to choose trees that weren't owned by anyone. Finally one day the pain stopped, sometime during a lesson on Daedric lettering. Small horns jutted from her eye ridges and several more atop her head, and she had developed more colorful rusty hued markings on her throat and red beneath her eyes. Right now she was more focused on the ink coming from her pen properly.
“Neatly now,” Calcelmo urged, looking over her work as she practiced. “Try to space your letters properly but close enough together to save space, it should be easy to read but not take up too much room. There's little worse than taking down important notes and not being able to read them later.”
She took great care with the ink, writing in close, tidy characters as he fussed with a Dwemer mechanism. It seemed to be another coherer, though this one was in better shape than the last one. Bits and pieces were strewn all over the table, wires and gears and any other strange things in different piles. Something was off, however. The machine suddenly started to smell like magic. That smell only increased, peaking sharply in a sudden burst. “Master, stop!” Her instincts reacted faster than he did, swiping the coherer and throwing it against the practice wall, the mechanism exploding in a burst of shock energy.
Calcelmo looked on at the smoldering, broken mess that used to be a coherer, suddenly understanding what it was she had done. “Gods above, that thing still had an active magical trap in it! Thank you, I honestly didn't see that device react until it was too late. Perhaps I'd better have you check any future mechanisms for magical remnants. As you see, Dwemer research can be both rewarding and hazardous.”
Curious, she approached the now defunct coherer, picking it up and inspecting the mangled wreck. Deep inside was where the magic had come from, and she pried the pieces apart. From the middle, she pulled out a small soulgem, small enough to have gone unnoticed in a short inspection. “Look at this. Someone put a soulgem in here. It must have powered the trap.”
“You may just be right.” He turned the gem this way and that under the bright overhead light, inspecting it closely. “Odd, I've never seen a coherer modified with a soulgem. I wonder what other sorts of Dwemer mechanisms could have the same thing. Yes, well, why don't you finish up that lettering and then you can come help with my research. I'm quite curious to see how this thing works.”
For years after, Laje-tal helped Calcelmo's research, notating and theorizing alongside him. She had come to the point where her enchanting skill was enough that people in town often visited the Imperial manor to have items enchanted for a fee. Some of the coin would go to the manor, and some to Calcelmo for his efforts, the rest going to her own profits. After learning alchemy, she also supplemented this income with any potions she could make up and sell. By the time Calcelmo needed to leave Morrowind, she had made a tidy profit. She was saddened to see him leave but knew it was for the best. His research was to cover as many Dwemer ruins as possible and he had finished everything in the area.
The old Dwemer tower was still an unclaimed ruin, so Laje-tal kept on using it as a place for her studies. There was no reason to not use it, especially if she wanted to try something potentially dangerous. She could leave unaccompanied, now that she was fully grown, and she enjoyed the solitude after working during the day at the manor. Her work load was rather full there, but she managed to make the most of her situation. All of it had been going quite well until one particularly bothersome man showed up.
Crassius Curio was a man of mixed renown. He was a Hlaalu councilor in the great house, and was considered very important. However, he was also terribly lecherous. She had been warned about his tendencies, as had every woman within a hundred miles, and she promised to try to remain as professional as possible. It proved to be one of the hardest promises she ever kept.
Laje-tal had been in the midst of cleaning a spare room that was to be his quarters while he stayed in town. The fireplace tended to get particularly dirty, and so it happened that while she was there, scrubbing down the marble post with a stiff brush, he came right in and startled her. “Well well, did the mistress really send me my very own servant?” Despite herself she had looked, taking in a brief glance of the dull, aging Imperial man. She tried to ignore him but he either didn't notice or ignored her back. “I say, my fair lady, are you here to serve me?”
Hiding a roll of her eyes she answered him curtly. “No, I'm simply here to clean your chambers. I'll be finished soon enough.”
Sadly, a man like him didn't take being shoved off easily. “Is that all you came for, my sweet? My chambers?”
This time she sighed under her breath, directing the slightest frown at him. “Yes. Once I'm done, someone will be along with your linens.”
“Such a shame,” he purred. “Alas, to see one with such a fine, shapely tail lay down my linens would revive an old man such as myself. I am so weary from my travels...”
Deep down, she wanted to show him just how very uninterested in his weariness she was. No, she understood exactly what he was getting at and needed to find a way to escape. Unfortunately she hadn't quite finished removing a particularly tough soot stain off the mantle. She cursed every speck of ash as she scrubbed it away. “I'm sure you have better things to do than harass the maids. I must finish cleaning and you are distracting me.”
“Cleaning, you say? I have just the thing.” From an unseen corner he drew out a long, steel spear, holding it out to her. He gestured, trying to get her to take it. “Here, why don't you polish my spear?”
Taking one look at it, she could tell it was tarnished, needing the attention of a specialist. She could enchant things, surely, but something like this wasn't her job. “I don't take care of such a thing. You would do best to see a blacksmith.”
He wasn't so easily dissuaded. “Nonsense. I'm sure your strong yet gentle hands could revive even the most wanting of spears, restoring life to them until they stand proud and tall.”
Just like that, the last bit of soot was off the fireplace, and with it flew her patience. She left without a word, not wanting to grace him with even a response.
During their next unfortunate encounter, she found that the insufferable man had learned her name.
“Why hello there, Laje-tal!” Yet again he found her, right on schedule with when she was set to start cleaning. Wonderful. “You know I was wondering, what does your name mean? Not that it doesn't fit such a beautiful creature, but I don't know what to make of it.”
Gritting her teeth, she set about straightening his bed covers. “In your tongue it means lifts her tail. A lifted tail is a sign of health and strength. It doesn't do to drag one's tail on the ground like a sick animal. If you were to actually consult those books of yours you would see it is a common enough name.”
“Oh.” Not sure what to think, he defaulted to what had brought him here to begin with. “Maybe you can solve this conundrum of mine... I don't think I've been doing it quite right.” He took out a dish full of raw bread dough, poking at it. “Would you know what the next step in making this would be?”
She stared into the bowl, the enormous amount not even kneaded yet. Even she knew better, and she wasn't one of the cooks. “You made too much, you'll need two pans for that, and you had better knead it first. Ask one of the cooks about it.”
“The next step is to knead it?”
“It needs yeast, and needs to rise, but yes. Again, I don't know.”
Risking a curious glance, he offered her the bowl. “I don't quite know how. Would you... knead my loaf for me?”
This time she didn't conceal her narrowed eyes, though the lurch of her stomach at the disgusting man was thankfully invisible. “You shouldn't even have such a thing out of the kitchens. The mistress would have a fit if she noticed it missing. You had better return it.”
“Oh don't fret about the mistress, she will get her appetite sated well enough.”
Laje-tal barely managed to mask the horror that crept into her mind at what he was insinuating. So much for the mistress's virtue. Dropping the covers as they lay she left, giving up. He would just have to make do with what she had already done, job or not.
One day, Crassius came to her with a sword. At this point she had no idea how long he intended to stay at the Imperial manor, as he had already stayed long past the expected one week. It felt like he would never leave and he was pushing her patience severely. “Pardon me, my good lady, but I heard you may be able to enchant my sword.”
Unfortunately everyone knew that she was an enchanter, so it was impossible to evade this one. She sighed to herself. “Perhaps, for a fee. What sort of enchantment would you like to have on it?”
His grin was unsettling. “I would love for my sword to be able to... restore stamina.”
It took all she had to not say something foul. “Indeed. You may leave the sword and a filled soulgem with the mistress and I can have it done for you by tomorrow.” She knew he wouldn't.
After ten separate incidents, one very clearly referring to something very inappropriate she could do with her tail, it was plain he wouldn't be leaving any time soon. Only at night, when she had the excuse of magic practice, could she be left alone. While out in town one night, she heard that Barenziah's caravan was going to be coming through town. The queen of Mournhold was beloved by everyone in Morrowind, and she was passing through for political visits. As she sat in the corner of a local inn, having a drink of mazte, she had a very interesting, if a bit crazy idea. The queen would likely have several guards in her caravan, and a mage who could smell out magic might just be useful for that caravan. It wouldn't hurt to ask.
On a fair sunny day, a long string of brightly colored travel wagons rolled into the town, magically powered to coast on their own. Guards set up tented pavilions for themselves and the nobles, the place looking like one of the fairs she had heard about. Laje-tal requested a rare day off to see the spectacle, which was only granted because none of the caravan were visiting the manor. Two armored Imperials were sparring with wooden swords nearby, drawing her attention. Sword fights were rare in town, the area being largely peaceful, but she enjoyed watching them whenever she could. She came close enough to watch but stayed back, not wanting to distract the fighters.
“You there! Mage!”
It took a moment for her to realize that someone was calling out to her. Belatedly she realized that she had gone out in her mage clothes, so he must have recognized her. She turned on the grassy field to see a tall, blond Nord. What was going to happen now? At a loss, she greeted him. “Yes, sir?”
“Here.” He tossed her his mithril axe, the weight light enough for her to catch without pause. “Think you can put a strong frost spell on this? Enough to freeze some bandits?”
She looked over the axe, noting the fine tooling and the even set of the blade. It seemed to be of a high grade material and well made. “Certainly. Do you have a filled soulgem?”
“Yeah, here.” From his rough armor he pulled out a full greater soulgem, tossing it to her with an odd glance. “Huh. Didn't know we had an Argonian in the camp.”
So, the man had mistaken her for a caravan mage. For the moment she didn't correct him, binding a strong frost spell to the axe in moments, soulgem disappearing as usual. “Here, have a look. Think this will do?”
The Nord took back the axe and checked it over, seeing that it did indeed have what he was looking for. “Not bad. I'd better go to you next time rather than that idiot Bosmer. You'd better get back to camp and help him, he's making those damned potions again.”
Suddenly she managed to get herself into helping the caravan, and though she knew she probably shouldn't be here doing this under false pretenses, she genuinely did want to help if someone was having problems with alchemy. One wrong ingredient could mean the difference between life and death. She was also terribly curious, honesty be damned. Several people milled to and fro, setting up the camp, repairing gear and weapons, gathering food and preparing supplies. He led her to an outdoor alchemy lab where indeed a Bosmer man with tan hair and a bewildered expression was trying to make potions. The Nord approached and looked down at the discordant mess.
“By the Gods, Endrin, what is that?”
The Bosmer, flustered, presented a bottle. “Ah, health potions. I think.”
Laje-tal took it instead, smelling it. “Damage health poison. Why are you making potions for the others if you're not sure what you're doing?”
He wiped his hands on a rag, sighing down at the mess. “I'm a mage for battle, not for... this. Our only alchemist is sick and they all seem to think I'm fit for the job! I do want to get these together but I'm better off blasting bandits apart.”
Glad he didn't have any negative intentions, she gave him an understanding smile. “It's always good to practice things outside your main study. You never know when it might be needed. Here, let me show you.”
For the next hour, Laje-tal found herself in the role of teacher rather than student. She showed him a few basic potions and techniques, just as Calcelmo had done. She was so wrapped up in what she was doing she barely noticed when the queen herself had come to the lab.
Barenziah, clothed in her comfortable travel clothes rather than official robes of state, looked down at their progress with a pleased expression. “Well now, what have we here?”
Laje-tal, shocked and a little horrified, turned to regard the elder Dunmer woman as gracefully as possible. She knew she had no business being here. Swallowing her worry, she nodded with respect. “Apologies, my queen, but I couldn't help noticing that this man needed instruction. I didn't mean to intrude.”
From behind her Endrin chuckled in a friendly manner. “Oh don't worry, everyone here helps everyone out. I didn't know the caravan had an Argonian, though!”
Barenziah gave her a knowing smile. “We don't.”
Laje-tal was going to apologize again when she smelled a magical disturbance behind her. “Get down!” Without thinking she dragged the queen to the ground just in time for them both to avoid a powerful shock spell. The blast wasn't lethal, but it would have still hit quite hard. A small group of bandits appeared from the dense tree line, armed with bows and shortswords. She reacted instinctively just as she had been taught, lashing out with her own spells and summoning a storm atronach. The bandit mages were good, but her reserves and daily training were starting to pay off. After a gruesome fight, the bandits were all eliminated.
Thankfully Barenziah stayed low to the ground, wisely not interfering with the magical battle. When all was over with and clear, she approached Laje-tal with a startled but grateful smile, brushing the dirt from her clothes. “Ah, thank you, Argonian. You have shown bravery and selflessness despite the strained history our two races have. I do believe you would be an asset to us, if you would care to join my guards.”
She almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. A guard for Barenziah? It all sounded too good to be true. “I would be honored,” she said, bowing deeply. “I must settle my current affairs but I would be quite willing to serve in any way possible.”
“I have matters to take care of as well, and plan to have the caravan present for the next week. Come by when you are able and we will discuss the matter of your employment.”
Far away in the northeast corner of Vvardenfell, Aryon looked over the mess that was his stronghold. He had been granted the right to be a master in the house and construct an appropriate stronghold on the province. Making it at the site of an Imperial fort, however, had come with a unique set of problems. The Telvanni grew their stronghold homes out of monstrous fungi, plants endemic to Morrowind. An Imperial fort just north of Vos had been struggling to coexist with the people of Vos and had allowed him to attempt to host his stronghold there, hoping it would decrease tension in the area. A wizard tower brought revenue.
At first, the growth of the tower had gone perfectly well. The main structure latched around the underlying stone tower without breaking the outer wall, roots delving down into the ground and out. As more and more was added, however, the roots grew out of control, piercing into parts of the wall and down into the dungeons and lower halls, collapsing several rooms. Luckily few had been hurt, his warnings of caution heard and obeyed, but the damage to the lower levels was disastrous. Most of what had been ruined were unused rooms or dungeon cells, so at the very least not much had been lost. He was still concerned about not being able to control the growth in the first place.
It shouldn't have gone like this. The root samples had come straight from Blacklight from the Arch-Magister's storage room, the acceleration crystals as well. He had used everything recommended to him right down to an instruction manual, yet it had somehow gone so very wrong. It seemed as if fate had it out for him, but he couldn't have any idea about what was actually yet to come.
Chapter Text
Ch. 3
At the end of Barenziah's week in town, Laje-tal gratefully bade farewell to the Imperial manor. Her work there hadn't been overly problematic, but they all knew her future lay in being a mage. The chance to work as one excited her, now free to use her magic whenever she could. Guards and workers had torn down and packed away the camping materials, moving out boxes of items with haste. She found the other mages easily enough and was evaluated for the best place to be stationed in the group. While on the road, she was to stay ahead of Barenziah's wagon, her ability to smell incoming magic important in defending the queen. On the side, she was to help the Bosmer man she had already been aiding with potion making.
Laje-tal had never traveled like this before. There had been the harried escape from the glass mine with Eddie, but this caravan was to travel all over the mainland. She made sure to write to Eddie's current residence to let him know she had moved on, hoping his letters would make it to wherever she would be next. He hadn't been able to find his friends among the Telvanni, but he managed to get work in other Lamps business. Hopefully he wasn't also making more trouble than he could handle.
At first, her presence in the caravan was quite the novelty, whether for good or ill. Most of the others were Dunmer, Nords, Imperials or Bretons with a scant few others. The Imperials warmed up to her a little when they heard of her prior home, and after a bit of convincing they taught her the art of swordplay and archery. Eventually she was granted her own sword and bow from storage, and now skirted the edge of the lead wagon with the scouts and primary guards. She occasionally sniffed out magical traps, hidden runes and other surprises on the roads. There were fewer incidents, and by extension happier guards. One night as they camped in a dense forest, a lone figure caught her eye.
In a high tree near camp, she spotted an unusual shape. He was well hidden but she could smell the magic items he carried and soon spied his hiding place. The man had a tail and horns, just like her. Another Argonian. She bristled, watching him warily. Nearby a low campfire crackled, none of the others close to her position. If he attacked, she would be on her own until everyone was alerted. His bold green eyes darted, meeting her stare in a tense glance. He knew she saw him. Her position didn't change, still sitting on a log near the fire, watching and waiting. White, sharp teeth flashed in a grin before he crept away into the darkness.
For the next five nights the mysterious Argonian man watched their camp. Laje-tal always managed to find him, much to his chagrin. He would look at her, surprised, and make a quick escape. On the sixth night he gave up the hiding and revealed himself, just on the edge of another group of trees. His clothes were clearly that of a thief, his scales nearly as dark as her own. She was startled by how similar they looked, each of them with a rust colored throat and red streaks under their eyes. Finally she spoke. “Who are you?”
He grinned, his voice rough with with an Argonian accent. “I might ask you the same. You always seem to find me no matter where I am.” Beneath the nearest tree he crouched, watching her watch him. “They call me Hides-His-Shadow, though it seems I can't do that very well right now.”
Laje-tal stayed wary, not fooled by his casual mask. No doubt he would act against her if she gave him the opportunity. “You can't hide from me, you'd best leave.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But perhaps sometime you may see me but fail to see me.”
Her brows furrowed as her suspicion grew. “What do you mean?”
“You might see me and not tell the others while I go about my business.”
“Never.” Now she tensed, ready to draw her sword. “I am sworn to guard this caravan. I know that you thieves are only trying to get by as best as you can, but I will stop you if I must.” She drew a small sack of coins she had saved, tossing it at his feet. “Take that and go if you must take something.”
The other Argonian only laughed, throwing the coins back at her. “It's not the money, marsh sister, it's the chase, the heist. Money is only a product of the work.”
She burst to her feet, drawing her sword in a sudden swipe towards him, scaring him back with the sharp movement. As hoped he escaped into the depths of the outlying shadows, well away from her post. Returning to the log she had been resting upon, she mentally went over how she planned to handle this very insistent thief. She resolved to find every way possible to ruin his fun.
For the next few days, Hides-His-Shadow attempted to steal from the caravan and each time he was foiled by Laje-tal. Once, she left an expensive-looking ring enchanted with a spell of burden powerful enough to freeze him in place, leaving him with no choice but to abandon his prize. She enchanted a plain wooden box to look like a golden cask filled with precious gems but had actually been stuffed with wriggling centipedes. Each time he kept returning until finally she decided to just catch him once and for all. It was around that time that Barenziah found out about these nightly episodes and came to see for herself what was going on.
That night Laje-tal sat by an outer campfire as usual, waiting to see if the bait she had set out would be taken. From the camp, Barenziah approached and sat with her, dressed as a common worker. By now, Laje-tal was used to the queen doing any number of peculiar things that a queen generally wouldn't be known to do, so she didn't question it.
“Is he here?” The queen asked in a whisper, red eyes scanning the outer edge.
Laje-tal nodded just barely, keeping her voice low and sword ready. “Yes. I intend to catch him tonight.”
She watched her guard with curiosity, head tilting just a bit. “Most of the time my guards arrest or kill thieves right away.”
“Thieves are used to that. They aren't used to being outwitted by their prey, however. There are surely other thieves who have wondered why he has had such trouble with his target, and by now he must have had several embarrassing stories to tell them. This will not only be a good punishment for him, but a warning to the others that we are not to be taken lightly.”
Barenziah chuckled. “Fair enough. Just don't get in over your head.”
“I would certainly have asked for help if I had any difficulty with this, or I would have brought him in sooner. I won't endanger the caravan unnecessarily.”
Both went still when Laje-tal held up her hand, motioning slightly to the trees. They watched as discreetly as possible as the man crept around the edge of the camp, pretending not to see him. He then went entirely out of sight but she reassured Barenziah with a nod. She knew exactly where he was. The queen watched after him nervously. “Where is he?”
“Near my trap. He doesn't seem to know that I can smell the magic items on him, so I've been luring him into a few little surprises while I pretend to ignore him.” She grew still, listening. Suddenly the trap was sprung, a startled yelp drawing their attention as the Argonian man was dragged into the sky by an enchanted rope. He struggled, making the enchantment only latch on to him tighter. Laje-tal laughed in triumph, nodding to Barenziah. “I'd better go get him.” She looked up at her struggling prey and yelled out to him. “Don't bother fighting it, you'll just make it worse!”
The man looked completely incensed this time, his narrowed green eyes in a fierce glare blazing down at her. “I had a feeling you weren't some ordinary hired muscle. You're a mage, aren't you?”
With a wave she cast a levitation spell on herself, floating up to retrieve him. “Indeed, and it was my traps you kept being surprised by. You should have left well enough alone.” She grabbed one end of the rope, dragging him down to rest within the camp. Several guards were soon alerted to the problem but relaxed when they saw her bring the thief within the ring of wagons. Barenziah had by then come to the center to wait for the thief to be brought in, and watched the man with a piercing stare.
“So, who do we have here? Does anyone know the name of this thief?”
Laje-tal nodded. “He said that he is called Hides-His-Shadow.”
A few people muttered to each other in the group of guards looking on, some seeming to recognize the name. “Ah, the Argonian who has been pilfering this whole area's merchants.” Barenziah inspected the man intently, meeting his eyes. “You've stolen thousands of coins in merchandise alone over the past month. We shall be leaving you at the nearest town to await your trial.”
Hides-His-Shadow turned as well as he could to face Laje-tal, hisses punctuating his words. “You damned mage, you have betrayed our kind, handing me over to these elves!”
Laje-tal faced him, her words calm and firm. “Whatever relation we may have as Argonians comes second to the promise I made to the queen. You had a choice whether to attempt to steal from this caravan or to leave, and you chose the wrong option. Now you will have to answer for that choice.”
“Indeed,” Barenziah stated. “Get this man locked up.” A few nearby guards came by to restrain him, removing him to a nearby armored wagon. When the queen moved away to leave, however, one Imperial guard approached her, looking nervous.
“Ah... pardon me, my queen, but what about our Argonian?”
Her brows furrowed, watching him closely. “What about her?”
He fidgeted under her intense scrutiny. “Well, it's just... the two look so alike, don't they? Maybe they're related or worse, working together! Maybe they know each other! It could be dangerous.”
Irritated, her eyes grew narrow, her tone icy. “Alright, the next time I see another Imperial who looks similar to you, I will be certain to immediately assume you are in league with each other. He might be a necromancer, or maybe a bandit king, it doesn't matter, does it?”
The guard backed away, mollified. “Ah, right, I see. Just trying to do what's best, you know.”
“What's best is to trust my judgment on who I see fit to employ. Move to your camp.” The man exited with a bow, leaving the queen alone to shake her head at him behind his back. She wasn't alone, however, and she noticed Laje-tal lingering nearby in the shadows. The flickering firelight made the Argonian's features look sharp and menacing, but her look of gratitude was unmistakable.
“Thank you, my lady. I know it's hard for the others to trust me, but I swear I will work hard.”
Barenziah offered her a sympathetic nod, glancing aside in thought. “This caravan is full of those who distrust mages, especially the Nords. There are also many who are still sore over the matter of the Arnesian War. As far as I see it, you had many opportunities to allow that thief to do as he pleased, each time unsupervised, and you didn't. What shift is your watch tonight?”
“I was to be on first,” she answered, taken back by the odd change of subject.
“Then I will entrust you with guarding that Argonian for the remainder of your shift. Don't let him out of your sight.”
Laje-tal moved back slightly with relief, glad that the queen was placing her back into a position of trust. She was determined to earn the faith she had received. “Consider it done.”
From that day onward, Laje-tal continued to defend the caravan faithfully. Her blazing magic readily took out any enemies she encountered with full force, her skills more refined with use. She had been encouraged to try using magical staffs to help focus her magic but after several of them broke after only a few uses, she gave up on it. Enchanting was still a frequent duty, and with help her sword skills and conjuration improved. Her destructive magic, however, was what she soon became infamous for. Whenever she seared her enemies with fire, blasted them back with shock or blew an entire group with a powerful rune, even the caravan mages started to worry about her excessive force. Barenziah saw the increased tensions in the caravan and despite Laje-tal's long track record of no incidents, she temporarily reassigned the Argonian to a post in Mournhold. It was that year that she first laid eyes on Almalexia.
It was common in those days for Almalexia to walk among her people in town, offering guidance and healing. The self-proclaimed goddess was as beloved as their queen and people would come from far and wide to see her. Laje-tal was stationed near the gate in the Plaza of Brindisi Dorom, watching travelers mill through the wide, open grounds inside the town walls. There were few if any disturbances in the sunny plaza, but suddenly her heart seemed to lurch in her throat. Before she understood what was going on or what she was doing, a force within her turned her head to lock gazes with none other than Almalexia. The godlike woman's fey golden eyes darted to lock with her own, almost as if drawn there herself. Laje-tal felt as if a piece of her very soul was trying to tell her something.
For quite some time now, she had been aware of a part of herself that felt unusual. It hadn't been alarming, it was more of a minor discordance than anything else. She had heard both men and mer talk about having a sixth sense, a sense of knowing that something was near or amiss despite having no outward signs of trouble, and it was only that description that fit what she felt. To feel that sense actively cause her to move without her knowing it might have frightened her if she herself didn't get the feeling that this presence was right to warn her about Almalexia. Something was definitely wrong. Terribly wrong.
Laje-tal forced her glance away from the woman as she passed, every scale on her skin itching at the feel of the mystical energies radiating from the goddess' being. Almalexia watched her the entire time as she passed, coming so close that every swirl and whorl of the scrawling tattoo on her face stuck out in perfect detail, curls of her bold red hair jostled by the movement. Only when the woman was entirely gone did Laje-tal let out the breath she was holding in, every part of her on edge. She tried to rein in the multitude of things she was feeling. A broken promise. Betrayal. Foul murder, heresy, treachery. Beneath all of that was a strong feeling of familiarity. Despite never having seen Almalexia before, she felt like some part of her had known the woman for many, many years.
Returning to scoping out the plaza took an immense force of will but she returned to her duty, watching as everything around her went on as if nothing had happened. How? How could she have been so affected by this? The adrenaline still surged through her blood so intensely that she jumped with a start when someone came from behind her through the gate. “Good day, Laje-tal.”
She did what she could to mask her surprise, though she was worried when she saw that it was Barenziah who had greeted her. This wasn't a good time to show weakness, especially not in front of her accompanying royal guards. “Good day, Queen Barenziah. Forgive me for not greeting you as you entered.”
“It's quite alright. Almalexia just passed by, didn't she? Everyone is overcome by her presence upon first meeting her, it's no offense.”
Was that all? Had she simply been overcome by the woman's power? It was true that she was extremely sensitive to magical energies, and yet that excuse just didn't feel correct. It didn't explain what she had felt. She suddenly wanted to confide in someone, to explain what had happened. One did not simply spill their soul to the Queen of Mournhold, so she worded her question carefully. “Have you ever felt like you have known someone for a very long time, even though you just met them?”
The queen tilted her head curiously just as she often did, not judging but still looking worried. She was also as sharp as ever. “Did you feel that way towards Almalexia?”
She averted her glance. “It did feel that way, yes. Maybe it was nothing.”
“People of great power, especially godly power, can cause a person to have many odd sensations. I once knew Tiber Septim, and he too had an uncanny ability to make others believe in him and follow him. A different power, surely, but one all the same.”
“I... see. Thank you.” The explanation was reasonable in her logical mind but the irrational, illogical part of her was screaming in agony. She was an accomplished mage now and had met several very important, powerful people. There was no way she was merely struck by Almalexia's abilities.
“Laje-tal? Are you quite alright?”
She hadn't realized she paused for so long. Warily she glanced back at the royal guards and then back at Barenziah, meeting the queen's eyes in a glance she hoped would be understood. “I'm still a bit awed, I suppose. Go on ahead, perhaps we can chat another time.”
As always Barenziah saw more than she let on, a small smile on her lips. “Another time, then.”
Two days later, Laje-tal was called in to guard the queen directly. It was an ordinary request since her guards did often work in shifts, but the timing of it all was a big clue as to what was going on. No doubt they would continue the conversation away from the other guards. The royal chambers were in the palace complex, just one part of a few things the complex housed. Services were offered to the public by a few merchants, so guards were quite necessary to keep away wandering travelers. She, however, was stationed inside the queen's outer quarters, an honor she accepted with unwavering gratitude.
Decorative green and gold hallways twined through the complex, a veritable maze for the uninitiated. She moved through the halls with ease, familiar with the path she needed. Two guards allowed her through to the royal chambers, the outer room used as a receiving chamber. She paused in the reception hall to glance around. Aside from some comfortable furniture, a few privacy screens and a few books and paintings, little seemed to express much about the queen herself. The room was decisively impersonal.
Laje-tal took her post by the door and before long, Barenziah came into the room from her inner chambers. “Greetings, would you care for some tea? Perhaps some flin? I seem to recall you like mazte.”
She chuckled, smiling. “I'm here to guard you, my queen, not to drink.”
“Herbal tea then,” Barenziah decided for her, a teapot already hovering above a small magical fire to heat up. Then, as expected, she brought up the pressing subject of Almalexia. “I am rather troubled by what happened the other day. It seemed you had something to say that you couldn't say in the company of my other guards. You have been with me a good few years now and I can tell when you're hiding something. Did something happen?”
Laje-tal didn't bother refusing the tea when it was finished and sipped it appreciatively as they spoke. “I'll be frank with you, I'm uneasy talking with the other guards in the same way we have spoken. I know they worry about my ferocity in battle, never mind their worry about myself in general. You're one of the few who have seen past all of this, and I respect that. No, nothing happened,” she added when she saw Barenziah's worried look. “I do, however, feel that something very wrong has already happened and Almalexia is the center of it all.”
The queen's eyes narrowed as she seated herself, taking the information in. Her inquisitive glance was open but calculating. “Oh? What sort of thing do you think she was involved in?”
“I'm not completely sure,” she admitted, “but I felt an air of betrayal and lies.” Hesitantly she continued. “Her magic has a foul scent to it, just as blood magic does. It seems improper to feel this way, but I feel as if her godly magic was gained in a very impure manner.”
Surprise shot through her at Barenziah's response, the queen's eyes lowered and dark. “You're not wrong, Laje-tal. You're not wrong at all. For many years the Temple has been suppressing all knowledge of this, but I remember what happened. Her power comes from the heart of Lorkhan.”
“Lorkhan? What, the god of mortals?”
“The very same. She and the other two Tribunal used some sort of method to extract power from it and used that power to aid the people of Morrowind. Their motives were good but they are now revered as gods, above and beyond the gods of old.” She frowned. “I wonder, though, why did you ask me whether I ever felt like I knew someone I had only just met?”
Laje-tal's spiked brows furrowed, golden eyes darting nervously. “It's strange, I know, but I did indeed feel as if I already knew Almalexia for many years. I also knew that that sort of question would be enough for you to be curious enough to ask me for more information. What you just told me... I know I can believe it because part of me already knows that it's true. It doesn't feel like you told me for the first time, but rather that you reminded me of something I knew long ago.”
Barenziah's expression suddenly closed, blocking off any chance of reading what was going through her mind. “Indeed... that is odd. Tell me, do you know about the tale of the Nerevarine?”
She paused. “Somewhat. I remember Nerevar Indoril from my studies, and how he fought at the battle of Red Mountain and perished sometime around that time. A companion of the Tribunal, friend to the Dwemer king Dumac. As the legend goes, he is to be reborn and is to restore Vvardenfell or some such thing as that. Why?”
“Ah, yes, well I believe you might want to read more about him, it may help you understand more about the history of Almalexia. Well, never mind that, let's discuss the news of the day.”
For several weeks onward, Barenziah's odd, digging questions continued, even when the caravan was back on the road again. Laje-tal was also instructed on the great houses of Morrowind and how they worked, though little was said about the Telvanni. It sounded like all she had been told about that house was all she needed to know, at least for now. Even still, she was very interested in finding out more about the great house Eddie hailed from, and how a house so enmeshed in the slave trade could have a Twin Lamps agent in it. What little she found about the house in the royal library told her about as much as she had already guessed, but she read it anyway.
On one fateful day, everything changed for the worse. The caravan paused on its way back to Mournhold, delayed by a severe thunderstorm. Laje-tal stayed out in the rain, her magic welling up again and taking priority over comfort. Fire magic was perfectly safe to practice in the rain, the vegetation too soaked to catch aflame, so she had been able to get quite a bit of practice in. Now she continued with her sword, fighting an invisible enemy before her, her magic down to a comfortable level. Nearby, a couple other mages were also practicing magic, but they were under cover and a bit too close to the storage wagons. She stopped in mid-stab, noticing the problem. Ignoring the increasingly hard rain, she headed straight for the mages.
Two Imperials were close to their area, unloading luggage. Some guards skirted the camp edge, eyes on the vast plains. Laje-tal neared the errant mages, speaking up to be heard over the pattering rain. “You'd best not practice that magic so close to the wagons.”
A rather irritable young Dunmer woman she knew to be Dravera turned only slightly to her. “Back to your post, Argonian, we know what we're doing. Aren't you scheduled to lick Barenziah's boots?”
She took the insults as calmly as the hundreds of others she had received from Dravera and the rest, facing her with a still gaze. “No offense intended, certainly, but it would be safer to cast your fire under the cover of rain. You're welcome to use the practice space I was just occupying, I'm finished.”
“I have no interest in anything an Argonian occupies,” she spat. “I'm bothered that we have to breathe the same air. Get out of my face.”
Laje-tal moved away to leave well enough alone but at that very moment, the other Breton mage erred in his fire blast, the orb of flame shooting straight toward a very heavy chest being unloaded from the transport wagon. The dry wood caught immediately, the blast hot and strong enough to cause the contents to ignite even from within. Guards nearby reacted, bringing collected buckets of rain water to extinguish the blaze. In the confusion the Breton man conveniently disappeared. She reacted quickly, charging fire and ice in each hand to produce water directly onto the fire, her strong reserves keeping the flow steady.
In the end, only three of the garments in the trunk were left undamaged. Several fine linens, even a few silks, had been destroyed beyond repair, few barely able to be saved for scraps. Barenziah now looked over the sad mess with a sigh. “Gods, what happened here?”
Right away Dravera approached, finger pointing straight at Laje-tal. “It was that blasted Argonian! Her magic never has been normal, always springing up out of nowhere! She's a danger to us all!”
Laje-tal remained calm. “Jean was here practicing magic with Dravera, both very close to the wagons. I came over here to advise them against it, and Jean's spell strayed.”
“Bah, everyone knows how erratic your magic is!”
Barenziah cut in, her voice firm and commanding. “Calm down. Are there any witnesses besides yourselves?”
“Just Jean,” Laje-tal stated. “He disappeared while we rescued what was left. I'm sure everyone around here saw him in this area.”
“No!” Dravera interrupted with a yell. “There was only myself here, and I didn't do it. I will not abide the testimony of a lying Argonian!”
“Silence,” Barenziah ordered. “There is no room for blind hatred in my camp. I want each of you to take a room in separate wagons and await investigation. Go.” Onlookers then dispersed, Laje-tal with them. She intended to be as obedient and cooperative as possible, unlike the inane raging woman. As instructed she waited alone in her preferred wagon until the queen came in to question her an hour after the incident.
Laje-tal nodded a greeting. “You spoke with the others, I assume.”
The queen looked utterly exhausted. “Indeed, that woman never shuts up. I do believe you, Laje-tal, I'm sure you weren't foolish enough to perform magic unsafely. Your mentor Calcelmo never would have allowed such an important thing to slip in your studies. Still, that woman is from a very influential family and that influence would be a problem in the future. She would use that influence to keep any other witnesses from talking, and even if I defend you, she will slander you all over town.”
Puzzled, she looked down at her scaled hands, knowing those scales were part of her predicament. “What can we do?”
“There is one thing,” she said quietly. “If we allow you to be blamed for the crime, as the victim I am allowed to choose what punishment can be given. Exile was recommended.”
Her blood nearly froze in her veins in shock. “Exile!”
“I know, you are innocent and this isn't right, but I have given this decision careful thought. You can't stay with us, my friend. I can't dismiss that mage, and she will certainly use her toxic nonsense to make things far worse for you. Even if I station you in Mournhold, a bad public opinion of you will make life difficult for all of us. Don't worry, I don't intend to exile you to a terrible place. The Emperor needs a very important project done in the province of Vvardenfell, and I am certain you are the right person to complete it. If you'll consent to this project, I will exile you to Vvardenfell.”
She knew it was true. Barenziah could indeed pardon her or declare she was innocent, but the public would be slow to convince if at all. Vvardenfell was in dire trouble from the frequent ash storms and the blight, but to an Argonian so resistant to disease it wouldn't be much worse than any other place. All she needed to do was complete whatever this project was and she could start a new life. “Very well. I will accept my exile.”
Laje-tal glanced around the small city of Balmora in the province of Vvardenfell, considering the very peculiar project she was sent here to complete. From what she had been instructed by the Imperial Blade Caius Cosades, the Imperials had been looking for more information on the Nerevarine Prophecy as well as the status of the Sixth House and its leader, Dagoth Ur. She had been given an unspecified time frame, plenty of time to get herself established in this new land before she got started. Now all of the pointed questions Barenziah asked her made sense. She had probably been evaluating her investigative ability for this important project.
“Out of the way, Argonian,” an armed city guard muttered, passing her by as she crossed the bridge leading to the other side of the river. She didn't bother to say anything and simply let him pass, noting the variation in the type of bonemold armor he wore. Balmora had a certain variety of local Hlaalu guards, as well as a distinct style of buildings. The walls of homes were constructed out of some sort of dense, hard clay, almost like stone when it hardened. Wood wasn't as plentiful as it could be, so it was reserved primarily for supporting posts and doors. She clutched the latest letter from Eddie close, scanning the homes for the house he was now living in. Gods, but it had been so long since they saw each other; she hoped he would be excited to see her.
The house she wanted was poised atop another, the home small but tidy. She hadn't let him know she was coming, intent on surprising him, and unceremoniously knocked on his door. The red-haired Dunmer man pulled open the door with a start, looking at her with a baffled gaze. He seemed well, if a bit roughly clothed and mannered, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What in blazes is going on? Who-” He pulled back in surprise when he saw just who was at his door.
Laje-tal shot him a wide, winning smile. “Why Eddie, surely you remember your neighbor in Tear!”
Stunned, he blinked, eyes wide with disbelief as he looked her over. “Laje-tal? Is it really you?” He took in the sight of her well-kept mage robes. “Blast, has it really only been two years? It feels like forever since I last saw you!”
If they hadn't been out in public she probably would have been tempted to hug him, but as it was her smile said it all. “That's what you get for moving away to Vvardenfell!”
“Oh, you'd better come in before we cause a spectacle.” Ushering her into his small but comfortable home, he checked whether anyone outside had seen them before shutting the door behind them. “Sorry about that, but if anyone sees a Dunmer being friendly with an Argonian, especially a Telvanni, they will start asking questions. I got your last letter. So, you've been exiled to Vvardenfell. How's it treating you so far? I'll bet you've been called an outlander at least a few times already.”
“Twelve, to be precise! This is a very peculiar place, and I must say it has caught my interest. There are plants here that aren't present on the mainland, and I've been having a decent time learning how to turn it all into potions. This project I was sent to investigate and complete seems fit to send me all over the province, and so far I must say the wide variety of mushrooms here is startling.”
“That's what Vvardenfell is best known for! You'd best be careful, though, if you're going to be all over the province. There are a few places you'd better not go if you can help it. I'm sure you saw the Council Club as you first came into the city, they are very against foreigners and outlanders, they will certainly cause you trouble if they have the opportunity.”
“Yes, I know, you said it all in your letter, don't worry! Now enough about me. Have you finally connected with your Telvanni friends?”
“Friends indeed,” he scoffed, slumping down in his chair. “Yes, I found them but they are of no help. I don't know if they were bribed or threatened, but they won't talk to me. I do understand their position, they are under quite a bit of pressure and aren't high ranking. If they helped me they would only be putting themselves in a bad position and I don't expect them to do that. Ah, welcome to Vvardenfell politics, my friend.”
“Alas,” she agreed with sarcastic drama. “Well, I did what I could to learn the politics of the other great houses long before I came here, Barenziah saw to that. I know you're worried but there isn't much I can do about it. I am in exile here because I agreed to orchestrate this investigation, and there will be places I go where people won't appreciate my presence. I promise I will be careful. Say, is there a good place around here to find other mages? A guild hall, maybe?”
Eddie nodded, lips pursed in thought. “Yes, we have guild halls here. If you go to Sadrith Mora, though, be sure to stay within the grounds of the Imperial fort there. The rest of Sadrith Mora is the center of the Telvanni and no place for you!”
“I'll be sure to watch out for your friends.” She laughed. “An Imperial fort in Telvanni country?”
“A city of two faces, one Imperial and one Telvanni, side by side. The fort was constructed to allow the two sides to learn more from each other, but I know the Telvanni have little interest in learning about the Imperials. Still, they tolerate trade and guild services, so you can still visit the mages there. They have an Argonian there who is studying Ashlanders, not much room for alchemy though. Oh... oh no, I know that look in your eye. Don't go out there, I'm serious!”
Laje-tal couldn't contain her curiosity but decided to try to placate him somewhat. “Come now, you said yourself that the guild halls are safe enough. I can't possibly pass up the opportunity to see a city like that, especially if it's Telvanni. Their mushroom houses are a sight to behold from what I've heard, can you really blame me for wanting to at least look at it? What's the harm in that?”
He only shook his head with a sigh, knowing his protests were useless with her. “You're just as crazy as always.”
They shared a small, friendly laugh and she had to agree with that. “True but don't judge me, you are the one crazy enough to be friends with me after all.”
Notes:
Note: I'm going to assume that the readers of this have played Morrowind and know how it goes. Some of the plot will be skipped since it's not necessary to go into intense detail about it if you have played the game. I will still cover the main points but won't go through every single quest, that would be far too much tedious detail about things you probably already know and I don't want to torment anyone with that.
Chapter Text
Laje-tal's first impression of Sadrith Mora matched Eddie's description accurately. The two sides, Imperial and Telvanni, perched next to each other in an uneasy coexistence. Inside the mages guild, high in one of the thick stone towers, it was easy enough to ignore the outside world and the dangers that lay out there. She stood in the doorway, hesitant to come forth as she noticed that the eyes of most of the mages within the tiny hall were on her. Against the far wall sat the man she had been seeking, the Argonian studying Ashlanders. Despite years of no major problems with men, Skink looked just enough like the long-dead Mular-da that her old fears temporarily surfaced. Fighting down that fear, reassuring herself that Mular-da was very much dead and buried, she approached the other Argonian warily.
Skink was so wrapped up in a book that he looked up with a start when she approached. “Oh, greetings, marsh sister. Did you need help with something?”
“Pardon the intrusion,” she said with a polite bow. “I have been looking for you, actually. I heard that you in particular would be a fair reference for my studies. I believe you have been researching the Ashlanders and I think we can come up with a trade of information that would be a benefit to us both.”
He took in her unaffiliated mage clothing, her odd poise and peculiarly formal mannerisms, wondering who she was and where she came from. She had never been seen here before, as far as he knew. “Is that so? What is it that you seek from me?”
Unsure how to approach the subject, she decided to begin as openly as possible. “I actually want to find more information on Argonians. I am from outside the marsh and have been among few of my kind. It has been hard to know who to trust.”
“Hm, yes, well I could use a great deal of information on Ashlanders, I would be willing to discuss an exchange of information. One thing I must tell you, though, is to not bow to another Argonian. When you bare your horns, you are looking for a fight. Many Argonians understand that bowing is courteous among the other races, but you will do better if you respect our culture among our kind. Lift your chin and show your throat, it is a sign of trust that the other will not cut it.”
Laje-tal took the information readily, not blustering out an apology or something equally irritating, lifting her chin in greeting. “Proper greetings then, this time. Thank you, I appreciate your aid. I will be sure to bring you as much as I can find on the Ashlanders. Have you heard anything in your research about the Nerevarine?”
Puzzled by her question, he stared at her curiously. “The Nerevarine? Well now, he is a curious subject. Perhaps we will have to speak more on the information you have to trade. Stay in town for a few days and we will see what we may share.”
For the next few days, Laje-tal stayed in Sadrith Mora and traded information with Skink, telling him about the Imperials, Mournhold and Ashlanders while he told her what he knew about the Nerevarine, the Sixth House and a bit on other Ashlander lore. She also wandered outside the safety of the Imperial fort, though she did what she could to not bother any of the Telvanni people too much. They gave her very suspicious glances and occasionally crude remarks, but she minded her own business and simply looked at everything around the city.
Eventually her inquisitive nature won out. For years now she had been unable to find out any more than basic information on the Telvanni, along with whatever little extra she could coax out of Eddie. Her assignment here on Vvardenfell had forced her to become more independent, no longer following orders and instructions. While she had been given some definitive goals, everything she did outside of that was at her own discretion. She now had her own personal assignment, and that was to investigate the details of the Telvanni.
Several species of giant fungi inhabited the city, along with a couple species of colorful mushroom-like trees. The massive roots of the nearby stronghold Tel Naga twisted and turned through the air and into the soil, fungal house pods poised along the edge. She already found out that a very irritable Dunmer enchanting master took residence here. Master Neloth was extremely skilled but he made it known that he had no patience for teaching anyone. One elegant structure near the docks looked as if it was made from some sort of opalescent crystal, surrounded by its own set of roots. This, she found, was the Telvanni council house.
She probably shouldn't have, but she entered the council house, too tempted to look inside and see what the interior of these structures was like. The council house, from what she had heard, often had many people coming and going from it doing business with the council Mouths, the people who spoke on behalf of their masters and handled daily business for them. The house was also well known for hosting the greatest mages in the province which above all else she found intriguing. Despite Eddie's warnings, it was tempting to pry further.
Anyone was allowed to join a great house, as far as she knew, if they had the necessary skills. Granted, outlanders weren't as well liked, but the houses often allowed them in since they needed retainers and other workers. House Hlaalu made a habit of having many different walks of people within their ranks, and Redoran was conservative but willing to tolerate hard workers. House Telvanni was full of eccentric wizards, though they too would allow outsiders to aid them. Even they weren't entirely comprised of Dunmer.
The sad truth about the state of her training was that she wouldn't be able to make much use of the mages guild alone, their ways too stringent for her magical condition, and the ways of the Telvanni appealed to her. Their rules were based on might equaling right, and even breakers of the rules could overcome their crimes through formal duels, treachery, or paying tribute. If someone tried to frame her for a crime as had happened in the caravan, she would be allowed and perhaps even expected to exact revenge upon her accuser. For once, she could defend herself against injustice.
Yet again unsure if she was bold or just insane as Eddie claimed, she decided to go inside and see if they would accept her into the house. Yes, she was definitely crazy, that was certain. She strode into the council chamber, through the round golden doors and into a large room filled with glowing blue crystal formations and twisted wooden platforms that each Mouth awaited visitors upon. As soon as her presence was noticed the Dunmer folk inside turned to regard her with mixed expressions, unsure whether she was an errant tourist or worse. None seemed sure whether to greet her or ask if she was lost, silent and puzzled as she approached the man nearest to her on the right, a Dunmer man in extravagant clothing. It was now or never. “Good afternoon. I would like to apply to be a member of House Telvanni.”
The Mouths had enough decorum to not laugh at her outright though a couple coughed nervously and others looked at one another in confusion. After a moment the man she had asked recovered from his shock and addressed her. “There is no precedent of any Argonian holding a place within this house, but it is true that our rules don't state that one can't join. Are you quite sure about this?”
One woman shot a glance at him, aghast. “You can't seriously be considering allowing an Argonian to join!”
Galos only looked back, not at all bothered by her glare. “Oh come now, Felisa, don't you remember what you said the other day? I don't see why not.”
The woman backed down with a suspicious smile. “Hm, well I suppose.”
Laje-tal had a feeling about what was going on. She was to be some sort of joke in the house, she just knew it. There was no other reason for the laughter in their eyes. They hid that expression well but she had spent all of her life learning the things that Dunmer held behind their outer face. It still worked out in her favor and she decided to play along, turning back to the man with a deceptively sweet smile. “Would you really?”
Oh Gods, Galos actually gave her an indulgent smile back. What an idiot. “Yes, of course we will let you join the house. I'm sure we can find something for you to do.” Thus began the often wondered about and bizarre moment in the house's records. It was then that the council allowed an Argonian into House Telvanni for the first time in known history.
For the next few weeks, Laje-tal did several tasks for the Telvanni council Mouths, careful not to do anything that may attract more negative attention to herself than she already had. The spells and techniques she learned as a result of being in the house were worth the risk, even if the work she was being asked to do was a little mundane. She slipped back into her old ways of doing her primary work during the day and using the evenings for her own personal study. Much to the continued confusion and consternation of the council mouths, she was not only adequate but effective and successful in the tasks they had her do.
At times she went out onto the far side of the island to do some enchanting to earn her living, and it was during those times that she noticed she was being watched. Not long after joining, the masters of the house had all sent out messengers or spies, following her as she went out every night. While she kept a low profile, even her small successes seemed to warrant investigation. The nightly ritual continued without fail, but tonight she finally had a different follower. This one had a strong magical scent, very refined and practiced.
Aryon stalked his target cautiously, by now so fed up with his incompetent spies that he decided to see for himself what sort of Argonian – a woman, too! - would choose to be a Telvanni. The woman in question dressed like any other mage, in layered enchanted robes, and carried with her a well-kept silver longsword. Aside from being an Argonian, she looked deceptively ordinary.
Laje-tal didn't waste any time, drawing out two full grand soulgems from her pocket, a fine dagger and a book. A bit of magic made the book float in midair, pages turning on their own by her force of will. The dagger floated as well and the moment she took a soulgem in each hand, weaving an enchantment using both of them at the same time, he knew she had to be quite skilled. A double enchantment required a hefty amount of knowledge and at the rate she was going it was clear she knew quite well what she was doing. The binding was perfect, her incantation precise and firm, holding the weapon together as she sealed a powerful spell into the dagger.
Soon the enchanting ended, and though the dagger looked to be done without any sort of major flaw she still muttered something in the native Argonian tongue, snatching the book and pen and making some notes. Two enchantments were imbued but she still hadn't accomplished what she wanted to. Annoyed, she called out to her nearby stalker. “Well, don't just sulk there, Telvanni mage. Come here and tell me if my calculations are correct.”
In the bushes Aryon froze. He had been found out, and how dare she speak to him as if he were one of her peons to order about? Infuriated, he stepped out from his apparently poor choice of a hiding place, a deep frown on his face as he looked her over. Dark brown scales, unnerving catlike yellow eyes, bloody red markings under her eyes, everything about her just like the hellish Argonians he had heard Neloth talk about. He was brave, however, and approached her close enough to look at her notations. “Hmph, it does appear to be correct for a double enchantment,” he grumbled.
“True, it is, but I'm trying for something a bit beyond that.” She turned to a different page in her log of attempts and results, looking him over. He looked young even for a Dunmer, quite irritated yet clearly interested in what was going on. “You see, the enchantment is good, but it isn't permanent. You can enchant an amulet or a ring with a constant effect to it, but not a weapon. Can you imagine what one could do with a constant effect enchantment on a weapon?”
He took a second look at her notes, realizing she was indeed trying to formulate a way to attach a constant enchantment to a weapon, something that had only been dreamed about. Several of her attempts had seemed to come so close and despite his reservations he itched to read the whole log. No, he reminded himself, he couldn't get caught up in scholarship. She was a suspicious Argonian, an Argonian who for some insane reason had joined House Telvanni. His frown returned. “Is this all? This is what you waste your time on?”
By now Laje-tal had grown into a bolder woman, molded by her forced independence on Vvardenfell. “I spend my daylight hours performing far more pointless tasks for the council Mouths. Surely other enchanters in the house are allowed to pursue their own studies in their free time. Ah, wait, maybe you are referring to the things your spies have said about me?” She grinned, her sharp teeth and horns menacing in the dim light.
Aryon shuffled nervously. “My spies have told me all sorts of fanciful stories about what you've been doing here. Ritual sacrifices, blood magic, foul marsh summonings and the like.”
“Your spies are imbeciles,” she stated with a laugh. With a wave of her hand she cast a spell on the ground, an illusion depicting images of glowing summoning circles, spilled blood and skulls. She could have sworn he almost smiled. “Something like this? Oh, those poor spies, I was only playing around with them. I thought they may be getting rather bored with me enchanting weapons or making potions every night. I'll admit the marsh magic may not be accurate as I have never seen such a thing, but I do have a rather wild imagination. Really, they should have realized it was only an illusion.”
“That's true,” he reluctantly agreed. He was also unwittingly impressed. Her speech and mannerisms didn't hold any of the hissing slurs or peculiar gestures most Argonians presented. Despite the potential danger she was in, she also didn't defer or back away from him. She wasn't the least bit like what his Mouth had described to him either. “I will have to consult with my spies and see to it they don't let such incompetence continue.” With that he left, and only when he was very well away did Laje-tal let out the laugh she was holding in.
At long last, Laje-tal had run out of things the council Mouths needed to be done. She had also exhausted Skink's knowledge of the Sixth House and the Nerevarine, and her next mission to find out more was to take her to Vivec. Caius Cosades had been thrilled with the amount of information she came up with and directed her to a Temple worker and a couple other informants in the great canton city to question. Before that, however, she wanted to find more on how she was going to progress within the house. The council may want to indulge her with silly tasks, but she had bigger things in mind.
When a Telvanni gained enough experience, they could apply for one of the existing masters to take them on as their patron. She had the skill, and she had done plenty of work, but she also knew that a master could very well deny her their patronage. There was one angle she could try, and it all hinged on the coded message she had been tasked to take to Divayth Fyr for Master Aryon, as well as the response back. It took some time, but she managed to decode that message and came up with a rather devious plan.
On a fair clear day, Laje-tal left Sadrith Mora on the first boat out to the town of Vos. The city looked peculiar even from far off in the water and she enjoyed the view as the vessel drifted away. While the ride was long, the views along the way made the journey tolerable. As soon as they approached Vos, it at first appeared to be a rather ordinary town but the closer they came she noticed the town was a little off. Some of the buildings were aslant in their foundations, a couple surrounded by roots, and one looked abandoned entirely. The whole area seemed to have been affected by some sort of landslide or uprising, possibly from the penetrating roots. Despite the awkward layout of the town, its citizens traveled the meandering streets without complaint, avoiding displaced rocks and roots.
The boat docked at the pier and she departed as soon as the boatman was paid. Amid the confused buildings she managed to find a merchant selling general goods, supplies badly needed. After buying a few things and a bit of cajoling, the merchant gave her some information on the area and what had happened to it. During the construction of the great wizard tower nearby, something had gone terribly wrong. The roots of the Tel had overgrown suddenly and pierced both the Imperial fort it was built around and the ground under Vos. Aryon's arrival led to the town being very prosperous, so the mishap had been more or less forgiven.
Outside the actual tower, she could see exactly what he meant. The twisted roots curled around towers and turrets, heaving parts of the ground up and making a confused mess of everything else. Thankfully most Telvanni knew how to levitate, and she had learned that skill ages ago. Flying to the top of the tower was the best way to find any Telvanni master, most of them preferring the highest room in the tallest tower. His stronghold was hardly vulnerable; a guard stood watch outside on the outer growth of fungus that served as a sort of porch. The guard looked rather suspicious of her but let her proceed in, keeping a close eye on her as she walked past.
Inside, two main rooms took up the tower, formed in the hollow of the massive plant. Like many Telvanni homes it held well-made wooden furnishings, tapestries, rugs and of course several bookshelves. Much of the area looked about as expected, aside from small trinkets from travels. The occupant of the main room, however, did indeed surprise her. It was the Telvanni man from before, and he did not seem at all pleased to see her. Laje-tal never forgot her manners and presented him with a satchel filled with daedra skins and other alchemical ingredients. She wasn't so uncivilized as to appear empty handed. “Ah, it's you again. Good afternoon, you must be Master Aryon.”
Aryon's ashen face never seemed to lose that deep scowl. “What do you want, Argonian?”
“I heard from your Mouth that you required some of these ingredients and found it prudent to deliver them myself. There is a rumor that he is eager to return to his personal research and leave the council.”
His eyes narrowed but otherwise his gaze was unreadable, his internal thoughts warring with each other. “Is that so? I won't be having any of that. I already have far too many incompetent fools in my employ, his role in the council will not change until he can be properly replaced. I can see that you have been prying into matters that are not of your concern.”
The poor man sounded so petulant she had to grin. “Quite, and I know you are very desperate for help. After Divayth Fyr turned down your offer for him to join your cause, I'm sure you can use an extra set of eyes and ears.”
Aryon's face flushed with restrained frustration. She had decoded the message he sent to Fyr! That insufferable lizard cracked a code he thought impossible to break! “What exactly are you suggesting?”
Cautiously she approached him, setting the ingredients aside. “Hm, well I do believe I have completed far more than enough duties for your council to be considered for patronage in the house.”
He took in a sharp breath to start to declare that no, there was no way in all of Mundus or Oblivion that he would so such a thing, but reason won out over emotion. It was true that he was very desperate to secure help in the house to the point where he was seeking out even the more obscure Telvanni like Baladas. Fyr's rejection had been almost completely expected, yet he had tried. It sickened him but he knew he couldn't reject her. “Fine.”
Taken back somewhat by his sudden acceptance she watched his movements and face closely, trying to spot any sort of deception there. There wasn't any to be found and she didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing. “You would be my patron, then?”
“Yes... yes, I will.” Defeated, Aryon sighed. Some of his old spirit returned when he faced her, pointing a finger almost right to her face. “I will consent to this but I will tolerate no more incompetence from my agents! You will do whatever I may ask of you and learn whatever I have you learn or I swear to Azura, I will send back to wherever you came from!” Suddenly he paused, watching her hands warily. “What in Oblivion is wrong with you?”
Laje-tal brought her hands up between them, seeing that like many times before, flames had started to come unbidden to her fingers. At times her magic welled so severely that it started to leak, and the tension between them didn't help. “Ah... pardon me.” She pushed down her power as much as she could, enough to reach into her pack to withdraw a potion without igniting anything. It was a very powerful poison - it needed to be to affect an Argonian - the mixture intended to drain magicka. Without hesitation she downed the whole thing, relief from the building magicka coming fast. Oh, but this wasn't the best impression to make on her new mentor.
Aryon stared at her, baffled. “Did you just drink poison?”
“Yes,” she replied, stashing away the rest of her displaced potions. “I'm the sort of mage who accumulates magicka regardless of how much I already have. It took some doing but Master Calcelmo and I managed to formulate a mixture strong enough to affect even one of my lineage. There are times when practicing magic to drain it off isn't possible. I have it well managed.”
She now seemed to have his interest, albeit masked. He hadn't yet met any mages of this sort but he had heard of them and many stories about them. Overfull mages were a terror on the battlefield and occasionally a menace to polite society if their powers got out of hand. This previous master she mentioned must have been one who knew what he was doing. “Calcelmo? Odd, that name sounds familiar. You know him?”
Remembering her kind old master she smiled fondly. “Ah yes, I studied under him for some years before he departed Morrowind. He was researching a Dwemer ruin near the town I was in at the time.” Now she smirked, unable to resist needling him. “Don't tell me you intend to have a civil conversation with me!”
Aryon was understandably irritated by that and came dangerously close. “Forget it, I don't care who you are or who you trained with, you will still be expected to follow orders to the letter and don't let that magic problem of yours become an issue. Do I make myself clear, Argonian?”
By now her patience was worn thin and something in his tone grated on her nerves. She finally had enough of everyone treating her like an inferior creature. In a rare burst of rash judgment she grabbed the front of his robes, shoving him against the wall he stood near. “How silly of me, perhaps I need to introduce myself since you seem to think I don't have a name. I am Laje-tal, not some mere Argonian!”
He grabbed her scaled, alien hand and forced her away, eyes blazing with indignation. How dare she do something like that in his own home! “You will maintain your distance and complete your projects. Then, perhaps, we will see if you can be more than a mere Argonian.”
Several days later, Laje-tal sat in the main library of Tel Vos, compiling her notes on the Nerevarine Prophecy and the Sixth House. Everything she found so far was fascinating, especially the way that the Battle of Red Mountain had different versions to it. After a lot of convincing, she had earned the ability to come into this library and use its contents for research. While she was always watched over by at least one guard, it didn't bother her enough to comment on it. The primary guard, Drelan, most frequently shadowed her as she walked the rows of shelves. As soon as she sat down at a table with several books, he tended to relax more.
Laje-tal wrote down her observations in close, tidy letters as usual, keeping the most relevant notes and details nearby. She had at times been forced to write in quick, scrawled notations in her notepad if rushed for time and only at idle times like this did she sift through what was nonsense and what to keep. It seemed as though the Ashlanders were the primary believers in the Nerevarine, most especially the Urshilaku clan. An informant in Ald'ruhn had detailed a few of their traditions such as courtesy and the notion of presenting gifts, along with other miscellaneous information. She would have to visit with the Urshilaku directly to find out more, but at least she now understood their culture somewhat.
Not much was available on the Sixth House, most of the records about it having been destroyed after the great battle. People left over from the house were either dead or taken in elsewhere, their information suppressed. Four books had been recommended by Hasphat Antabolis and she now had them at her table, referring to them now and then. Eventually Aryon came by to search for books as well, scoffing down at her mess. “What is all of this? I thought I sent you off to speak to Baladas about joining the council.”
She blithely passed him a note without looking up from her writing, frowning over her field notes. “Already done. The man is quite affable if you start talking about the Dwemer.”
The books she had pulled caught his eye, all of them covering very specific subject material. None of it had anything to do with her studies as a Telvanni or as a mage. “You're... researching Nerevar and the war of the first council?”
“That's what I'm here in Vvardenfell for,” she replied. While the extent of her project wasn't to be told to every person on the street, she wasn't prohibited from talking about it entirely. “I'll be meeting with a clan of Ashlanders soon if you'd like to have a copy of whatever notes I may take there.”
His suspicion was palpable, piercing red eyes watching her closely as he removed a book from the shelf. “You came to Vvardenfell to study Nerevar,” he stated slowly, trying to wrap his mind around all the things she could potentially be up to. At last he decided that he really didn't care, taking the book back with him into the study, a heavy sigh in the air as he departed. Honestly, there were many eccentric Telvanni in the province, all studying whatever they wished. What did it matter, as long as she did the work he needed to be done?
After another hour had passed Laje-tal could hear Aryon in the other room, cursing at something over the sound of alchemical equipment. While she supposed he would prefer if she left well enough alone, she had developed a strong sense of responsibility when it came to potions. She went into the next room to find him fiddling with all manner of alchemical apparatus, measuring powders and liquids, adjusting temperature and moisture. Out of habit from aiding Calcelmo she approached quietly, peering at his notes and the book while he was occupied with his measuring. After a moment he threw a measuring spoon on the table, looking at her expectantly. He wouldn't admit it, but he did appreciate her silent patience. “What?”
“Do you need help with that?” She pointed to the alembic, which looked well and ready to boil over right onto the table.
“No, it's fine,” he insisted, emptying the overflowing alembic into a disposal pot. It wasn't fine. Laje-tal took his moment of distraction to observe his project closer, analyzing what he had been trying to do. The moment she started adding something to the already waiting mixture in the calcinator he looked back at her, irritated. “What do you think you're doing?”
Whatever she had added had the desired effect, turning the clear liquid green. It steamed a fragrant smell, bubbling in the heat. She hadn't even tried to use the alembic. “You're making a potion of chameleon, right? There's no need to separately boil the components or use the alembic, that will over-process the mixture. I know there are books that say to do so, but they refer to invisibility potions.”
As much as he hated to admit it, she appeared to be correct. He was also extremely relieved to know what had been stumping him for the past hour. “Damn that Neloth, he's the one who told me to use this book for instruction. He's always trying to bait me with false information! I'll bet he knew it was wrong and was trying to torment me.”
“From what I've heard of the man you're quite right. I had assigned mages in Barenziah's caravan false potion recipes to test their knowledge but I doubt he had your best interests in mind.”
The potion was bottled quickly but he couldn't ignore her interesting comment. “You were with the queen's caravan?”
“For ten years, yes. I scouted at the front for magical traps and other such things.”
He glared in disbelief. “You were at the front with her head guards?”
“It was sensible, given that I can smell magic. Even the best hidden runes still have a scent.”
Her story sounded absurd. “I have a hard time believing you.”
“I don't need your belief,” she said plainly. “You asked me a question and I answered it, believe what you will. Master Calcelmo said that the ability isn't common, I understand why you wouldn't believe it.”
With a huff he handed her the book he was using, pointedly trying to appear hesitant. “Look through here and see what else is wrong, I will not be making the same mistake twice.”
Laje-tal took it readily, grinning at him only when his back was turned. “Right away, sir.”
Some time passed since the incident with the potions and Laje-tal had just completed editing the instruction manual. She was also on the run from a few very angry Argonians. While in the wilderness she had run across an escaped slave and being that she was near Ebonheart at the time, it made sense to escort the Argonian slave to the Argonian Mission so that he could be helped. The former slave certainly didn't seem to care who she was or where she came from, glad just to be helped rather than recaptured, but the Argonians in the Mission had a very different opinion of her. She was a Telvanni, a hated one and a pest, barely addressed with more than a foul hiss. At the time she simply left the runaway slave there to get the best help possible, intending to just leave and be done with it. She hadn't expected the other Argonians to actually chase her out of town.
After going all this time in Tel Vos without destroying anything, she was now able to visit the library unsupervised. Winter had come to the province and a heavy snowstorm churned through the Grazelands region, effectively keeping her in the tower but surely discouraging any warmth-loving Argonians from pursuing her this far. She sat in the library near a magical fire in the fireplace, a real fire out of the question around so many flammable objects. A Dwemer puzzle box, borrowed back from Hasphat, turned around in her hands as she tried solving it, mind wandering over the things that had been happening. Briefly she wondered if her choices had been good ones.
Aryon came into the library after a while, looking through the books intently. He seemed uncertain on what he wanted to take out, which was quite rare. Laje-tal looked up at him, drawing a nearby blanket over her robes. “What are you looking for?” It was a simple question but being able to draw him into conversation without starting a fight was a start. He gave her a long, assessing look.
“Information on Argonians. I don't suppose you are much use in that regard.”
Brushing his remark off, she chuckled. “Not one bit. Everything I know beyond my own self came from Skink in Sadrith Mora. You'd better not ask him, though. Argonians aren't fond of the Telvanni.”
Puzzled, he frowned. “Does he know you're a Telvanni?”
Her smile faded instantly as she turned to gaze at nothing in the distance. “He does now.” She pushed off her melancholy and faced him with a small smile. “The Improved Emperor's Guide to Tamriel is an excellent resource if you can find a copy. I don't know if I would suggest Argonians Among Us but it does show how the Dunmer have reacted to them. The Argonian Account series is entertaining enough. That's about all I can offer you unless you want to learn our language.”
“How is it that you know the language without knowing other things?”
“From what I've found, we are born knowing it. It is just like how certain fish migrate from ocean to ocean without fail, nesting birds return to the same nest every year and certain dreugh will only lay their eggs in one specific place. I don't know how it works.”
“I see.” Scanning the shelf again, he found one of the books she suggested. “Ah, there it is.”
In a spontaneously bold move, Laje-tal moved aside on the couch, gesturing to the other end. “Why don't you come sit here, I wouldn't mind reading it as well.” When he looked at her dubiously she just gave him a toothy smirk. “I won't bite, I promise.”
He hesitated but sat gingerly on the couch at the far end, warily coming close enough for them to both be able to read the book. Everything about this felt abnormal but Aryon wasn't the kind of person to back down from a challenge. The tension as they sat there reading eventually lessened, allowing him to relax somewhat. Cautious, he decided to ask about her research. “Have you found out what you wanted to know about Nerevar?”
“To an extent. There is still quite a bit that's unclear, and information on the Sixth House has been nearly impossible to expand upon. It's very frustrating, even if you know the right people.”
“The Sixth House?” Startled, he backed away slightly. “What sort of research is this?”
Oh bother, she mused. In her distraction she had been careless and said too much. “In studying Nerevar it is necessary to study the other sorts of things around him,” she offered as an excuse. “He was close to Voryn Dagoth, the current source of the troubles coming from Red Mountain. Understanding the connections among all of these things is necessary, just as it is necessary to learn Ashlander custom. I will be meeting with some Ashlanders soon to consult with them more about this.”
“Indeed. Perhaps...” His eyes narrowed. “I have attempted to open trade with the Zainab tribe but none of my agents could find anything they would trade for.”
“I will do it,” she offered. That, however, reminded her of something she had considered telling him since reading his coded messages to Fyr. “Your agents seem very suspicious.”
“Oh?” He had to admit, he was curious. For a long time, something hadn't seemed quite right to him either. “Why would you say that?”
Laje-tal met his curious gaze. “Doesn't it seem strange that not a single one of your spies or agents can find useful information on anything for you? I saw them following me around when I was in Sadrith Mora and nobody of such incompetence could sneak and hide as well as they had. If I hadn't been able to smell the magical items on them, I doubt I would have noticed them at all. You said Neloth often provides you false information, and the notes I have seen from your agents are badly written and disorganized. Even as a child I knew better than that. I wonder if someone is influencing them into not helping you, possibly even bribing them into providing information that's wrong, in order to keep things going badly in Tel Vos.”
Slowly he considered the information his agents had given him, the details vague and insufficient even when he had pressured those agents severely. They had given him enough to be somewhat satisfied but never enough to progress in the way he wanted. Now he, too, was suspicious. “Your observations are disconcerting and I can't deny that you have a point. There has been a pattern of this ineptitude for quite some time. I don't understand, though. Those agents were recommended by the Arch-Magister.”
She nodded. “Surely an Arch-Magister who wishes to keep his title and have no Magisters.”
Aryon regarded her intently, trying to read what was going on in her head. For many years he had been taught that Argonians were stupid, ignorant beasts who were good for little besides manual labor. Their magic was said to be crude and tribal, their achievements hinging largely on alliances they made with other races rather than what they did themselves. Laje-tal threw all of those preconceptions out the window. “That may well be. It's true I was... encouraged not to apply for the title of Magister, instead taking the title of Master.”
“Hah, you just don't want to say I'm right, do you?” she asked with a grin.
He scoffed. “You could still be wrong.”
“Perhaps, but I doubt it. Your Arch-Magister has recommended bad spies, you are intimidated into a position you can't advance from, your tower grows poorly, everything fits into place.”
“It does,” he conceded. “There's nothing I can do about it. I can't be a Magister and remove Gothren. I will have to be satisfied as I am with Tel Vos. My hands are tied.”
“Mine aren't.” When he glanced her way with interest she nodded, her sharp golden eyes calculating. “I have no prior affiliation in the house, no family to sway my choices, and should you choose to earn my loyalty, no amount of coin or persuasion could drive me away. I would serve you as faithfully as I served the queen herself. I know you want to enact change in the house and while I know you didn't appreciate me reading the notes you sent to Fyr, you are correct about one thing. Gothren is stifling growth of the house and his actions against you prove it. He is keeping Telvanni presence from expanding in Vvardenfell and that could affect the mainland.”
Aryon was baffled. Why would she care about the state of the house? Why support a place that had been so vindictive against her kind for generations? “I don't understand you at all. Why does any of this matter to you? What are your intentions in this house? Clearly they are not what I thought.”
“What indeed,” she mused. “I found your house interesting and I wanted to know more. A Telvanni friend of mine hasn't been very forthcoming in telling me much. I have also been watching Morrowind all of my life and I agree with you that this house and all of us will find ourselves in trouble if the Empire starts to have too much of an interest in affairs here. They are already trying to meddle in Vvardenfell's business by placing me here. I don't want to be involved in the Mages Guild and their heavy reliance on the Empire, nor can the guild provide me with the level of instruction I need, so this was the most reasonable choice I could make to advance as a mage. By being here, I can also secure some protection for myself. I'm an Argonian and I can't change that, but one thing I can change is where I stand in this house. What we both wish to do, however, will require our combined efforts if we want to succeed.”
Her logic was sensible and he was bemused by her well thought out plans. “Instruction, protection, and a title?” Despite his prior aversion to her he huffed a laugh at how insane this all was. “Is that all?”
“Your Mouth also seemed to think that letting me into the house would be very amusing. I intend to advance in the house as far as I can and show him just how much of a joke I am.”
“Hah, I understand that sentiment.” Something she had said before caught his interest. “The Empire sent you here?”
Laje-tal sighed. “I am in exile.” She turned away, watching the fire blankly. “I was blamed for an accident in the caravan, an influential Dunmer woman poisoned the minds of others so badly against me that there would be no chance of me staying there. Barenziah couldn't have done anything else lest both our reputations be compromised. She told me she had a project the Emperor needed to be completed so I was sent here to do it.”
He watched her guarded gaze, curious about this mysterious project. “The project to... study Nerevar?”
“In part.” Her eyes met his, the firelight glinting in his intense stare. For once he looked open, genuinely wanting to know more. It was strange but she felt she could trust him. From her pocket she took out the decoded message she had been tasked to give to Caius Cosades, a message she didn't know how to feel about. She was completely silent as he read over the message, absorbing the details of her very strange task, the tension building again. The blanket pulled close as she drew her knees to her chin, holding her legs close to rest her chin upon them, waiting for his response.
“The Emperor wants you to fulfill the Nerevarine Prophecy?”
Before he could sputter about how idiotic and insane this must all sound she offered a sly smile. “If you help me with my project, I will help you with yours.”
As absurd a prospect as it was he couldn't help but take the bait, too curious not to. “You have yourself a deal, then. Tell me everything.”
Chapter Text
"But when Trinimac and Auriel tried to destroy the Heart of Lorkhan it laughed at them. It said, "This Heart is the heart of the world, for one was made to satisfy the other." So Auriel fastened the thing to an arrow and let it fly long into the sea, where no aspect of the new world may ever find it." - The Monomyth
In the dim, vandalized halls of Morvayn Manor in Ald'ruhn, Laje-tal found a strange red ash statue, much like others she had been finding in areas affected by the influence of Dagoth Ur. Ash creatures had broken into the house of Councilor Brara Morvayn and killed her husband, displacing furniture and making a mess of everything else. It had seemed sensible to clear out the ash creatures and restore some sort of order to the manor to earn favor with the Redoran, especially since she was given the task to convince the Redoran to oppose the monopoly that the Mages Guild had over the sale of goods and services. They weren't partial to the Telvanni and it would take a bit of extra work to convince them.
The ash statue smelled immensely of a very foul magic. For the past few nights she had had very strange, disturbing dreams, these statues echoing the influence in those dreams. On the surface, the two things didn't seem closely related but on further inspection, it made sense. Dreams and premonitions were largely disbelieved by most civilized Dunmer but the Ashlanders took such things and examined them closely for possible greater meaning, something she now considered. Calcelmo had taught her to think beyond preconceived notions, even if the information she found out seemed to contradict what was already known.
From what she knew, Dagoth Ur was responsible for the ash statues, the creatures barely contained by the Ghostfence, and possibly the influx of blight disease and the far worse corprus disease. He might be partially or wholly responsible for the dreams affecting herself and others, and was certainly the cause of some Vvardenfell residents starting to scream about the Sixth House and Dagoth Ur madly in the streets. The Ghostfence was maintained by the power of the Tribunal, a power that seemed to be fading. They had lost the tools they used to extract power from the heart of Lorkhan, that power now all but spent maintaining the ghostfence. There were rumors that Almalexia was starting to become unstable, something that didn't seem implausible.
What of Dagoth Ur? Had he learned how to use the power of the heart? Such power would certainly explain how he had managed to cause such widespread terror. If he had indeed used the heart, he would likely have it near him. Without the tools to use the heart in the way it was intended, he probably wouldn't have much connection to it if he was far away. That meant the heart was most likely there in the midst of Red Mountain, hidden deep within it.
Everything came back to the prophecies of the Nerevarine. Laje-tal put away her notes and took the ash statue, intent on giving it to the Morvayn family to have it nullified. She would be on her way to the Ashlanders at the Urshilaku camp as soon as she secured Redoran's support.
The main council of House Redoran lived within the giant carapace of an ancient crab, buried deep in the ground of Ald'ruhn. Some said the thing was still alive, waiting for the right moment to dig itself up and defend its territory. Most buildings in the area had high, rounded tops, the region frequently affected by ash storms and high winds. The ash wouldn't collect like it would have on the squared tops of the Hlaalu manors. Unlike other houses, where the councilors themselves lived in more outspread fashion, all of the councilors of the Redoran lived within the council house. Brara Morvayn now lived here too after being displaced from her home, something that could hopefully be rectified.
The many Redoran guards and house members readily watched her with a mixture of confusion and disdain as she walked past them. By now everyone had heard of the peculiar Argonian who was a Telvanni; word spread quickly in the great houses when it came to what the other houses were doing. She knew quite well how to deal with the Redoran, opposed though they were to her house, and offered a solemn nod and formal greeting to all she met. At the very least she intended to be known as polite.
The inner quarters of the council were brightly lit and smelled only faintly of the ash that was frequently tracked in by patrolling guards. Decorative plants and tapestries softened the dull sandy walls, accented by small colored candles on the ledges. Laje-tal found the door she was looking for and entered into the common area of Councilor Morvayn's quarters. Nearby a guard watched over the quarters with a sharp eye, as mindful of her every move as the councilor herself. The Dunmer woman looked on with a cautious, irritated gaze, clearly having been in the middle of cleaning up her plate from a meal. She straightened, brushing aside her silver-streaked hair and fixing her fine clothes with a gentle tug. “What is the meaning of this, Argonian? I don't recall having scheduled a meeting with a... Telvanni.”
Laje-tal nodded with respect, offering up the ash statue without preamble. “Pardon the intrusion, Councilor, but I believed you would want to know immediately what has been plaguing your manor. This ash statue seems to be linked to the magic of Dagoth Ur, which would explain why creatures from beyond the Ghostfence would appear only in your home. I'm not sure who would put such a thing in someone's house, but I do believe that if it's purified of its influence, you shouldn't have any more trouble with the creatures. The others have been eliminated.”
Brara Morvayn took the statue with care and a touch of revulsion, lips pinched at the thought of the horrors she had seen ransacking her beautiful home. “Hm, yes, I recall the Sarethis having found something odd like this as well. Others have been showing up in odd places all across Vvardenfell lately, all followed by sickness in the home, bad dreams, or worse.” She faced her visitor with an increased respect, heart lightened by this tragedy finally coming to a sort of end. “Thank you. You may be a Telvanni but you have done me a great service by clearing those creatures from my home. I suspect this is not all you came here for, however.”
Now Laje-tal smiled, enjoying how the woman saw through her strategy easily. Clearly Brara wasn't a councilor simply by default. “It's not, though I'm glad to have set things right. If you're too busy I can deliver the statue to the Temple for you, as well as any requests you may have for the interment of your late husband if you wish. I came to discuss the matter of the monopoly that the Mages Guild has over the sale of service and goods within the province. Outside of their strongholds, the Telvanni have been unable to sell anything without being sanctioned by the Mages Guild.”
“Oh? You wish us to speak against the guild to allow your ambitious Telvanni mages to become even more so?” She scoffed but smiled slightly. “I see. Why would we do something like that?”
From the back of her memory, she recalled Barenziah explaining something the Redoran referred to as an appeal to fairness. The Redoran held strong and true to their moral code, and honor and fairness were at the very top of that moral code. “I believe an appeal to fairness is in order. The Redoran are not barred from selling weapons, training or armor simply because the Fighters Guild does, or because blacksmiths and weapon smiths do. The Hlaalu are able to set a shop directly next to a Redoran or Mages Guild shop and not a person questions such a thing. Only the Telvanni are not permitted to sell anything outside of their holdings, which skews the control over assets.”
As hoped, Brara nodded with understanding, mulling over the thought in her head. “It would seem so. Very well. I, for one, would support this motion when it comes to a vote. You'll need to convince at least two others to get this motion to pass, and it may take some effort. Miner Arobar especially has had trouble with the Telvanni already, and I doubt he would listen to you.”
“I've heard about that,” she assured. “I'll see what I can do, thank you.”
Later, however, Miner Arobar indeed wasn't impressed with her or her mention of an appeal to fairness. He had no intention of dealing with a Telvanni, and she knew why. In Sadrith Mora, Neloth was keeping the man's daughter hostage for reasons she wasn't sure of. To his surprise, she offered to free his daughter from Neloth as soon as she could, something that wasn't actually against the rules of the Telvanni. Their rules were such that she could take anything away, provided she was never caught in the act. She didn't particularly appreciate Neloth so she agreed to his terms to receive his vote.
Persuading Bolyn Venim was out of the question, but the other councilors went along with her proposal after some prodding. Athyn Sarethi was quite glad to have the ash statue gone from his home along with the Morvayn statue, and she made quick work of dispatching the things to the nearby Temple. While she wanted nothing to do with them, the Temple priests had their uses. With many things now set to rights within Ald'ruhn, she finally set about what she hoped was the last leg of the week's journeys before she could finally get back to her research.
Several wide circular tents grouped in a circle at the Urshilaku camp, nestled deep in the midst of the ashlands. People milled about the camp taking care of their farms and craft work, gathering herbs and scraping hides. Men were dressing down a wild kagouti they had hunted, women hovering near with baskets to take hide, meat and harvested organs from the creature. Bones were carved into tools and decorations, gut turned into string and ties, none of the usable parts wasted. Laje-tal approached the camp, a few gifts in her pack for the Ashlanders, but paused when she felt all eyes on her.
It was understandable that the Ashlanders had never seen one such as her in their camp. Some may have never even seen an Argonian before, as rare as it was for an Ashlander to go anywhere near a town. She wasn't overly bothered by this, having grown accustomed to this sort of attention, and went forth into the camp. Thankfully the Urshilaku were a peaceful sort of tribe and wouldn't attack her on sight, but she was careful not to make any sudden moves. A few gifts delivered here and there made her intentions clear, the people readily directing her on who to speak to. The gulakhan Zabamund was easy enough to please with the large amount of information she was able to share about her research into the Sixth House and the Nerevarine, though the ashkhan insisted that she retrieve a bow for him as a sign of her support.
Away to the south lay the burial cavern where the bow now rested, no doubt filled with undead creatures. The prospect of seeing an Ashlander burial cavern was exciting, her deep interest in their ways almost as strong as her longtime interest in the Dwemer. She traded a few goods as well as stories with the residents, soon heading on her way to the cavern. Laje-tal didn't make it to the cavern on that day. Halfway through the wilderness she paused, sensing that she was surrounded. Several figures circled her, all Argonians with hatred in their chilling narrowed eyes.
Aryon sat at his large desk in Tel Vos, looking over the latest reports with a grateful sigh. All of Laje-tal's reports were neat, accurate and orderly, complete with the occasional technical illustration. Everything had been finished on time even considering the many complications her pursuit of the Nerevarine Prophecy came with. That research was something he found perversely interesting, superstition aside, but the idea that she might actually become the Nerevarine was disturbing and a little preposterous. For years the idea of the Nerevarine had been actively suppressed by the Temple, believers persecuted and sometimes imprisoned. He wasn't sure what he believed in but he did want to see how this would all play out. It seemed so strange that the Imperials would send her to Vvardenfell on what seemed to be a whim to fulfill a prophecy, but those people did seem to hold prophecy in higher regard than most Dunmer.
His primary guard, Drelan, came into the main room on his rounds. All was secure and even the books in the library were orderly. There wasn't the least sign of any work in progress despite all that had been happening. Blankets were folded and tucked away, furniture dusted, and even the fireplace had been cleaned. What startled him more was knowing that Master Aryon was in the other room but that room was completely silent. Concerned, Drelan entered the large study, seeing his master hard at work reading through reports. When Aryon looked at him expectantly he nodded a hasty greeting. “Pardon the intrusion, sir, just doing the rounds. You were rather quiet and everything was cleaned so I thought you may have been called away from here without my knowing.”
Aryon nodded, understanding his concern. He was occasionally called away to the mainland or other areas with little notice. “No, but thank you.” Puzzled, he paused. “Everything was cleaned? I don't recall doing that.”
“Must have been the Argonian,” he reasoned. “She did mention that she cleans when she's stressed.”
“Hmph. I suppose I can't complain.” He handed Drelan the report he was currently reading over. “If she keeps handing in reports like this she can clean whatever she wants.”
Drelan removed his Telvanni cephalopod helm briefly to look it over. “It's sure detailed,” he observed, handing it back. “Better than Ulenhyn's pedantic nonsense on that Dwemer centurion, for sure.”
“Gods, don't remind me.” Just then there was a burst of magical light in the hall, sounding like a spell of Recall. There was only one person who would set a mark in his tower. “Hm, speaking of the woman, sounds like she's here. Would you see if she needs anything? I'd like to finish reading this.”
“Right away sir.” Drelan returned his helm to his head and entered the short hall. He didn't get very far before he gasped at the sight that awaited. “By Azura! What happened to you? Master Aryon, come quickly! She's badly wounded!”
Wounded? It was rare for her to arrive with even bandaged injuries, much less appear inside his tower in a severely hurt state. He rushed to his feet, grabbing a few restoration potions. The sight that met him was bloody and gruesome. Laje-tal seemed to have been all but ripped apart by dozens of claws or small blades, bleeding all over the polished floor. “What in Oblivion happened to you? You look like you were torn to bits by winged twilights!” He handed her a strong health potion, hands glowing white-gold with restoration magic as he moved to heal the worst of the cuts.
Laje-tal, exhausted and pained, barely managed a grumbled response. “Argonians... too many.”
“What? Why?” She didn't respond, the pain too great. “Blast it all. Drelan, could you grab one of the old towels, a bucket of clean water, maybe some wrappings? I'll do what I can to stifle the bleeding.” His guard departed at once, returning quickly with the items. Aryon led her to an open bright corner to better inspect the extent of the damage, pushing at the potion in her hands. “Come on now, drink this down.”
In two large gulps the potion was consumed. A few major gashes closed shut, more healing over as Aryon kept up his magic. She finally managed the strength to give more information, though she clutched her right arm to herself tightly. The arm had been broken in at least three places. “There were about ten of them, they attacked me in the ashlands. I used up so much magic warding them off I had only enough left to recall here, otherwise I wouldn't have come and bloodied up your floor.”
“Never mind my floor,” he stated firmly. “We'd better get you down to the healer at the chapel, you're still too scratched for me to heal all of it.”
“I'm not going to that chapel, even if that priest is a restoration master. I'll be fine.”
“You're not fine! You may be an Argonian but you can still get infected blood, and I know you can't set those broken bones with one good arm. If you don't want to go to someone with the Temple we can find someone else.”
“Gods, Aryon! No,” she insisted, her eyes still wild with fear. She took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “I don't want anyone else involved. Please.” Struggling to her feet she took the old towel from him, wiping away the seeping blood from her face. Aryon tried to approach but she was overcome by the adrenaline and fear of the attack, hissing at him, tail lashing wildly. Just barely she retained enough dignity to retreat into the spare guest room she most often used.
Drelan was just as startled as the other man by her behavior. “What in blazes... I don't recall her ever being so... ah...” He was going to call her beastly but he held his tongue.
“Well, I need her alive.” Aryon took the bandages and the bucket of water, determined to see this through. “I'll blast down that door if I have to. Go ahead back to your rounds, I'm sure I can handle this.” He strode down the hall quickly to the spare room. Laje-tal had locked it but he scoffed and used an alteration spell to unlock it. She sat upon one of the wooden chairs to the side, facing away from him. It almost seemed like she was sulking.
“Don't you have any respect for a lady's privacy?” she groused.
Suddenly he realized that she had removed her upper clothing to tend the scrapes there, towel held just enough over her front to preserve her modesty. That wasn't his primary concern and he approached her with a frown. “Not when you all but bleed out in my tower. Let me look over those injuries. You're drained enough that I can force you to stay still if I must.”
Laje-tal only huffed a laugh at his manner, leaning forward to expose the gashes on her back. “Fine.”
He set about cleaning up the fresh cuts, healing a few magically. As the blood came off bit by bit he noticed multiple old scars carved into her skin. At first he suspected that she had been attacked like this before but the shape and depth wasn't consistent with the scratches he now tended. Most went in a particular pattern from her shoulders down her back. “Gods above, woman, what happened to you? Are you always getting into fights with other Argonians?”
“I have fought only one Argonian prior to this.”
“Well you still seem to have had a dangerous lifestyle. Where did all these other scars come from, then?”
Laje-tal unexpectedly laughed, startling him. “Do you really never walk by a plantation, or look upon the people tending Therana's egg mine? What kind of Telvanni are you to have never seen this?”
His eyes traced over the deep, hard scars. One mark had left the imprint of what appeared to be a large chain, another filled with spiked holes. While he understood her implication, this was far more severe than anything he ever witnessed. “I have never seen anything like this,” he replied honestly. “You were a slave?”
“I spent six years there,” she muttered, hunching over slightly. Now it was clear why she hadn't wanted to be treated by a healer. “Shackled away from the sun in that blasted glass mine in Tear.”
For a long time he was silent, cleaning the ash dust from her scrapes. She didn't withdraw in pain from the ministrations, not even when he set the breaks in her arm and splinted it. All of his life had been spent far away from the ugly realities of their world, high and away in his little room in Blacklight. Not once had he fought in a real battle, and never had he been in a position to see more than the handful of household slaves in Blacklight. When he told her just that she nodded, understanding his position.
“Unless you go to the mines or the plantations you don't see the worst of it. I swore to Barenziah that I would never tell anyone. Master Calcelmo did what he could to mend the worst of my scars but they just run too deep. I'm sorry you had to see this.”
“Don't be silly,” he chided quietly, finishing the last tie in the wrapping. “I suspect it was only a matter of time before I did. I just... had no idea it could get like this. I had two slaves in the past in Blacklight but they were never treated like this.”
“Hah, you should have seen Dro'jelan. He was very old and you couldn't tell where one scar began and another ended. He had so many that most of his fur was gone there. I was taken in at the age of eight and minded what I did, so I didn't receive the worst of it.”
“I see.” Aryon paused there for a moment as she looked away, drawn by one mark that looked like an old burn. His hand traced the edge just enough to feel that there was an indentation. Laje-tal jerked reflexively away, nearly displacing her chair.
“Don't.” He took a breath to apologize but she waved him off. “Forget it.”
“Do you know who attacked you, or why?” he asked, hoping to restore the conversation to something a bit less uncomfortable.
She sighed and drew out a clean mage robe from her drawer, looking at the ruined tatters of her old one. Damn, but that had been her favorite set. “No idea. I guided an escaped slave to the Argonian Mission in Ebonheart. They weren't very fond of me.”
His brow raised curiously. “You aided an escaped slave?”
The look she shot him was calm but calculating. “Of course I did. I may be here as a Telvanni but I won't ignore someone who needs help. Still, all those Argonians saw that I am a Telvanni. I suppose that was enough to send that group to attack me. Never mind that.” From her scraped but whole pack she withdrew a brief list, handing it to him. “Here's what the Zainab clan would be willing to trade for. It's nothing special, mostly potions to cure disease and restore health, but it will get things started.” Gods but he looked like he was never going to turn around to let her get changed! “Do you mind?” she asked, holding up her fresh clothing pointedly.
“Oh, right.” At long last he turned around, reading over the list with a thoughtful hum. Yes, he could indeed produce these potions with ease and in the quantity needed. It was certainly nothing special, but it was better than the list of nothing he had received so far. “How did you manage it? Not one of my agents was able to get a thing out of them!”
She scoffed. “I asked the women. Zainab men are far too proud to admit they need anything, but their women take care of them and know what they can use. Also, House Redoran will support our stance against the Mages Guild monopoly over goods and services. They can be swayed through an appeal to fairness, provided that the situation is indeed unfair.”
“Bah, appealing to the Redoran when they are attacking one of our own. Faves Andas is under attack in his stronghold as we speak by Redoran soldiers! He's been under siege before, I'm sure he'll manage for a while, but he could use some help. There's no way I can send you out there when you're being mobbed by Argonians in the wilderness.”
“Relax,” she said with a tired sigh, rubbing a sore spot on her battered shoulder. “I'll see if I can lean on the Redoran a little and get them to lay off of him. It will be fine.”
“Fine!” Aryon grumbled and paced slightly before facing her with a frustrated frown. “Fine, you say! How can you call this fine? We just got this place in the perfect position to take the next step and now I can't even send you out on a mission lest your hide get turned into someone's rug! Blast it.” He ignored her stare as he began pacing again. “I really should have hired more guards last time. It would be so much easier if only we had a little more support, I might be able to send a guard along with you.”
“I have a friend I can ask, I'm sure he can help us.”
“What, another Argonian?” he asked with a touch of acid, arms crossed over his chest.
Laje-tal's patience was wearing thin, thankful as she was for his help. “I don't know any other damned Argonians! I have barely met any others! By Azura, every Argonian I have ever known has been a slave or an enemy! My friend is a Dunmer and a Telvanni, just as you are! We have fought together and I'm certain he can help us out if I ask him. I'm going to do it whether you want me to or not,” she stated, her own frown dark and cross.
Despite his previous anger he was intrigued by this odd Telvanni he apparently didn't know. How was it that she could have befriended a Telvanni, apparently before she even joined the house? “Another Telvanni? How did you manage that?”
“We were enslaved together in the same glass mine, he was there for committing a crime of some sort. We helped each other escape and he found me employment with Imperials as a maid. I owe him a great deal. We may not have escaped if we hadn't worked together.” She had his attention, watching her with a closed look, and she removed the leather bracers from her arms, exposing her wrists. There, he could see where her scales had been worn and scarred by thick irons. She took the bucket of water from him and washed up the last of the blood from her hands. “He may get into a bit of trouble now and then but I know he will get serious if someone needs help. We made a promise to help each other if we needed it, and I know he is trying to get in better standing within the house. I trust that you will not turn him in, either, for being an escaped slave.”
Aryon caught her implication and actually gave her a small smile. “And who is to say that I wouldn't turn you both in?”
She shot him a toothy grin, eyes narrowed with satisfaction. “You won't.”
With a huff he gathered the bucket and what was left of the bandages, glancing her way with a smirk on his way out. “No. I won't.”
On a fair day in Tel Vos, Laje-tal went about cleaning Aryon's library. The act of returning a room to its tidy state was undeniably satisfying, and in her recovering state she was limited on what she could do. Nobody minded much when she did this, though at times she filed away books Aryon had arranged in an organized mess. Her plain shirt was rolled high up to her elbows on her uninjured arm to keep it clean, though she still wore cloth bracers to hide the scarring on her wrists. She scrubbed the floor with a stiff brush, the ever pervasive ash of the province constantly casting a gray film over the surface. It was during this task that she heard the unexpected click of talons against the floor. Looking up from her scrubbing she saw an Argonian man clad in several pieces of fine glass armor.
The man took one look at her kneeling, sopping wet, dirty form and grinned. “Greetings, housemaid, do you know where the master may be?”
She didn't bother to correct his assumption and went back to her business of removing the dirt from the hard floor. “Master Aryon will be in shortly. He went to retrieve something from the dock master.”
“Is that so?” The other Argonian approached her with a curious glance in his eyes, looking her over with a peculiar attention to detail. “With no guards here? They left you here alone?”
“I can manage,” she grumbled, already irritated. “If it bothers you that much, you can stand guard at the entrance until Aryon comes by. I assume he hired you for that purpose.”
“Indeed, he did. Worry not, I will guard you dutifully until the master returns.” With an exaggerated courtly bow he finally left to guard the outer door, leaving her to sigh with relief. She honestly didn't care what he did as long as he left her alone! The floor wouldn't clean itself!
Around the time that the floor was nearly clean, Aryon came into his tower, the other Argonian tagging along after him. She tossed the brush into the water bucket, the cleaning having done little to lift her annoyance. Really, he could have picked a better time to bring an Argonian here after all the trouble she had. Still, it might not be so bad, she told herself. This place really did need more guards. Aryon came in just as she stood to put away her cleaning implements, a puzzled look on his face. He still wasn't sure what to make of this odd hobby. “Well, it sounds like you already met my new guard here.”
Laje-tal huffed and set her tools aside in an alcove. “For the museum in the central tower, right?”
“Yes, the steam centurion is still a bit unreliable, though it has been attacking far less often.” He nodded and motioned the Argonian man to come forward, hoping to any god that might help him that these two could possibly get along. The museum had experienced far too many problems as it was. “This man has an Imperial background much like you do, he has fought several campaigns with the Legion and several more with the Fighters Guild.”
She did indeed find that interesting. If he had a history with both the Legion and the guild, he was most likely well trained and disciplined. Maybe. Cautiously she looked over the well-armed man with an appraising eye. “I see. Very well, if you stay out of my business, I'll stay out of yours.”
To her amusement the man turned to Aryon, curious and confused. “If you're going to address me to all of your servants, there won't be much time today to go over the guard roster, not that I mind the sight of a comely maid.”
Aryon was quick to correct the assumption. “She is my student, and I expect you will treat her with the respect that title comes with. While she does have the compulsion to clean at times, I assure you she is a highly accomplished mage and historian.”
The man did at least have the manners to apologize. “Forgive me, then. If you'll excuse me, I will head to the central tower and familiarize myself with the layout of this place.”
As soon as he left, the tension lifted slightly. Laje-tal was still nervous, her tail twitching and her hands clenched into fists, though she otherwise appeared calm. Aryon faced her with an unusual uncertainty, watching her with concern. “He did come very highly recommended, and not by Gothren. I suppose the last person you want to be around right now is another Argonian, after what happened to you, but I intend to keep him away in that tower until all has settled.”
“Good,” she agreed quietly. “It's fine. I've already seen your museum, I don't have any cause to go there either. I'll stay out of his way.”
“You don't have to just stay out of his way. Maybe talk to him sometime, you might have some interesting stories to share, I'll bet. I think he would like to hear a few things about your time in the caravan. It might be good to be around someone you can relate to.”
Her stare was long, hard and silent, the utter stillness of her gaze and body renewing the tension without mercy. She furrowed her brows and moved on past him into the main study, intent on returning to the book she had left there. What did he mean by that? Someone she could relate to? Could she even begin to relate to another Argonian, even if he had also been raised outside of the marsh? She had willingly chosen the life of a Telvanni mage, and that man had been hired into the career of a Telvanni museum guard. Still, it couldn't hurt to at least talk to him a little bit. She had no qualms talking to the people of Tel Vos or any of the guards. If he could be civil, so could she.
After a few days, however, the Argonian who called himself Smokeskin-killer began behaving oddly. It wasn't anything threatening or overtly bothersome but she didn't know what to think. She might be standing in the library looking over a book and he would come up beside her, starting a conversation about something or other he had done in the Legion or a guild. His stories were interesting enough and he seemed to find hers equally worthy of talking about, but his tail would sometimes go wandering until it made contact with her own. She had indeed seen other Argonians do something similar, their tails meeting in a familiar way, but she wasn't sure what exactly it meant. After a few occurrences she brought it up to Aryon, though he hadn't known what to make of it either.
At a loss, Aryon decided to ask the man himself. He couldn't have someone making his rather anxious student even more so. Laje-tal was currently enduring yet another of Smokeskin's tales of bravery and bloodshed, though she was obviously trying to focus on a potion she was trying to concoct. Her magicka reduction potions required a great deal of ingredient processing and attention to detail to make, never mind that she only had one good arm to work with. Then, as he watched, there it was. That tail went wandering during the part of the tale that apparently required a lot of gesturing. Aryon quickly intervened, motioning him away to the other side of the room.
The Argonian man looked very disappointed, grumbling over the interruption. “Ah, to be taken away at the best part. Well, what is it? A thief loose in the hold?” he asked with an eager grin.
“Not quite. I don't think you have noticed, but Laje-tal is in the middle of a very complicated potion. Alchemy can be quite dangerous and I don't suggest distracting her from her work.”
He grinned and leaned with a hand on his sword, clearly appreciating the view even from the back of the room. “Hm, yes, but how can I resist? A fair maiden with a shapely tail I can regale all of my tales upon, aloft in a tower of a powerful wizard.” Shaking his head, he laughed and faced Aryon. “Sounds like a fanciful yet over-told story, does it not? No need to worry, I will be careful. I have learned she is rather jumpy about my tail.”
Aryon took the opening into the topic without hesitation. “Yes, I have noticed. Why do you do that, anyway? You must keep in mind that she was raised without knowledge of other Argonians, and I don't think she understands the meaning behind such an odd gesture.”
“Yes,” he said with a hum and hiss, an odd rumble issuing from his throat. “It is something that close friends or family members may do, especially those who hatched from the same shell, and it is something often done between mates.”
“You'd better look in another direction,” Aryon advised sternly. “To become a Telvanni Master requires a great deal of time and effort, and she would not give up on that easily. Talk if you wish, but don't interfere in her studies if she doesn't want you to.” With a nod of dismissal he made haste to the array of alchemical equipment, noticing that Laje-tal could use help completing her potions as she contended with her immobilized broken arm. He quickly gathered up several empty bottles and funnels, holding them steady as she lifted the calcinator to pour it evenly.
Smokeskin had nearly left but suddenly noticed something odd about their work, a silent effort between them as they each seemed to understand what needed to be done. Even when the next batch was started, they divided the work without a word, sorting the preparation on whatever implements they were closest to. All the while, Laje-tal's tail grazed the edge of Aryon's robes, not enough to be noticed by Aryon but enough to suggest a familiarity between them. His eyes narrowed with interest as he returned to his post.
Dusk fell on the horizon at Tel Vos, painting the Grazelands a vibrant orange. Boats came and went from the dock to the distant sea, and eventually all came in for the night. Laje-tal had waited for this moment and looked up at the sky expectantly. Any moment now the first of the stars would be visible. She had finally recovered from her injuries enough to return to the long line of tasks she had to do, but she wanted to make some progress on the star chart they had started.
Rolling out the large paper and weighing it down with small stones, she quickly changed tasks to preparing the nearby telescope. The device was of Dwemer make and had seen quite a few different owners from how battered it was. When she found out Aryon had this poor old thing in storage she nearly begged him to let her use it. Despite its outer condition, the inner workings were still in prime condition. Carefully she calibrated the dials one by one until the settings were right. At last a small twinkle appeared in the sky, glowing faintly as she rushed back into the confines of the tower to find Aryon. She knew exactly where he would be, stuck in the library with his nose in a book just as he had been for the past three days. As expected, he was very much in the middle of doing just that, stuck in the middle of a very lengthy book about Imperial culture. She didn't feel guilty tearing him away from that.
For a moment she waited, smiling at his intense, concentrated gaze as he scanned over the lines of words. She reached out to hold the outer edge of the book, peering over his shoulder to see what he found so interesting, their equal height making it easy. In the beginning she never would have considered doing this, but they had grown accustomed enough to each of their own odd habits over the past months that she didn't think twice about it now. She chuckled at what he was currently reading. “Oh that part is all wrong. Honestly, who wrote this thing?”
Aryon didn't turn to look at her, only shaking his head at the passage she pointed to. “Some idiot who thinks he knows everything. I'm considering writing a much more accurate rendition.”
“It can wait, I'm sure. I set up your telescope outside, you'd best get out there if you want to view the first stars.”
Now he did turn to face her, trying his best to appear irritated. “I'm rather busy here, you know.”
“Busy reading the words of an idiot, as you said. You know quite well that if you want information on the Imperial culture, you already have a person with notable knowledge on such a thing at your disposal.” He didn't fight her as she took the book from his hands, placing it back in its spot. “I can tell you anything you want to know about them.”
He managed a small, amused grin. “You were supposed to be my authority on Argonians at first but I suppose I will have to make do with what you have. Alright, you have my attention, let's take a look at those stars before the moons get too bright to see them properly.”
Outside on the broad ledge that grew from the base of the tall tower's exit, Aryon's telescope sat in all of its tarnished glory. He extinguished the nearby lanterns to better see the darkening sky. Laje-tal stood by the large scroll they had been working on, glancing over their record of the constellations and their movements through the sky. Star charts were hardly uncommon, but few had such intricate detail as this one. “I'd better make a copy of this for my friend once we're finished. Apparently even Cyrodiil's Synod doesn't have a chart as thorough as this. Too complex, apparently.”
He scoffed. “For apprentices at the university, maybe.” Leaning over with care not to upset the telescope's adjustment, he peered into the scope. “Hm, another red star. Large, but not particularly bright. Could be fading, perhaps. Some stars do eventually disappear.”
Laje-tal sat on the chair at the nearby table, making notations as best as she could. At least her writing hand had been spared being broken, though her right arm was still very sore from the healing breaks. “I wonder what it would be like to see a star up close. Are the fading ones dying, or are they simply drifting farther away?”
“I asked Arch-Magister Gothren about that once. He told me to stop wasting time on frivolous pursuits.”
“Hah, well we can show him how frivolous it is when we sell this chart to the Synod. Never mind him, he spends all of his time reading the day away, not even going outside now and then. Miserable, isn't it?”
Aryon glanced her way, faking suspicion. “Ah, I thought you had some ulterior motive in taking me out here. You're trying to make me less of a dried up husk than Gothren.”
“You found out my heinous scheme, it seems.” Though she continued writing as neatly as possible, she couldn't help being a little distracted by the thought of the Arch-Magister. “He'd better not get too comfortable on that cushioned throne of his, lest someone bloody it up.”
He peered at her sideways from his leaning position, giving her a calculating look. Inwardly he was rather pleased at her ambitiousness. “Are you considering deposing him? If you work your way up to the title of Magister, you have the right to try, of course.”
“I'll admit it crossed my mind. It's too bad none of the current Masters are able to try.”
“None of them want to bother anyway.” He sighed a tired sigh, one filled with the old hopelessness that had plagued him through the years. A cool breeze wafted up from the docks, the feel of it somewhat relaxing. Dim distant lights lit up the few people still milling about in the nearby town. Despite everything, all of the agitation of the past several days slowly drifted away into a faint feeling. He stepped away from the telescope to allow her a turn, leaning onto the railing to stare without focus into the distance. “I think it's about time you made your own stronghold,” he suggested quietly.
Laje-tal had gone to look through the scope but looked up from it at his statement. “A stronghold?”
“Yes, you've earned it, to be sure. You've managed to get quite a bit done these past several weeks even with that broken arm of yours, I believe you could now be a Master within your own right. A Magister would certainly need a very respectable stronghold.”
As she stared at his relaxed form, the breeze ruffling his long robes, the gravity of his suggestion came clear. She would be able to have a place of her own, built under her ownership here in Vvardenfell. Her eyes drifted up to the stars, looking at them absently without aid of the scope. “I would have a home.”
Aryon was very still, contemplating what she said. She had never had a home before, always living within another person's home or wandering the wilderness in a camp. Her personal possessions were sparse, always few enough to take with her at a moment's notice, back on the wandering path again. A small, genuine smile grazed his lips when she joined him at the balcony, the charts forgotten. “That's true. Still...” Uncertainty reasserted itself, causing him to look away. “If you'd like to visit here again, you're quite welcome to it.”
Laje-tal stared at him until he met her gaze again. She felt a sense of absence when he brought up the idea of her leaving, a feeling she hadn't expected. “I would be glad to visit whenever possible,” she reassured him, not even sure why she felt the need to do so. “Even if I have to put up with more of Smokeskin's idiotic stories.”
He chuckled and agreed. “They are a little exaggerated, I'll give you that. Don't mind him. From what I've heard, it's only a bit of harmless flirting. I told him to leave you be unless you came to him.”
Looking away, she scoffed. “Harmless flirting indeed.” She seemed contemplative but her sudden stillness as she looked into the sky seemed unusual. Her tail hung limply behind her, a sign that she was brooding about something she didn't want to. Aryon didn't know what to make of it and stood there by her side, waiting. After a moment she spoke, quiet and distant. “When I was at the mines, there was an Argonian man who tried to take liberties with me several times. I always managed to fend him off, and the final time he tried, I blasted him with a shock spell and stabbed him through the heart with a sharp spear of raw glass. He was the first person I ever killed.”
He was left speechless by her shocking confession, one that made him search her unreadable gaze for any signs, her golden catlike eyes no longer looking foreign and unapproachable. Their proximity was uncomfortably close in the weight of their discussion, yet he couldn't tear himself away from whatever force now kept him here. Now he realized what he had unintentionally done by bringing the other Argonian here. It was rare that he was sorry for something he had done, but now he did indeed feel very sorry for it. “I apologize for bringing Smokeskin here, I didn't know what it would mean to you. I knew you hadn't known other Argonians much and I thought it would be good for you to know at least one who wasn't trying to kill you.”
Faint sounds of wild silt-striders humming filled the air, cliff racers darting into the bay to fetch fish from the surface. She knew he hadn't meant anything offensive by bringing the man here; she knew him too well to assume something that silly. “I know,” she said with a smile. “It's alright. I'm no small child anymore and I can fend for myself. I'm not afraid of him.”
He was relieved. “You shouldn't have to be. I'll be more cautious in the future.”
“There's no need,” she reassured him. “I didn't recall to your tower simply because I happened to set a mark here.” Her nod was firm and certain, her stance solid and relaxed. “I came because I trust you.”
Earning her trust wasn't something he realized he had wanted, yet her trust in him wore its way into the emotions he had so long ago buried, stirring up a compassion he had once been incapable of. It mattered that they could rely on each other, that something would hold constant in the midst of so much change. He found that he could return that trust, that he had already been doing so in leaving a piece of the future in her hands. It was frightening and empowering all at once. They leaned on the railing together, close enough to nearly be touching, watching as clouds meandered across the sky.
Gods, but it seemed like they would never get that blasted chart done.
Chapter Text
The shadow of a nearby trama shrub barely concealed the two who crouched beneath it. Laje-tal silently gestured ahead to the group of bandits camped around the shell of a long-dead silt strider. There had been far too many bandit raids in the area recently, endangering the people of Vos. Right now the guards were already too occupied with maintaining order in the town and the tower, unable to venture much farther to the outlying camps. The camp the two now circled was remote, and had been a safe place for the bandits to regroup. They intended to leave a very firm warning for any others who might return.
Aryon stayed perfectly still, trying to blend into the surroundings, his drab brown and dark gray clothing matching the ashy wastes. Laje-tal clung to the trama shrub, her dark brown tail curled around like just another tendril of the plant, watching and waiting. Slowly one of the bandits separated from the others, the rough-looking man grousing about a foul joke one of the others laughed at. This was what they had been waiting for. A few of the other bandits split to take their shifts, a crucial moment when they were off guard. Laje-tal drew her sword slowly from its sheath, not making a sound.
Patient and cautious, they waited for the moment to strike. One bandit came just a bit too near, and with that she struck from behind, her sword hitting at an upward angle into the gap between his armor, straight up into the vital organs. A few nearby bandits were alerted, their bows and swords drawn, shields ready. Aryon struck the two nearest bandits with a blast of lightning, stunning them while Laje-tal pressed in to finish them with her sword. One tried to shoot at her with a bow but instead of dodging to one side, she rolled even closer nearly to the baffled man's feet, forcing herself up from the otherwise disadvantageous position with added effort from her tail, sword slashing up to strike him flat.
Spells and swords clashed back and forth, the scene getting more gruesome as the battle waged on. When at last the final bandit was dispatched, all ten lay dead in the camp. Laje-tal, gasping, sat hard on a nearby crate, inspecting the scrapes she had earned. Thankfully she hadn't broken anything again. Aryon had made it out of the fight only slightly better, having kept his distance from the main battle, and did what he could to heal her. As his magicka radiated, he made his concern plain. “You'd best learn some restoration magic yourself,” he advised.
“I can't.” With a groan she stretched her aching tail, shaking her head. “I've tried, mind you, I tried for many years. Master Calcelmo declared me a hopeless case, I left an Imperial woman in the caravan incapable of magic for a whole month, and that priest in Vos won't speak to me anymore. Unless you want to risk your body exploding, I'd not trust myself with more than the most superficial wounds.”
Unconvinced, he leveled a look at her. “Come now, you've been a mage for all your life, as you have said. Restoration magic shouldn't be all that difficult.”
“I'm quite serious,” she insisted, gesturing to the laceration on the leg of a nearby corpse. “I'll show you.” She stretched her hands, still stiff from wrenching her sword against the bandits. Aryon had managed to close her own scrapes enough to not be bleeding everywhere, but he couldn't fix the soreness. A harsh golden glow of restoration magic came to her hands, and she laid them on the deep gash on the fallen bandit. For all it seemed, she had done everything correct in her focus, control and method, but as the cut seemed like it was going to mend, it suddenly burst apart, tearing even deeper straight to the bone. She flinched as burst blood vessels made the scene even messier, sighing in resignation. “My magic is just not suited to this kind of thing.”
At the gruesome sight, Aryon couldn't help but concede. “By the Gods... Laje-tal, you are by far the worst restoration mage I have ever seen. I do believe you have discovered a whole new method of warfare.” He chuckled. “You can just heal them to death.”
“Very funny.” A bucket of water awaited close to the campfire, and she took a moment to wash the grime from her hands. “Ah, I have tried and tried, but I'm better left at tearing things apart than mending them back together.”
Exhausted and disheveled, Aryon sat close to her on a nearby barrel. He did indeed believe she had been just as dutiful in her studies of restoration as everything else, but her overwhelming magic undoubtedly complicated matters. It was the same reason she was having trouble mastering the highest level of destruction and conjuration magic. She was talented and skilled, but her practical application of her knowledge was confounded by unpredictability. “What of that Imperial mage you mentioned? How did you make it so she was incapable of magic?”
“Oh, Gods,” she muttered with a resigned frown. “That was a terrible day. She was trying to help me learn by linking magic with me, but I don't think she understood what I meant when I told her about my magicka. She was so very used to linking magic instantly with any mage she wanted, she just shoved her way past my mental barriers, and... well, you can imagine what happened.”
He grimaced. “Blasted fool. I suppose she never met a mage like that before, though, as rare as they are.” A long silence passed as they recovered their energy, using the camp's fire to warm their hands and drinks. Aryon took a long sip of warm mulled wine, going over the battle mentally. “Hm, what was that technique you used against the archer, where you rolled into the attack?”
“I learned it from a rather short Bosmer man, very fine battlemage. He had a terrible time creating distance, with most of his enemies being much longer in the leg, so he learned how to close in fast with a dagger or shortsword if he was cornered. I had already taught him quite a bit of alchemy, so he showed me his range attacks. I had to adapt it to my height, naturally, but it has gotten me out of a few tough scrapes. I can show it to you sometime if you'd like.”
As he watched her unwavering gaze, he considered the offer. Though his heart would always be in the arcane world, he knew it was sensible to learn other methods. “Drelan has tried to get me to practice swordplay with him, but I had such trouble finding the time. Maybe now that things have settled, I can make a bit of time for it. I wouldn't mind seeing that technique again sometime. For now, you'd best focus on setting plans for your stronghold.”
She hesitated. “Ah, I have been meaning to bring that up to you.” A lingering pause filled the space between them, tense and uncomfortable. “It's best if that waits a while longer. I have misled many of the Telvanni into thinking I am merely your personal hireling, and have hidden the greater part of my skills from them. Neloth does not know that I am as much of an enchanter as he is, and believes I have come to you for remedial instruction on it. Thanks to a few well-placed rumors, Gothren thinks I am just an exotic maid. It wouldn't do well to have the stronghold built under those pretenses.”
Aryon regarded her with furrowed brows and a thoughtful frown, wondering what else she had been up to that he didn't know about. “That may be for the best,” he agreed. “Gothren has a particular hatred for Argonians and would never allow for one to approach any significant rank. It's good that only my word is necessary for you to be allowed into the higher ranks, but he would find a way to remove the option from you if he found out. We may still be able to build the stronghold, provided we lie about who is to occupy it. Either way, I will play along with this game of yours. You'd best tell me what else you've spread around about yourself, however, so I know who I should tell what information to. If I back up your claims, it will be all to the better.”
Grateful for his understanding, she smiled. “I wasn't sure if you would do such a thing for me.”
“We have agreed to work together. I intend to honor my side of the agreement just as you have with yours. You will still have to find yourself a Mouth to work with you in the council, though that person would have to be just as meddling as you are.”
She shot him a wide, confident grin. “I know just the man.”
Across the table in the Tel Vos study, Eddie looked like he was about ready to panic. “By Azura, Laje-tal, you're as mad as Sheogorath!”
It had been far too long since she had seen him. They had kept up their habit of frequently writing to each other but it was good to be able to invite him here. The proposition for him to be her Mouth on the council had simply reignited his insistence that she had completely lost her mind. He was still barely over the fact that she had even joined the house in the first place. “Perhaps, but this is the perfect opportunity for you to move forward within the house. You did want to do that, you know.”
He only sighed. “I can't believe this is happening.”
Just then Aryon came into the study, returning from delivering supplies to the town. He spotted the new face in his tower and looked between the two curiously. “I believe I know you. Eddie, right?”
“Right,” Eddie agreed, standing to offer a proper greeting. “I hope you don't mind it, but I was invited to come take a look at a few projects I've heard you're working on.”
“Ah! You must be the mysterious Telvanni friend I've been hearing so much about. There's no need for subterfuge, I know why you are really here. Do keep in mind, however, that second chances are costly in this house, never mind third or fourth chances. I'm sure you know to keep your hands to yourself.”
Reminded of his criminal past, Eddie coughed. “I know better than that.”
In a very unexpected intrusion, the tower guard hastened into the room, appearing very troubled. “Pardon my interruption, but Master Neloth has come to Tel Vos and is demanding an audience. He is insisting on being admitted in here immediately.”
Neloth was here? The man hardly even left his tower much, and certainly only traveled if it was necessary. What could he want? Aryon frowned but nodded approval. “Better let him in, then. If he bothered to come all this way he must have a reason. I will meet with him alone.”
“Ah, actually, sir, he also insisted on having Laje-tal present.”
His glance drifted to his student warily, noting that she looked very pleased with herself. Gods, what did she do this time? “Alright. Eddie, I'm sure you can find something to do here while we take care of house matters. We'd better see what Neloth thinks our friend here has done.”
Eddie left the room with a groan, heading out of the tower. “Probably take less time to ask what she hasn't done.”
That, in the end, seemed to be the case. Neloth blazed into the tower and surged his way directly to her, his brows arched sharper than even Aryon had ever seen. “I don't know how you managed to do it, but you have ruined everything! You may have gotten past the guards and my traps without being seen, but I'm certain it was you!”
Laje-tal managed not to grin at his frustration, affecting nonchalance. “Whatever are you talking about? Oh, is this about Arobar's daughter? I heard she went missing from your stronghold a few days ago. If you think I had any involvement, I'm afraid you're mistaken. I was in the Ashlands at that time doing some rather important research.” She gestured to a few volumes of books, papers and documents behind her. “As you can see, I was far too busy to be interfering with your prisoners.”
“Interfering!” He nearly growled with malcontent, his face reddened to his bald scalp. “This goes far beyond interfering! I have tolerated your presence in this house for far too long as it is. Aryon, I insist you dismiss this poor excuse of a retainer before she does any more harm!”
Aryon, far calmer than usual, faced the man with a firm stance. “I will not dismiss her on something you accuse her of doing without any evidence. What proof do you have of her doing so?”
Startled by Aryon's cool demeanor, Neloth paused. He was so accustomed to the young man getting angry at any accusation thrown at him that he needed a moment to form a response. “I'm certain it was her! Dozens of rogue Dwemer spiders were let loose in my hold and while they went about scaring my guards, my prisoner went missing. I don't know how or why the spiders managed not to harm anyone, but it must have been her! She was a thorn in my side every moment she was in Sadrith Mora!”
Suddenly the things she had been doing for the past week prior to heading into the ashlands made sense. All of the broken spiders and tampering with soulgems had been for more than just simple experimentation. “Is that all? It sounds like you are still operating on mere suspicion. I can attest that Laje-tal has been recovering from serious injury here in Tel Vos for several weeks until the past few days of study in the ashlands. How could she have had time for any of that if she was here?”
Neloth glared at her menacingly, still not entirely convinced. “Hm, perhaps.” He directed his words at her with a pointed finger in her direction. It was hard not to compare his behavior to how Aryon used to be. “I suppose you wouldn't have the enchanting knowledge to have manipulated the spiders in such a way. Yes, I have indeed heard you are a fair hand at alchemy but my spies have been far too good to miss out on the things you have done in Sadrith Mora. I know about how you were summoning daedra and sacrificing them to some sort of god! You might not be behind the disappearance of my prisoner but you may have done something contributing towards it!”
Unperturbed, Laje-tal played on his perceptions. “It certainly would have been very difficult to enchant Dwemer spiders into doing what you say happened. I can't imagine how one would even begin to do such a thing.”
“Bah! Useless Argonians.” With a huff he drew magic to his hand. “Useless! To think I came all the way out here for nothing. Enchanting Dwemer mechanisms is simple enough for even the smallest Telvanni child! Forget it, I'm not wasting any more of my valuable time!” In a blast of light he recalled away, Laje-tal chuckling in his wake. When Aryon looked at her with an accusatory frown she only chuckled harder.
“Hah, enchanting those spiders was indeed child's play! Oh, you should have seen the look on his face when the little things scrambled all over the walls! Women screaming, even a few men screaming!” His look darkened and she shook her head. “Don't worry, I programmed the things to only wander around for a while before leaving. Nobody was harmed, except for their pride.”
Then, oddly enough, Aryon laughed. It wasn't the sort of hopeless laugh she was used to but a genuinely relieved, maybe even joyful sort of laugh. She had never heard anything like it from him before. “You... you sent all of those blasted spiders I saw you working on into his tower as a distraction, and then managed to rescue Narise Arobar? Divines and Daedra, Laje-tal, I truly don't know whether to think you are insane.”
Smiling, she shrugged. “That's Eddie's opinion, anyway.”
“Why did you do it?”
She gestured behind her to a stack of books she had brought in that very day. “Getting along with House Redoran is very beneficial. Councilor Arobar sent on a few of these books to help in my research. I promised him I would free his daughter so he would support our stance on the Mages Guild monopoly on goods but it seems he was so glad to have her back he wanted to add on a few things I needed.”
Aryon looked over the books in question, noticing they were all rather uncommon volumes he didn't have in his own library. He inspected a few of the books closely. “An excellent selection,” he admitted. “I wouldn't mind reading a few of these myself.” He turned back to her, frowning slightly yet again. “Any particular reason you enjoy befriending the Redoran?”
“Why not? They are organized, fair and hold on to their duty to a fault. The Hlaalu have trusted the Empire too much. While the Empire would normally try to keep relations with Morrowind stable, if something happens within the Empire they will defend their own first. The Empire is the string that holds them together, and if removed, the weaving comes apart. It is said that the Nerevarine will drive all of the foreigners from Vvardenfell. I have no intention of chasing anyone away, but you know as well as I do how chaotic the state of the Empire has been since the very beginning. The Telvanni are too widespread and poorly organized to hold everything together should the worst happen. It's important to have as many allies as possible, despite our house's belief to the contrary. That is why I hope to increase Redoran's favor with us.”
Intrigued, he sat at the chair across from her at the table, leaning forward with interest. “Oh? You think something may happen?”
“I'm not sure,” she said quietly, glancing aside. “I've been having many strange dreams since I started looking into the Nerevarine prophecies, and I feel like they're trying to tell me something. I'm sure it all connects back to Dagoth Ur, but I can't help feeling nervous about other things besides that. The Emperor is getting quite old and it's only a matter of time before he passes. I have heard that it is still undecided which of his sons will take the throne after him, and there could be war between them. If they are killed as well, it would be hard to find a new Emperor. If a war expands, they may pull support from Morrowind, and what then? I have watched the Imperials for quite some time, and I know they would pull from the provinces if the threat is great enough. I don't know. Maybe I'm simply being paranoid.”
“Paranoid or not, it is a valid point. To say that Cyrodiil has a habit of being in upheaval is a gross understatement. The Telvanni and Redoran both have made a point to not rely too heavily on the Empire for that reason, among others. There is no chance, however, of actually rallying the other Telvanni if something should happen. Dratha and her warriors might manage a fair defense, maybe Baladas and Fyr, but Gothren, Neloth and Therana are useless in their inaction.” Aryon smiled with a hint of good humor. “I'm not going to keep you from making necessary alliances, just don't let it keep you from your primary goals. I do still need your aid in swaying this house on the right path.”
Laje-tal stilled, growing quiet. She seemed pensive, maybe even worried. “The further I get into this Nerevarine prophecy, the more dangerous it has been. Every day the threat of the blight and the ash creatures worsens and the Ghostfence is barely held in place. Can I really say I will be here to do that?”
He looked down for a moment, conflicted and reticent, knowing she had a point. Many others had attempted to meet the prophecies, and they were dead. “Laje-tal,” he said, drawing her attention with the use of her name. “I know you can't promise such a thing, and neither can I. Either of us could be killed at any time for any reason, and promising to always be here would be an impossible task to fulfill.” Sitting down nearby, he put a firm hand on her shoulder, not releasing her even when she flinched. Instead he looked at her until she met his eyes, his ashen face creased with worry. “I will teach you as much as I can. Whether that turns out for good or ill, so be it, but it's all that can be done. All we can do is keep down our own paths and hope we make the right decisions when the time comes.”
Despite her troubled thoughts she managed a small smile. Aryon always seemed to know what to say, even if the facts were harsh. He didn't try to cover up genuine concerns with pointless pity. “It's true, that's all we can do. I don't know what I will do when the time comes, but I will try to have a better understanding of what I am deciding. At least then I will be able to make an informed choice.”
“An informed choice is better than a knowingly ignorant one,” he agreed. “It's those ignorant choices that put this house in the position it's in. Now, I suspect your friend might be wondering what has happened to us. Why don't we go talk this over with him and see what he thinks of it?”
At a loss for anything else they could do, she followed him to the central tower to do just that. Despite what her friend had to add and his retelling of one of Smokeskin's crazy stories, the trepidation she felt didn't cease. She was on the precipice of something she couldn't back away from, something that would change everything. That night she tossed and turned, stomach churning with nervousness until she managed to finally rest. Much of the night was spent in the midst of a terrifying dream of that man in the golden mask, leading her soul among empty shells, their hollow, missing eyes following her progression, rotten mouths open in an unheard scream.
Laje-tal walked through the pathways in Vos, arms laden with deliveries. Eddie followed behind with even more, the burden slowly disappearing as she made her rounds through the local homes and shops. Enchanted weapons and armor went to the blacksmith, clothes to the tailor, potions to the priest. At each place she exchanged pleasantries, though she tactfully let him handle business with the priest. The man still wasn't the least bit pleased with her, though he accepted the potions readily enough. Then, finally, nearly everything was gone, all except for two more potions.
“And these are for the dock master. By Azura, it's a relief to have that all done. Thank you for helping me, Eddie, I'd have had to make two trips without you.”
“No trouble at all,” he said, a spring in his step and a cheerful smile on his face. Oddly cheerful.
“What's gotten into you? Something you're looking forward to?”
“I'm excited to be back in the house again! I missed the intrigue, the industry, the drama! I could tell you stories that would make your hair stand on end! I mean, your scales shiver! I know just about every sordid tale the house has to tell!”
She stopped right where she was, only a few yards away from where the dock master awaited the delivery. “Let me guess, your removal from the house wasn't entirely due to theft?”
“Not entirely,” he replied with a devious smile. “I also told the story about how one of the nobles used a lich to... well, you don't want to know. It was messy. In short, it... what was that?”
Her neck stretched as she peered over his head, straining to listen to whatever it was he heard over the noise of the docks. Damn, but elves had such sharp ears. “What did you hear?”
“Something that sounds important. We'd better go see what's going on.” Eddie led the way, crouching every so often behind barrels or crates. When she asked why he was skulking about like someone who wasn't supposed to be here, he only hushed her and hid behind yet another crate, whispering. “They're talking about Helseth. They wouldn't freely talk about him if someone was watching them. You know as well as I do the kinds of things he has done!”
Oh, she knew that, alright. Helseth was well known for his unsavory tactics in trying to take the throne of Wayrest after King Eadwyre's death. It seemed it was no coincidence that both King Llethan and his heir, Talen Vandas, died shortly after Helseth's arrival back in Mournhold either. “And let's not forget his sister and what she did to become queen of Firsthold!”
Then, finally, she heard the conversation. Two Dunmer women, from the sound of it, and they both sounded very worried. “A whole goblin army, he said! Goblins, in Mournhold! I wouldn't have believed it myself but I know that guard, he would never make up such a story!”
“What would he need a goblin army for?”
“Haven't you heard? Even Almalexia is at odds with him. She's grown so distant from even her own priests, shutting herself away for days upon days with only her personal guards seeing her. I've even heard that the Dark Brotherhood has been sighted in Mournhold!”
“You've got to be kidding. In Mournhold? They have some nerve, slipping in under the Morag Tong.”
“I can't believe Almalexia wouldn't know about this or worse, allow it. She's become so erratic anymore, it's frightening.”
The conversation slowly deviated away from the initial topics, losing the interest of their two watchers. Eddie and Laje-tal moved away just as stealthily as they had come, pausing to discuss what they overheard in the back of a small warehouse. Understandably, Eddie looked troubled. “It sounds like things in Mournhold have gone even further down since you came here. What is Helseth up to?”
She sighed. “It sounds like he's trying to sneak in as many things as possible under the Tribunal's nose. That, and Almalexia is even worse. I'll bet anything that her power is waning more, and she's in a panic. She has always been very serious about her role as one of Morrowind's three living gods. Helseth is likely using this distraction for all it's worth. Oh, I bet Barenziah is so worried.”
“If all of this is true, yes.”
“Oh, it's true. I'm sure of it.” Laje-tal shuddered, remembering Almalexia's stony gaze. “There is something terrible in Almalexia, I know it. When she looked at me, I felt my very core screaming at me, telling me the horrid things she has done.”
Although she had told him about the strange meeting before, he still didn't know what to think about it. Did she really have some sort of connection to someone's old memories, or had she been thrown into a hallucination by the scope of Almalexia's magic? If Laje-tal took in too much latent magicka, she would start to do some very odd things. “Do you need to come burn off some magicka?”
The slight scowl on her face perfectly matched her tone. “I'm not getting addled, I barely have any magic left after Aryon's lessons this morning. I have to do something!”
“Gods, Laje-tal, do what? What are you going to do from all the way out here in Vvardenfell? You're still in exile, you know. You don't even know if you'll be let back into so much as the Deshaan province, let alone Mournhold, even if you finish that project of yours.”
Eyes narrowed with the despair of helplessness, she sighed. “You're right. It's all I have, though. If I ever want to leave...” she paused. Her gaze slowly drifted to the docks, the sands, the town and tower. She thought about the people here she had come to know so well. She thought about Aryon, and found herself smiling. “No, I wouldn't leave everyone behind. Well, this project is important to the Queen. Maybe what I do here will be enough. Still, I can't help but want to go out there and see for myself.”
“You're impossible!” Eddie smiled, though, chuckling. “Ah but you wouldn't be you otherwise. Fulfilling the Nerevarine Prophecies is going to be dangerous, you know. On top of that, you're still very much needed in the house, and you know damn well Aryon will remind you of that.”
“I know. I don't intend to let him down.” Despite the danger, she felt strangely assured. It was illogical, but there was no fear when she considered going on with her quest. “I'm going to keep on with it, though. Prophecy aside, all of this has been very intriguing.”
At a loss, he only frowned. As much as he cared for her as a friend, he couldn't keep her from doing what she felt was right. “Don't get yourself killed. We haven't even thought out that plan to get your stronghold built without anyone knowing about you. Blast it all, come on, let's get back to the tower and see what we can think of. You're still crazy, but I suppose you can still be sane enough to contribute to this mess you've gotten yourself into.” Laje-tal smiled at his back as he passed, ever grateful for the ongoing support of her closest friend. He couldn't understand some of the things she felt or did, but he was there. Her heart felt all the lighter as they returned to the Tel, making a mental list of ideas.
Aryon scowled at the Dwemer centurion in his museum, fussing over the connecting wires and gears yet again. The damned thing still had incidents of suddenly moving about, though at least now it didn't go around attacking people at random. Smokeskin stood nearby, ready to intervene if the construct went wild. He cursed, struggling to reach one of the inner connections without having to remove the front plate. “Bah, where's that woman when I need her?” Laje-tal had left over a week ago with little mention of where she was going, but he had a hunch. She still had to complete tasks for the Urshilaku now that she wasn't broken and bleeding.
The construct whirred back to life, stoic and still. It still turned its head this way and that to acknowledge everyone present, but it didn't move. Yet. Nearby, Smokeskin let out a relieved sigh. “By the Hist, that thing was starting to get unnerving. When I found it in the privy, one must wonder!”
“At least it didn't wander onto the roof this time. I think I finally have it. Damn it all, I could really use a second opinion, though. I wish Laje-tal had left word on when she would be back.”
“Wasn't she going out to the other end of the island? It could be quite some time. Oh but she will love the story about the centurion! I can sense a title even now, the tale of the centurion's unbearable call of nature!”
Aryon groaned. “You're as bad as she is with your jokes.”
Moments later, almost as if the thought summoned her, Laje-tal entered the area looking exhausted and worn. She seemed nervous, her tail nearly tucked to her legs, arms close to her sides. When she saw them both working on the centurion, however, she managed a slight smile. “Is that thing wandering again? I thought we fixed that.”
“I thought so too, but who can tell anymore with these Dwemer things. Would you believe that Smokeskin found it in the privy this time?”
She chuckled. “Maybe it needed to take a leak!”
“Terrible, you are both terrible.” In spite of his frustration, he offered her a welcoming smile. Between the two of them, surely they could get things up and running again. When her smile faded, however, he grew more concerned. He suspected something had happened in her investigation of the Nerevarine prophecies, something they couldn't discuss here. “You look like you ran three times around the edge of the island! Why don't you go get some rest? I think I can manage the centurion, it seems stable for now.”
Laje-tal took the hint, excusing herself to his library. She was genuinely tired and would gladly do absolutely nothing until he came up to find her. The wait wasn't long, and she barely made it through a few pages of a book before Aryon came into the room. She stayed seated on the couch, her muscles aching too much to stand on ceremony. “You'll have to talk to me here, I don't think I can budge even a claw width like this.”
He muttered a slight huff before seating himself nearby, looking her over. Exhaustion aside, there was something else that seemed off. “You returned to the Urshilaku, then? What did they say?”
From her pack she removed a small sheaf of notes and handed them over. “This might explain things better than I can right now. It seems that I am not the Nerevarine, but I could become that. If I meet the right conditions, it seems I truly could fulfill this prophecy. By Azura, that wise woman of theirs is a real trove of information! You wouldn't believe how much of their history she has memorized! They write nothing down!”
Aryon took the notes eagerly, scanning the contents for a moment. “Fascinating!” All of the information she recorded took up several pages, all detailing information on the Nerevarine and the prophecies thought lost. Beside him, however, he couldn't help but notice her downcast eyes, her clasped hands. He leaned closer, trying to read her closed expression. “What's wrong?”
Her gaze thoughtful and cautious, she related what was troubling her. “I had a dream last night, different from all of the others. It started out in a similar way, where I saw a man in a golden mask. I knew him, I thought, and in the dream I said his name. I called him Voryn Dagoth, and asked him to remove his mask so we could greet each other as friends. Everything around the dream shifted into a swirl of colors, and suddenly I saw him about to slay a Dwemer man, a flood of lava all around us. Just like that, I woke up. It felt so very real, I could feel the heat of the lava, a different hand holding my raised sword, the weight of heavy armor. I was there just as I am here now.”
Perplexed, he frowned, trying to make sense of what was going on. The Nerevarine Prophecy had been around for such a long time that many stopped believing it to be true. All that existed now for the greater populace was the blight, corprus disease, a slowly failing Tribunal and equally failing hope. The line between what was true and false was impossible to draw. Even with it all laid out in front of him like this, he had no idea what to believe. All he learned until now may be proven to have been lies. Without thinking he laid a hand on her shoulder, though now she didn't shy away from his touch. “Do you really think you could be the Nerevarine?”
“Even Caius is starting to believe I could do this. He may have been guiding my steps in the process, but he too didn't know whether to believe it. This all sounded so stupid at first, I figured I would just find out some information the Imperials wanted and that would be the end of it. Between these dreams and that time I met Almalexia, I feel like there is more to this prophecy than old Ashlander stories.”
“You didn't tell me the part about Almalexia.”
“I wasn't sure if it meant all that much until recently. When I met her, I felt like I already knew her, and had for a very long time. I had only just met her, of course, but there was a part of myself that seemed to reach out and force me to look at her, to acknowledge what she had done. Now I wonder if maybe I am being guided by something, or perhaps someone. As chancy as the Daedra are, Azura has always been known to help those who follow her. If a Nerevarine is necessary, I don't doubt she would make it happen. Whether I'm needed, who can say? Am I Nerevar Incarnate or am I just someone who will pave the way for one who is?”
Torn between offering some sort of reassurance or getting up to pace nervously, he was frozen in place by uncertainty. He had no answers, no advice. All he could do was question. “What is next on this path?”
She chuckled at his straightforward manner. “Next is to investigate a disturbance in Gnaar Mok. Caius received word that a Sixth House base may be there and I need to take care of it. The tentative plan I worked out with Eddie is to enchant my clothing with a chameleon spell, and hide away from as many ash spawn as possible. Felen Maryon in Tel Branora is quite the conjurer. He taught me how to summon winged twilights, so having strong souls for the soul gems won't be an issue.”
Aryon relaxed slightly, using humor to dissolve the tension. “Oh, so now you're getting other Telvanni to teach you?”
“I never agreed to anything exclusive,” she replied with a grin. “Baladas and I often trade research notes on the Dwemer, too. Try not to get too jealous.”
He feigned dismay but just as quickly returned her grin. “I'm glad you're finding other resources, honestly. Soon, you're not going to need my help anymore, and you'll have to find your own way. Once you have a good cover for building your stronghold and you get everything settled, you will be on your way to taking Gothren down if that's your goal. I will be glad to consider you one of the council even if you choose not to remove him.”
“I still intend to,” she stated. “I think I also have a plan for the stronghold. I'm quite good with illusions, as you know, and I was considering disguising myself at times while I am here, making myself look like a Dunmer woman. You could claim my other self is the new wizard in the house, and she is the one building the stronghold. I would choose a Dunmer name that still has my same initials, so that when I sign papers, I can initial them as I normally would. When I go to challenge Gothren, I will do so as my real self and reveal the truth. It will be too late to stop me then.”
“Not bad, actually. Yes... yes, I can see that working. We could invite a few crucial people to come by to meet the fake wizard and count on them to spread the word. Put in a few appearances, make a show of constructing the stronghold, and everyone might well forget my ah... how did you put it, my exotic maid?” He laughed. “Oh it's good, it just might work. Do you have an illusion already planned? I'd better be certain you look the part.”
“I suppose I could be bothered to show you,” she said with feigned aggravation. Slowly she rose from the couch, mustering up the energy. “Eddie and I worked on this one for a good hour or two, I'd better be acceptable!” With a blast of light and warping air, her form slowly shifted to that of a shorter Dunmer woman, skin a medium gray and bold, dark red hair. Her illusory hair was pulled back into a rough bun, common for mages who had little patience for intricate hairstyles. The face she chose fit well, with arched brows and a determined look. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at him haughtily. “Well, what do you want, outlander? You're wasting my very valuable time and I have had enough of your insolence!”
At her very perfect impression of a frustrated Telvanni, he couldn't help but laugh even harder. “A bit too much Neloth, don't you think?”
“Ah, yes, maybe a bit. How about this?” She changed her posture, drawing herself up tall and proud. “I'll have you know I am the daughter of a very influential man, and I will not have one such as you infecting the air around me with your incompetence!”
“Oh now you sound just like those wretched women from the cantons, it's perfect! Yes, I think this is just right!” He rose from his seat as well, taking a look at her form from every angle, inspecting the quality of the illusion. “Excellent casting, I wouldn't know this to be an illusion if you hadn't told me.” When he came back to look at her face, now seeming so very far down with the reduced height, he frowned. The casting had been perfect, but it still felt so very wrong to see her that way. She just didn't look right as a Dunmer. “Don't get too carried away with this,” he advised. “Don't forget your real self and who you are. You are the one I want to see succeed, not this... whoever this is.”
“Lenassa Tenavvi.”
“Bah, you've even named it already. It's a good enough name, I suppose. It fits.” Even still he couldn't help but be bothered by her new look, her red eyes, pointed ears, and ash gray skin. “Ugh, would you put that illusion away? I hate it.”
She dismissed the form with another shimmer of magic, going back to her natural form. Worried, she considered what she could have done. “What's wrong? Did something look amiss? Did I forget to add something?”
“No, it... it's too perfect, I suppose. You looked... I don't know, not like you!”
“That's the point, of course.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” With a sigh he looked at her again, relieved to see her scales and horns in the glow of the fire. “It works, anyway. Nobody would think it was you, if you look and act like that. You might even be able to use that disguise if you need to get yourself out of a bad situation, perhaps escaping the Temple once you are known to be chasing the Nerevarine prophecies.”
She scoffed. “I could also use it to avoid Argonians! Nobody can stare at my tail if I don't have one!”
Perplexed, he wondered at the question that had been plaguing him for some time. Why was it that everywhere she went, every Argonian around would stare at her tail? It didn't seem all that interesting to him. “I really don't understand why they do it in the first place. They have tails too, what does it matter?”
“Ah, well, you know how people are. If someone has an obvious burn on their face, or they're missing a limb or are otherwise lop-sided, they will stare. I can't help that my pattern is wrong, that's what happens when you take too much Hist sap when you're growing up.”
He sat back down abruptly. Gods, but it felt like a headache was about to form. “What in all of Tamriel are you talking about?”
“Argonians need Hist sap at least twice in their lives, once when they hatch and again when they are on the verge of becoming a man or woman. Master Calcelmo found some Hist sap well enough, but he had no idea what sort of dose to give. He ended up giving me far more than I should have had, and my pattern grew into an asymmetrical mess. It's also why I'm overly tall and have been gawked at even by those not of my kind. Certain areas grew in a way that appeals to them.”
He had the grace to not acknowledge the areas she mentioned, but now he did take a good look at her tail, noticing that she did indeed have an asymmetrical black pattern of ragged lines running rampant over her skin. “It's better than that illusion.”
“You really hate that thing, don't you?” she asked with a laugh. “You're going to have to get used to it, I am looking forward to starting my stronghold.”
“Ah, that's right, I nearly forgot!” Suddenly he rose to his feet, nearly upsetting the small stack of books on a nearby table in his haste. He removed a wrapped bundle of cloth from atop a storage shelf, handing it to her with care. “I had this made up for you. I can't have you running about looking like a commoner, now that you're a true wizard.”
Curious, she undid the wrapping, a long mage's robe unfurling from its rolled form. It was dyed in the earthy browns of the house, and designed in the same manner. Much like his own robes, it was accompanied by a long flap in the front emblazoned with the symbol of House Telvanni. She held it to herself, noting that it was the correct length. “Ah, thank you, it's perfect!”
“Are you content with just staring at it?”
She laughed. “Hardly.” The robe slipped easily over her current clothing, overlaying the plain tunic and pants. It had a front enclosure instead of a closed neck, as well as a slit up the back to allow her to move her tail freely. Ease of use had clearly been a priority over appearance, but she thought she looked very much the part of a Telvanni councilor now. She turned about to glance at the back in the light, the hem skirting perfectly above her long claws. “Fits quite well, I'd say. How do I look?”
As he looked at the way the shades of brown complemented her own dark brown scales, he was struck by how well it suited her. She looked more confident, perhaps even proud. Well, he thought, she should be proud. She had worked hard over the past several months to get where she was. Both of them had. Aryon came close, glad to see the joy in her eyes. “It looks damned well better on you than it will on that blasted Lenassa.”
“Alright, alright, I get it! I won't use Lenassa if I don't have to!”
“Good.” Without thinking he reached out to straighten her collar, the backs of his fingers brushing lightly against her neck. He felt her skin shift as she took in a sudden breath, her eyes widening slightly at the unexpected move. She didn't pull away, standing so very still. When he pulled away, she managed a small murmur of thanks before excusing herself to her room, leaving him there to wonder what had just happened. In the confusion he hadn't noticed that his heart had started to race, sending a surge of energy through his veins. Why? How could something so simple lead to this? He sat back down on the couch, watching the flames in the fireplace as they raged on, so very similar to his sudden turmoil.
Chapter Text
Upon waking in the early morning, before the overnight fog even had time to clear, Laje-tal hastened to leave Tel Vos. Everyone was still asleep, and she didn't want to have to greet anyone on her way out. If something happened, she didn't want a morose departure in the fog to be the last thing anyone remembered. Why that was, she couldn't fathom. All she could think of was the look in Aryon's eyes the evening before, an abnormal vulnerability present in his gaze.
She used a spell of divine intervention to transport herself directly to Sadrith Mora, just outside the Imperial chapel at Wolverine Hall. The cool stone under her feet signaled her arrival, the damp, crisp fog rolling around her form. Absently she smoothed down the front of her new Telvanni robes, contemplating what little she could see of Sadrith Mora in the fog. Now might be a fair enough time for Lenassa to make an appearance. Her visible form shifted, the illusory Dunmer coming out in her robes. When she looked down at herself, the small gray hands and more petite form wearing her clothes, she wondered if she looked as strange as she felt.
There was a bit of time to waste before the mid-morning boat left for Ebonheart. For a moment she wondered what had become of Jiub, the peculiar man who accompanied her on the boat to Vvardenfell. He was taken on from Seyda Neen to Ebonheart for some reason or another. There had been a rumor running about that he was on a crusade to kill cliff-racers, but nobody was sure whether to believe that. Still, she wouldn't complain if someone killed cliff-racers, and she doubted anyone else would, either.
Laje-tal stood as tall as her shorter illusion could, adopting the self-important walk of a pretentious Telvanni mage as she made haste for the Telvanni side of the city. Imperials looked at her as she passed but she snubbed them with a glare or a haughty huff. Lenassa wouldn't deal with the likes of them. She graciously greeted any Telvanni she met, introducing her fake self to merchants and service providers as she pretended to peruse their items for sale. The Telvanni council house was her next stop, and she made quite a show of her magical prowess and told a wild tale of how she had come to be the very promising student of Master Aryon. The tale wasn't overly embellished, just enough to get their interest, but personally she found it ridiculous.
After putting in an appearance at the central tower in Sadrith Mora as well, keeping well away from those who might see through her illusion, she finally exited the main section of the isle, heaving a sigh of relief. With any luck, they would be talking about Lenassa soon. She boarded the mid-morning boat for Ebonheart just in time, still disguised. It would be necessary now to obtain the proper documentation to start her stronghold, and she would need to petition Duke Dren himself for it. While the Duke wasn't against foreigners, his brother most certainly was. The foul state of the slaves on Dren plantation and the rumors of his ties to the Camonna Tong crime lords was more than enough to prove that. She scowled at the thought.
On the long voyage from Sadrith Mora to Ebonheart, Laje-tal took the time to read over her notes and edit them. Her journal had become very full with all that had been happening lately, and her notes were all but spilling out of it. After a while, however, she was again drawn to the sight of the strange hands of Lenassa in the sleeves of her new robes. She remembered the accidental touch of Aryon's fingers on her neck, sending a slight shiver down her spine just as it had then. What happened? There was no reason for such a simple, practical touch to bring about a strange, involuntary reaction like that. He had often made contact with her in their lessons and spars, why was this any different?
The memory of the men who had tried to lure her into willing or unwilling sexual acts made her shudder. She recalled their lustful eyes and leering grins. Was that it? Did he, too, somehow want to use her? He certainly behaved differently about it, if that was the case. He hadn't tried to pursue when she backed away, didn't say anything to try to draw her in. If anything, he had seemed just as uncertain about the situation as herself. Perhaps it had all been an accident, brought on by the excitement of all that was soon to come. Aryon did sometimes get carried away when everything was going particularly well. She sighed. Maybe she was being silly about all of this. Why would someone of his kind be interested, anyway? While the Telvanni were quite well known for being eccentric, this sort of thing was unheard of. Perhaps she was only feeling overly grateful to him for the opportunities he had opened up for her. Absently she looked out the small window, watching as the scenery changed.
The industrious, Imperial city of Ebonheart was in sight just after the noon meal, boats and stout gondolas loading and unloading cargo and people. Laje-tal tucked away her notes, thoughts returning to the task at hand. She needed to focus to maintain her illusion; it sure wouldn't do to suddenly change form in front of the Grand Duke. Once the boat was safely docked, she stepped out onto the smooth stone-paved streets, still unsettled by the way her feet looked upon it. Lenassa was going to take some getting used to. Her wide, three-toed feet were still technically there in reality and she couldn't trust her sight to guide her steps on this unfamiliar terrain, nor how she would now have to turn as if she didn't have a tail.
That brought up another thought. No matter what, she had to be absolutely sure nobody touched her. The illusion, while quite realistic, would not cover up the texture of her skin or the shape of her body. With any luck there would be no need for anyone to make contact, but she was still in a city she had been in only once before – and had been chased out of. She tucked her tail down close to her legs, hands clasped in front as she walked past the enormous, twisted black dragon statue and through the bustling East Empire Company warehouses. Ebonheart was the heart of the Company in Vvardenfell, the trading coming in and out making it also the economic center of the small continent. That also meant it was extremely busy and full of people, so she summoned a magical ward around herself on top of the illusion to hopefully deter others away. Would Lenassa do something like this? It didn't seem implausible.
After getting lost once due to bad directions, she finally found her way back to the Grand Council building, in which she became lost again. The Council building had an odd layout to its Imperial structure, rife with towers that just led to dead ends with only a flat top for sentries. Finally she found the Duke's audience chamber and she held back a sigh of relief. That was terrible. She entered the chamber swiftly, back straight and head high. Lenassa would come in here as if she owned the place.
The Grand Duke was a rather imposing Dunmer in his nearly full suit of ebony armor, only the helm left aside. His Imperial guards were a stark contrast in pale steel, the finest sort of men that her fellow caravan guards had aspired to be. Her first inclination was to be forthright with the Duke and simply state her business as it was, but she pushed the thought down. No, she needed to be as unlike an Imperial as possible. She should be more like that annoying battlemage from Sadrith Mora. Her approach was slow and deliberate, as if she had simply wandered into the place on a lark, seeming to only now notice that the Duke was present.
“Why would you look at that, if it isn't the Grand Duke himself!” she said with her best mainland accent. “I dare say, I had meant to drop by one of these days to properly introduce myself, but I have been far too busy with my very extensive research. The work of the Telvanni is never over, as I'm sure you're well aware.”
As hoped the Duke noticed her accent right away, frowning at her tone. “Indeed. Why is it that you have come to petition an audience, outlander? I have many pressing matters to attend to.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose, I suppose. Very well. I have been advised by my patron that I should inquire after a construction contract to permit my stronghold to be built. He is of the opinion that Uvirith's Grave is a proper site for the new tower and I am well prepared to pay whatever fee is necessary for it.”
“I don't take bribes, child. I'm not even sure I should give you a contract. I require something far more valuable than money for such a thing. Too many problems threaten this land, and unless you have the intent of aiding my people, you will not get one.”
Inwardly she was a little moved by his words, glad that the Duke had a genuine concern for his lands and people. For a moment her mask dropped slightly and she smiled. “I will do what good I can for the welfare of Vvardenfell.” Then, realizing she had slipped out of her role, she added, “I'm sure a few blight and disease curing potions can be given out to the poor and needy.”
Duke Vedam Dren was hardly impressed, but he did concede with a slight nod. “If you will hold true to your word, then consider it done.” From a nearby desk he withdrew a contract template, filling in the few extra things needed for the area she mentioned. So much had been built in Vvardenfell over the past few years that he needed to have these templates already drawn and on hand. He handed over the completed form warily. “See to it you do as you say you will. I will be watching you.”
She offered a nod of gratitude, accepting the papers. “You will have no trouble from me. Farewell.” With that she departed as languidly as she came, trying not to seem in a hurry. Inside, however, she was rather mad at herself. Gods, why didn't she practice more with her character? It had been so easy to work over the people in Sadrith Mora she knew so well, but she would have to be more cautious when dealing with those who may not receive a pompous Telvanni very well. Once out of sight of anyone else, she magically sent off the contract and two filled grand soul gems to Eddie, along with a note to turn it in to Llunela Hleran, the woman in charge of stronghold construction. With any luck that preliminary step could be on its way to being done when she returned - if she returned.
Gnaar Mok was a very sorry looking scrap of a town, a collection of worn down wooden shacks and one lone Hlaalu manor. As was often the case, the people of this small town were wary of outsiders, but after a bit of persuasion they told her about the peculiar activities that had been going on in the area. Naturally, strange noises had been heard around the entrance to the cave, unusual smells coming from things better left unmentioned. The wet, fetid nature of the swamp made smells like that even worse, and approaching the cavern with her strong sense of smell had been nearly unbearable.
She was nearly invisible, her carefully layered enchantments working together to cloak her from sight. The darkness of the inner caverns worked in her favor, her talons silent against the floor as she crept along. A low, deep thrum of chanting echoed through one of the caverns. Dunmer men and women, hypnotized by the magics of the Sixth House, paced through the caves, all wandering entirely in the nude. A pair of gray ash slaves grumbled over an arrangement of stolen chairs.
While the technique of stealth may have been viewed as dishonorable by some, it was also practical. There was no sense wasting energy on an unnecessary battle, especially when her goal was only to eliminate Dagoth Gares. Invisible, she could focus on navigating the confusing mess of tunnels and find her way to the center of the base. After a few false turns, she found evidence of an actual shrine. Black and red cairns burned with intense heat and light, ash statue pillars placed at even intervals. An ash ghoul nearby took a moment to kneel and venerate the shrine, seemingly unaware of her presence. Her heart nearly lurched in her throat as his eyes met hers, so very close as she crept near to lay a blow on him. No, he had been watching her. He knew about her all along.
Laje-tal abruptly returned from her investigation of Ilunibi in her usual burst of magic, though she felt a little more tired than usual, the strength seeming to have left her muscles. The back of her neck itched somewhat, but she managed to escape the cavern relatively unscathed, Dagoth Gares eliminated and the area near Gnaar Mok fairly quiet. She was again grateful that she had chosen the option of a stealth investigation, given the quantity of ash creatures that were in the caverns. All she wanted now was a good rest, and she wasn't quite prepared for the eager greeting Eddie met her with.
“Welcome back!” He rushed in her direction with an exuberance that only made her more tired, though he caught on to her exhaustion quickly and ushered her to a nearby chair. “You'd better sit down, you look about as drained as my jug of sujamma. I think you'll be excited to see what Aryon has put together!” He peered at her, concerned. “Are you alright?”
She shot him a halfhearted glare. “Eddie, I have had an exhausting couple days. I paraded Lenassa around Sadrith Mora like the Queen at a festival, kept a high level illusion up through that and all of Ebonheart, then I cleared out a Sixth House base. The spells I used to maintain stealth in that very long set of caverns were very draining. I'm quite alright, I just need rest! What is all of this?” Before her was a generous stack of papers, all listing materials and staff rosters.
“Aryon will be back shortly, he's just in town delivering potions. I promised I wouldn't ruin the surprise, though if you figure it out on your own I'm in the clear! I didn't say I wouldn't stop you!”
Curiosity won out over exhaustion, and she couldn't help but be encouraged by his excitement. She took a paper from the stack, scanning over its contents. “All of this can't be for Tel Vos. Is this-?”
“Wait, wait! I think he's coming back.” He took the paper and shifted it back into the stack just before Aryon came into the living area. Aryon instantly brightened when he saw that Laje-tal had returned, approaching with a much calmer greeting.
“I see that your friend has done little to prevent the surprise being ruined for you. I...” He paused, uncertain of his feelings. Despite all he had done to throw himself into his work after she left, he hadn't been able to erase the memory of what happened before her departure. “I took the liberty of arranging the requisitions for your stronghold.”
Excited, she looked over the papers and the propositions for the development of the site. All of the listings of items seemed sound, and included a few things she hadn't thought of. She rose, facing him with a bright smile. “You didn't!”
Her smile was infectious and he found himself joining in. “I did. Everything will be arranged as soon as the signing is complete. It will take a fair few days to start the growth of the tower, so there is still time to make adjustments if necessary.”
“I'm certain you would know what is needed, but I will look it over. I can't begin to tell you how relieved I am that this is taken care of. I'm so exhausted I don't think I could even begin a list right now.” She moved to take the plans to her room when suddenly the room spun out of control, her senses failing her as she faltered and started to fall. Thankfully Eddie was close enough to reach out and steady her back on her feet, his concern plain in his tone.
“You've gone and overdone it again. Leave the lists for tomorrow, you need to get yourself straight to bed!”
Something was wrong. She could feel it. An abnormal strength came over her and she broke away from him, hands clutching at her aching head. Aryon started to reach for her but in a brief fit of madness she swiped at him with her claws, leaving a slash on his left arm just deep enough to make him bleed. Horrified, she withdrew, groaning as the malady made her fall to her knees in distress, fighting her will to overcome it. "No! Stay away!” What was happening? How could she have done such a thing?
Aryon approached her, troubled and wary. “What's wrong? Is it your magic?”
Behind her Eddie backed away, pointing at her as his face paled. “By Azura! Get away from her! Look at the back of her neck, she has corprus!”
“What?” He swore under his breath, coming around close enough to see that indeed, she had the beginning stages of the flesh-deforming corprus disease. It was something he had witnessed frequently in his studies at Tel Fyr. “Damn it all. We'd better get her to my old master right away before she infects anyone.”
“Aryon... you're bleeding.”
In the confusion he hadn't noticed the trivial scratch but now he looked at his arm, the mark bleeding slightly. A cold, sinking feeling punched through him, knowing what this might mean. Nobody could cure corprus. All who caught it died or became a mad, hulking beast of rotting flesh. That fate could very well be the fate of them both now. “She got me. I'd better go with her, in case I've been infected too. I don't... can you manage Vos in the meantime? You didn't touch her skin, did you?”
“No, no, just her outer clothes. I can handle things here as long as needed, but what if...” Eddie trailed off, not wanting to say what they both knew could happen.
What if, indeed. He had always been so careful when he trained under Divayth Fyr, never making contact with the patients and using proper hygiene. He never worried much about getting infected, especially since Fyr himself had gone for so many years without incident. Now, not even close to the corprusarium or the monsters who carried the disease, he might ironically fall victim to it. “If the worst happens, it's unavoidable. Tel Vos would have to be left in other hands.”
Laje-tal stirred from her prone position on the floor, her eyes wide with fear and remorse. “Aryon, I am so sorry. It came over me in a flash, I didn't know what I was doing. I never touched any of those creatures, or anyone with the disease. I didn't even come close. I don't know how I could have...” She froze, the memory of her exploits in Ilunibi coming to mind. “It must have been Dagoth Gares. The last thing he said was that even as his master wills, I shall come to him, in his flesh and of his flesh. I had no idea what he meant by that, but maybe this was it.”
With a frown Aryon crouched next to her, looking into her fevered gaze. “I know you wouldn't have harmed me willingly. The corprus disease is known to make people mad, irrational and violent. I also know that you would have taken every precaution not to catch the disease. It must have to do with the Nerevarine Prophecy. Those notes you took on the Seven Visions stated one of the signs was that the curse of flesh before him flies, and blight nor age may harm him. All who are infected by corprus can't be afflicted with any disease or poison, and the infected are immortal if they are not killed by an outside force. If this curse of flesh is to fly from you, it must signify that it could be cured. Either way, the best thing we can do is to see Divayth Fyr immediately. If anyone can help us, he can.”
“You could die from this!”
“I know, but worrying about it won't help. We must go now while the symptoms are first appearing. Early treatment might just be the key and we'd better get there while we still have our minds.” He held out his hand to help her up. “This is the best chance we have.”
She shook her head. “I will go, I know it's all we can do, but let's not take chances. If you're still not infected, I won't risk coming in contact with you or touching anything else in here. Eddie...” Now she turned to face her old friend, torn. “Two lights pass down the path, mine and yours. I cannot follow, but you can carry it with you.”
Eddie looked distraught, arms crossed tight over his chest, red brows drawn sharply. It was an old saying shared among the Lamps for slaves and agents lost. “The light will guide another.”
Aryon rose to look over a nearby low stone platform, an intricate design carved into its surface. There was little time to waste. He withdrew a few filled soul gems from a shelf overhead, humming in thought. “I believe I can still connect to his Tel. It's been a while since I've aimed it at Tel Fyr but I'll bet he still keeps his rune just as I have.” The soul gems were inserted into key slots on the edges, the etching glowing a faint blue as it activated. He sighed. “That should do it, I think. Laje-tal, you'd better go first so I can maintain the spell.”
“Alright,” she agreed, stepping onto the platform without looking back. She couldn't look back. Instead she waited for the magic to transport her to Tel Fyr, managing a few steps forward into the tower before falling weakly to her knees again. Moments later, Aryon appeared, hesitating to come near when she waved him back. “I'm fine enough, but I don't think I can levitate up to Fyr's study. I don't trust myself to not attack him, either. Could you go up and tell him what happened?”
He backed away, worried, as her breaths came in harsh rasps, her tail starting to contort at an unnatural angle. “I will. Just lay there and rest, I'll see if he can come down to you.”
Her only response was a strangled groan, her throat clenching and heart racing. If she were able to sweat, she supposed she would be in a veritable puddle of it by now. The minutes seemed to drag on like hours, the foul disease tearing through her insides. After it raged for a time, the pain started to subside, leaving her to try to sit back up. When had she started to lay down? Everything was a blur. Weak and confused she tried to stand, making it to her feet just as Aryon and Fyr came down from the upper study. Aryon looked pale and worried. She couldn't manage a step, and waited until they came close. “I'm sorry I can't offer you a proper greeting, Wizard.”
Divayth Fyr was the only person she had ever seen in nearly complete Daedric armor, only the helm missing. His hair was white with age, his face worn and creased. Nobody knew how old he was but all agreed he was the eldest of the Telvanni. He ignored her lack of greeting, instead looking over her skin and eyes. “A clear case of the divine disease for both of you, though in your case the symptoms are more sudden. Well. It can be variable. Were your eyes always that color? I do seem to remember you but it escapes me.”
Aryon, subdued by his diagnosis, spoke quietly. “She is my student, the one I have written to you about.”
“Is that so? How peculiar. That does explain the clothing. As you know, this disease is quite incurable. You are welcome to stay in the corprusarium, but of course I will study you. Tell me, though, how did you come upon the disease? An infected creature? Another victim?”
Laje-tal stood steadily now, her strength returning. “I was investigating the Nerevarine prophecies.” She hesitated and glanced at Aryon, who gave her a slight nod. Yes, she had better be completely forthcoming in her information. “I was sent to Vvardenfell in hopes of fulfilling that prophecy and becoming the Nerevarine. As an outlander with unknown parents, I met some of the conditions and the Imperials seemed to think I might be a fair candidate to fulfill the rest. Apparently I'm doing quite a good job of it so far.”
He laughed, hand to his chin in thought. “Indeed, the Ashlanders do say that the Nerevarine would be immune to disease. I often wondered if one of my patients might be the Nerevarine! Can you imagine? Well, maybe you are, maybe you're having delusions, who can say? I suppose...” He paused as he looked them both over. “Hm. I do have a potion I have been wanting to test on early cases. In theory, it should cure you, but so far it hasn't worked on anyone. All dead, what a waste. Still, at this point, you have nothing to lose. You're welcome to try the potion, though I insist you first visit the Corprusarium and understand what may become of you if you don't take it. Aryon knows his way around and I'm sure he will show you about the caverns. Oh, almost forgot.” From a nearby chest he withdrew a set of Dwemer boots, handing them to her. “While you're there, have Yagrum Bagarn look at these and see if he can repair them. Do that for me and we can talk about the potion.”
Aryon took the boots instead, the heavy armor not something he wanted her burdened with. “We will do so, Master. Thank you.” He led the way down the tunnels of the tower to the lower levels, only pausing to speak with her once they were well away from prying ears. “I hope you aren't too put off by his manners, he's not much for socializing when he has his head in a project.”
She only followed after him with a huff, more concerned about making it to the corprusarium. “Not at all. A blunt manner can sometimes be refreshing. I'm hardly any better when I'm too focused on my research to be bothered, either. Who is Yagrum Bagarn?”
“Ah, I think you will like him. He is the last living Dwemer.”
Unconvinced, she mustered the energy to give him a sidelong look. “A Dwemer? The same as the Dwemer who all disappeared? How did that happen?”
“The very same,” he agreed, no levity in his tone. “He was in another plane, possibly an Oblivion plane, at the time of the disappearance. Apparently the incident only affected Mundus, so he was spared. He's had corprus for a very long time now, longer than anyone else. He's actually the person who inspired my master to start researching the disease to try finding a cure. Nothing has helped much, but he hasn't been hurt by any of the experiments as far as I know. He has been a real trove of information and was very patient with all of my questions. There are a few other people, Fyr's... ah, well, I suppose daughters is the correct term for them. It's a long story. He also has an Argonian warden, he's a decent enough sort.”
Beside him she was quiet, listening to him talk about the history of the tower, a few amusing or interesting incidents that happened, how adventurers often came to plunder the tower's treasures and other such notable stories. It did little to ease her raging guilt, knowing that he was now also afflicted with this horrid disease. She couldn't bear the thought of him turning into one of those monsters because of her. “Aryon, please wait. I can't...” When a bout of weakness took over, she grabbed his arm, her grip light but firm. He turned to face her, his eyes clouded with resignation. He, too, seemed to be just as conflicted about their situation.
“I know. It's alright. I assumed many risks when I accepted you as my student and when I agreed to help you with the Nerevarine prophecies. I did not go into this entirely naïve and foolish. There's nothing either of us can say that will make this problem any better. Let me do what little I can to make the time we have left easier.”
She didn't release her hold on his arm, the steady support comforting. “Very well. I have a particularly good story about a scamp and a kagouti who were seen playing with a noble man's chair. The man was using it at the time, however!”
“Now that one has to be a lie.”
“It's true, ten of us in the caravan saw it happen on the outskirts of Narsis. That man was hanging on for dear life to that chair as they threw him back and forth! We helped him, of course, but oh did everyone laugh about it in the bar that night! Barenziah tried looking rather offended at the whole mess but I could tell she was laughing on the inside.”
Aryon listened on with a slight smile, encouraged by her acceptance. Despair and misery was not how he wanted to spend the last of his sane moments, and it was unknown how much time they may have. Corprus could kill within a single day if it progressed wildly enough, or thousands of years as it had with Yagrum. The potion might kill them outright. He personally resolved to accept it, already knowing what awaited if he didn't. Finally they reached the lowest level, their progress slow due to Laje-tal's recurring shakes. She still held to his arm to keep steady, and he worried at how quickly the disease was passing through her. “Will you be able to make it back up after we've looked around?”
“I don't know,” she replied honestly. “It keeps coming in waves and I don't know when the next will come. I will try.”
“Alright. Once we get past the gate I will need to cast invisibility so the creatures on the first floor won't attack. They're particularly hostile and have been known to swarm in groups. Yagrum is on the lowest level, where all of the better cases are. Just don't harm them and they won't harm you. Don't kill anyone or Fyr will never help either of us ever again!”
“I doubt I could harm a rat in this condition. Don't worry, I will stay by your side and do as you do.”
Through a short cavern stood the rough but sturdy wooden gate separating the area from the various corprus beasts ahead. On attendance was the Argonian warden Aryon had spoken with quite a few times during his studies, and he offered the man a friendly smile. “Well, Vistha-Kai, it finally happened. I've got the disease. Mind letting us in?” Beside him Laje-tal's grip on him tightened, her horns lowered in Vistha-Kai's direction.
The other man grinned in recognition, moving to unlock the gate. “It was only a matter of time, eh? Who is your friend?”
Laje-tal made a noise he had never heard from her before, somewhere between a low growl and a hiss. He tried his best to save face. “I'm sorry, she's a bit farther gone into the disease than I am. She is my student and we need to see Yagrum straight away. Excuse us.” With haste he led them both through the gate, casting invisibility over them both as they winded through the outer caverns and into the lower level. Only when they were safe and visible did he turn to look at her, concerned that she had slipped farther into the madness. “Are you alright? You look fevered.”
Thankfully she settled down somewhat, though she still clutched his arm tightly. “I'm sorry, he looked just like... never mind. I'm fine.”
Unconvinced, he frowned. “Are you sure? This disease can cause all sorts of mad delusions and visions. One moment you are yourself, the next you're a cliff-racer with a purple wig dancing on tables! If you start seeing things, it-”
“Stop,” she interrupted. “There are only visions of a dead man. He's dead, he's dead and buried in the field next to Dro'Jelan, under the crooked tree that bent when it rained.”
“Who...” He paused, suddenly realizing who she meant. Dro'Jelan was a slave she had mentioned before, and Vistha-Kai might have resembled the Argonian man who had tried to force her, the one she then killed. “Yes, he is dead, you killed him yourself.” No matter what, he needed to keep her calm. They couldn't risk the consequences even if the disease was what caused her violence. “Even a necromancer wouldn't bother with the likes of him now.”
After a moment her grip loosened, a slight huff breaking the silence. “He would make a hideous thrall.” She followed along quietly, grateful for his perception and understanding. Perhaps she was indeed being delusional, because the sight of Vistha-Kai sent her memories straight back to that horrid mine. “Gods, does he look just like Mular-Da, though. Smokeskin looks nothing alike, Skink only somewhat, but Vistha-Kai? They are so alike they could have been brothers.”
At a loss, he remained silent as they crossed the cavern. Now, unexpectedly, there was a name and face to attach to the man who had caused so much pain to his fellow slaves. Whether that was something that mattered, he couldn't tell. He wasn't even sure why she told him. Slowly they approached the inner area where Yagrum resided, the nearby corprus creatures wandering aimlessly. A well-stocked book shelf stood near, and several comfortable cushions were scattered about for guests. Food and drink seemed to have just been brought in and the smell was enticing. What caught Laje-tal's sight, however, was Yagrum himself.
If one were courteous, they would describe Yagrum as heavily modified. His lower body was nearly gone, replaced by a Dwemer spider contraption that he seemed to be able to control. While he wasn't as disfigured as some, he still showed severe signs of skin lesions and bloating. What was left of him didn't tell much about what others of his kind used to look like, though he met them with a kind smile. “Well if it isn't Master Aryon. I assume those boots are for me to take a look at?”
Aryon handed over the boots, glad to have the heavy things out of the way. “That, and we may well be joining you here for a while.” He showed the scratch on his left arm, the area now red and actively deteriorating. “If that new potion Fyr wants to try doesn't kill us, at least.”
“Oh dear. I did often worry that one of us might spread the disease to you.” He pulled at his long gray and white beard in thought, looking over the other person who had come along. Honestly he had no idea what to make of a strange Argonian in Telvanni clothing. “I see your companion is faring worse. I will try to make this inspection as quick for you as possible, unless you have any questions.”
Laje-tal managed to speak, though she wasn't sure how she found the strength as a wave of weakness washed over her. “I doubt I could even stay conscious for as long as my questions would take, never mind the answers. I hate to be rude, but I would rather this be over with.”
“Understandable. Well, these boots do look rather terrible, I don't think there is much I can do for it.” He inspected the core where the primary enchantment was supposed to be, the region cracked and broken beyond saving. “The enchantment on this piece is irreparable, a technique I couldn't replicate even with the best equipment. The boots themselves are worn in a few places that are concerning. I could break this down into its base metal, but there is nothing more I can do for it. Please send Fyr my regrets.”
The floor seemed to fall from underneath her as Aryon moved to retrieve the boots, her grip on his arm gone when her extremities went numb. There were voices around her but she couldn't hear what they said, muffled noises ringing through her head. It all returned in a surge when someone turned her onto her back, Aryon's voice cutting through the fog. “Gods, Laje-tal, I hope you can forgive me for this.” Strong hands lifted her up from the ground, arms under her legs and back as she was shifted into a better position. What smelled of charred wood and black anther? She blearily opened her eyes to see that she was being held, her nose nearly against Aryon's robes. Well, that explained the smell. Everything fell into a blur, her mind only vaguely aware of their passage through the tower, lost within the constant back and forth pulsations of weakness and agony.
Someone held her face in their hands, speaking. What were they saying? They touched her brow, her hand. Her mouth was held open to take in a liquid, the sweet taste clear and refreshing. Whatever it was seemed to have the effect needed, restoring her enough to open her eyes and hear what was being said. She was on the floor of Fyr's study, watched over by Fyr, Aryon and Vistha-Kai. The other Argonian had likely been brought in as the only real authority on her kind, though seeing him only worsened the haze that had been distorting her thoughts. She had no idea what she said, later recalling only what happened next when she was sane enough to ask about the potion they hoped would cure herself and Aryon. When offered, her answer was clear and rational. “I will accept it.”
Aryon, also seated right across from her, had already taken his share in hand. He now seemed to have worsened as well, looking flushed and sweating profusely. Despite this he maintained some of his humor, nodding her way with a wry smile. “Any last thoughts, regrets, words of wisdom or witty puns?”
She returned the smile, though she decided to answer the question seriously. “I regret not knowing who my parents were. I should have tried harder to find out, but maybe I did everything I could. Maybe there is nothing to find out. If we make it, I swear I will try harder to find out who they were.”
“A good sentiment.” For a brief moment he considered his own regrets. He regretted trying to use an extra attenuating crystal during the construction of the lower tower, for yelling at Drelan when the man was trying to tear him away from a project, for choosing the wrong rug for the study. So many large and small things that never seemed to matter at the time now came to the forefront as a series of things that should have been done with more thought and care. “It is too late to change the past.” He mocked a toast with his bottle. “Here's to a better future, with or without us.”
“A better future,” she agreed, taking the substance down all at once as he did the same. The concoction smelled and tasted terrible, and went down like a lump of steel. It was the last thing she thought before a searing pain overtook her, burning all hopes of concentration on the effects from her mind. All went black, lost in the abyss.
From nowhere a strange voice entered her thoughts. Wake, you who holds my soul. It is done.
Laje-tal woke in an instant, sitting up in a strange bed. She was on a simple bedroll in the bowels of the Corprusarium, Aryon seated near her feet. He looked relieved, and she suddenly realized what happened. They were alive! Why were they back in the Corprusarium? “Did the potion fail?” Her voice sounded rough and tired. Was that normal?
His smile was triumphant and he gestured widely. “A complete success! I have never seen Fyr so stunned in all my days! It's fascinating how this works. We still have the disease, you see, but he negated all of the detrimental effects that result from it.”
“Is that so?” She looked down at her hands, her muscles no longer screaming in agony, her scales no longer itching. Then, she looked at his left arm, which still sported a nasty set of blisters. “Your arm still looks as bad as it did before. I suspect my neck is the same?”
“Yes. The damage that has been done to our skin so far might not be reversible, but it at least won't get worse. Fyr said that it's good we came as soon as we did. The fast treatment might have been why we both survived. Usually he is the last person someone goes to when they come down with corprus, and by then it is far too late. As for why we're down here again, Fyr wants to monitor us for a week or two to be certain we have no more symptoms and can't be re-infected. He wants us to make plenty of contact with the less aggressive infected and see what happens. Oh... also, Vistha-Kai might come by to apologize to you. Apparently you both said some rather horrible things to each other.”
“Did we? Oh dear. I don't even know what I said, it must have been awful. I will be sure to apologize to him as well. I kept getting such horrible visions, I must have really thought he was Mular-Da at some point. Where is he? I think I had better go to him straight away.”
“You'd better stay still.” He laid a hand on her lower leg, firmly urging her to stay. “Fyr's orders. We're the first real success he's had and he wants to do this right. That means sitting still for a while. Ah... that reminds me, there's one more thing.” As his hand withdrew, he frowned. “We're immortal now.”
“Damn.” She shifted slightly, uncomfortable in the position she had been laid in. “I can't imagine even the concept of living forever. Your kin may live for a thousand or more years but mine are as fleeting as the races of men. It is part of the cycle of the Hist, as I have heard, for us to pass within it when we are gone and be born anew. What would become of one who has an unnatural span? Even Telvanni magic can't suspend one's aging forever.”
“We will find out, it seems.”
Vistha-Kai now approached their corner, his steel armor glinting in the flickering torchlight. He seemed hesitant, though it was hard to tell as he held an Argonian's typically passive expression. His intent was unmistakable, though, when he offered a solemn nod in her direction. “I'm sure you've been informed on why I'm here. I've been a bit of a hot-head in the past, or so they tell me, and I said a few things I shouldn't have. I know the corprus does a number on the head, so I should have known better than to take what you said personally.”
“I'm sorry as well,” she replied without hesitation. “You looked so very much like an Argonian I once had trouble with, I mistook you for him when the madness overcame me. I don't know what I said to you or what you said in return, but I forgive you and I hope you can do the same for me.”
He shuffled nervously, not being the sort of person for words of this sort. His understanding lay more in the realm of the sword and shield. “That does explain why you called me a rahxiheel-wul. I said that you were a Hist-ruined dhalxiret.”
“Well, let there be no more of that, then.” Resolute, she held out her hand, smiling with relief as he stooped to shake it. “Let the past be the past.”
Vistha-Kai stood straight, a clenched hand over his chest in a rather formal, Redoran-style salute. What sort of strange history did he have to use that gesture out of reflex? “Forgotten, then. I will return to my duties.” With that he left as abruptly as he came, heading back toward the entrance. Laje-tal sighed, wondering what other things she had said.
“I'm glad to clear that away. I should have never called him such a thing, he seems like a good man. He should be, for all that you and Fyr trust him. I must have been more mad than I realized.”
Across from her Aryon returned her troubled look. “I don't know, you both started talking entirely in Jel. I only understood the part about him saying that you were Hist-ruined.”
“Yes, well, that part is quite true, as you know. He called me a... oh, what's the word... I suppose a whore would be the best interpretation. It would be used for a woman who intentionally ruins herself with too much Hist sap during adolescence in an attempt to grow an exaggeratedly proportioned body to attract men with. I'm not bothered, I've been called that many times. I called him a necrophiliac.”
Uncertain, he remained silent for a moment. He almost didn't want to ask the question that immediately came to mind, but he did. “Where did necrophilia come in?”
“Ah... That all goes back to the mine.” Quiet, hesitant, she told the story she had never told anyone before. “I wish you wouldn't tell Eddie about this, he doesn't know and I'd rather he didn't. The situation in the mine was far worse than I made it out to be. Mular-Da was an incurable addict, and his story is a very sad and tragic one. He couldn't help what he was driven to do, and nobody would go to the trouble of helping a lowly slave overcome their insanity. Unless he started chasing after the mistress, and he did indeed do that often, nobody would interfere with his ways. In the mornings I could hear him talking like a man very, very far gone into Skooma, having entire conversations with himself about the women. The overseers wouldn't tolerate that once the work started. One of the Khajiit women did her best to keep his behavior in check by allowing him to take her now and then, but he was insatiable.”
Aryon swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat at the implication. He had a good idea where this was going. “So he sought out the dead?”
She nodded grimly. “Just so. He did have preferences, of course. The long-dead were never considered, only the ones who had recently passed. I saw him digging up a grave the same day a woman had been buried there. I used to think he was a mindless monster, but I know better now. He was very sick in the head, and nobody could help him.”
A long pause passed between them, the horrifying tale leaving him speechless. Briefly he wondered how many other things there were that she hadn't wanted to say. “Eddie doesn't know about this? Wasn't he in the same mine?”
“He came in after Mular-Da was dead and wasn't there for particularly long before we escaped. None of us wanted to talk about the past. Apparently provincial Argonians in general don't talk much about their lives before they moved on to wherever they went. I just couldn't bring myself to tell him. I don't know why. I don't even know why I tell you these things.”
Aryon leaned further down the wall, exhausted. He, too, had no idea why she shared such things with him, but he was glad she knew she could. Perhaps that was all it took, just lending an ear. “I could slander you from here to the Summerset Isles with all you have told me, you know.”
Her tail flicked as she chuckled, landing lightly on his leg when she moved to lay back down. “You wouldn't.”
He glanced down briefly at the gesture before closing his eyes. “You're right. I wouldn't.”
While the next few days passed by, the time that followed was filled with hours of testing and analysis. Divayth Fyr was fascinated by how well they had recovered, with no ill effects besides the leftover itching, red sores. He collected samples of the affected skin, swabs of saliva, and a few of Laje-tal's shed scales. Several questions were asked about the Nerevarine Prophecy, the trials undergone so far, how the Ashlanders had received an Argonian as the potential Nerevarine. When there had been free time, however, Laje-tal made a point to ask Yagrum all of her burning questions about Dwemer culture. She shared Baladas's theories and speculations on several devices and furniture pieces, and wrote down everything that was discussed. Thankfully he received the questions with good humor.
“I daresay, Laje-tal, you are quite the historian. All anyone bothers to ask me anymore is why my people disappeared, never anything else. I hope you can forgive me for all that I don't know or remember. So much has faded over the years.”
She took it in stride, smiling over her notebook. “I understand. We can't all know everything. Why, look at me, I am an Argonian and I know next to nothing about my own kind. I can't tell you how many times these past few days that Vistha-Kai has come by me while I was doing something that is not our way, as he says! Bah. How would I know? I didn't even know how to properly greet another Argonian until I came to Vvardenfell. Argonian convention is not something one would travel to the Deshaan province to learn about. I am entirely satisfied with anything you can recall.”
“Oh, I think you have drained me of what little I have today, sadly. Don't worry about Vistha-Kai, he is a very proper sort and likes things to be a certain way. Sometimes he is too orderly, but he has made a fine guard for myself and the others. He was the only slave who would not leave when Fyr freed them all, and has stayed on as a trusted friend and partner. He will protect us all with his life, whether he agrees with our ideas or not.”
That was a relief. For a while she had been worried that she had offended Vistha-Kai even more than she initially had. “I'm glad to hear that. Maybe he will also humor a few questions from me about what our way is, if he finds it so important for me to know. I had better find Aryon, first. I'm just itching to get back to our practices now that my magicka has regenerated. Thank you for your time, I truly appreciate your expertise.”
“Not at all, I'm always glad to have a real chat. Come by whenever you like. Ah, there's Aryon now.”
Sure enough, Aryon was heading toward Yagrum's section of the cavern, catching her eye and sitting down on a chair near the far bookshelf. Laje-tal packed away her notes and soon joined him at the chair across from him, noticing that he had brought along a large bucket. The next stage of their work involved her using magic in conjunction with his own, in this case pairing fire with ice to create water. It required quite a bit of focus and control on each of their ends to get the water neither too hot or cold, and would be a prerequisite for learning more complex magic melding later. “Hm, you know, I've done this before. Should I cast fire and you cast ice?”
Aryon huffed, his dark brows arching in amusement. “Let me guess, Master Calcelmo?”
“Naturally,” she said with a laugh. “We didn't have much time for it, though. He left after I had the basics down. I didn't care for it much, his magic always smelled of guar hide and tallow candles. I found it rather unpleasant.”
He rolled up his long sleeves as she did the same, leaning over the bucket. “Alright, go ahead and start with fire while I manage the ice. After a while we can switch off. Start small, adjust to my spell.”
“Right.” When Aryon began his ice spell, she put her hands over the tops of his own, casting fire into the center of their collective magic. She knew from experience that she would need to exude far less magic than she was accustomed to, and started the flame at a faint glow. As his magic grew, she adjusted accordingly, and before long there was a strong stream of water falling into the bucket. Back and forth they adjusted magic, low and high, until they had filled the container.
“Well, I can see why your mentor left you as you were, you're a natural at this. If only you could apply this to restoration.”
“I know, we even tried this same method for a while but I always made the target explode, every single time. The best I've done so far is with a small restoration spell Eddie showed me. I had to use this method to learn even that much, but I managed. I showed him how I grow plants, and he taught me a few extra frost spells. I might be able to do restoration if I tried link magic with him.”
“Oh?” Intrigued, he moved back to sit comfortably. “You two seem very close.”
She mirrored his actions, sitting back in her chair with crossed arms, brow raised. “We're not close in a way that would scandalize anyone. His preferences lay in another direction, and as the Imperials say, he is also married to his work. He is my brother - figuratively, of course.”
“I see.” The bucket was emptied into a nearby cistern, drained away into the sea. “You know, I would like to help you find out who your parents were. I don't know how much help I will be, but maybe having an extra hand at it will do some good.”
“Oh, you don't have to do that. I already tried so many people and places, the records on my people's side were lost. The other side was never found. It's alright, I understand these things happen.”
Stubborn as ever, he didn't relent. “Come now, your one regret when you thought you were dying is worth the trouble, and you swore to try harder if you lived. What do you know?”
She sighed, getting more comfortable. This might take a while. “Alright. I know I was found as an egg near the border, between Thorn and Tear. It was an Argonian military camp that had been overrun, most likely after my parents perished. I learned they were mercenaries, which explains why few knew their names and knew them better by sight. Many mercenaries were hired into the war without record or names taken because they were needed so badly right then and there. The handful who did know their names were probably killed when the camp was taken. I know they looked just like me, only my father had curved horns and a yellow throat. All I know besides that is I was taken to a false orphanage in Tear and held until I could be sold. Can you believe that idiot woman only sold me for fifty drakes?”
“Such a pittance is nearly an insult,” he stated with a scowl. “Do you know where you were at that time?”
“No, I have no idea. The mine I was sent to was held by Llaril Ienith, one of the distant relatives of the Ieniths who work for the Dren Plantation here. We tried tracing sale records, but I was nowhere to be found, which confirmed I was purchased illegally. I suspect the mistress of the orphanage also obtained me in a way she shouldn't have. I don't know how she came by my jar but there is no record.”
Puzzled, he drew back slightly. “Your... jar?”
“Yes, it seems my egg was kept in some sort of decorative jar full of sand for a while, at least from what we could learn from one of the guards at the in-between point I passed through. They didn't know how to properly care for an Argonian egg and kept my egg dry the whole time I finished developing. It's no wonder I have a knack for fire, I suppose. So, you see, I have tried every path I can think of. There might be nothing left to find.”
“Hmm, the Ieniths of Tear, a glass mine...” He closed his eyes in thought, remembering an incident that had happened around that time. “I recall hearing that a glass mine held by the Ieniths in Tear had been badly destroyed in an incident. Some idiot summoned a flame atronach right by their very flammable house and a pocket of gas was ignited deep in the mine. Oh!” Suddenly he realized what might have happened – and that he inadvertently called her an idiot. “That was you, wasn't it?”
She grinned, not troubled by his error. “Yes, I was that idiot. Eddie will attest I was entirely crazy to summon a flame atronach just barely after I learned how. The explosion in the mine was set off before that. You know someone there?”
“Yes, actually, I do. One of my guards had gone down there to work at the mine before I hired him. He was put in charge of acquisition, supplies and such as that. I wonder...”
“Hm, yes, maybe he had to acquire more than just supplies.”
Excited, he rose, though he tried not to pace. He really did need to stop that. “I sent him out to the south recently to help look out for the Zainab Ashlanders. I don't expect any trouble, especially now that trade is opened with them, but it doesn't hurt to have an advance watch. I could recall him for a while and see if he knows any more about your past. It's worth a try.”
Though she smiled, encouraged by the possibilities, she tried not to get her hopes up. So many years had gone by with so little found, it was quite possible nothing could come up yet again. “Alright, I will meet with him.” There was no need to linger on the probable disappointment. She stood as well, confident and assured. “Whatever we may or may not find about my past, we are still alive to make a future.” In a rare gesture, she reached for him, her hand lightly holding his arm. “I'm grateful for your help. I know I couldn't have made it this far without it.”
Aryon only returned her smile with his own, accepting her gratitude. “You have helped me nearly as much yourself. This past year has been an exciting and productive one, and I do hope there will be more.”
“So do I.” Deep down, she knew there would be so much more yet to come, Nerevarine prophecies aside. What was down the road, however, would be far more than either of them had bargained for.
Chapter Text
During the nights that followed came dream after dream, and now was no exception. She was in a room that could have been somewhere in Mournhold, based on the design. Almalexia and Vivec were there, along with who she somehow knew to be Sotha Sil. She had never seen so much as a picture of the man, but she knew him. He felt like a trusted friend, just like the other three. They were discussing something of great importance, but the words were not heard. Vivec held out a Dwemer gauntlet, its make unique and peculiar. It seemed magical in nature, a soft glow radiating from it. In this dream she couldn't smell its magic. Sotha Sil showed them an equally magical and oddly crafted hammer, also seemingly of Dwemer make though it was hard to tell with its unique shape.
Almalexia said something, and she felt herself move to hand over a dagger of glass and metal, feeling loath to give it even to her. Surely she could be trusted. All of them had the best of intentions. These tools would never be used again. It was a promise. Almalexia leaned forward and smiled, but the smile somehow looked cold, distant. She leaned forward to kiss the dream self, her lips tasting of luminous russula and violet coprinus. Poison. Poison candles, poisoned minds, death.
Aryon woke in the middle of the night to Laje-tal moving in her sleep, hissing at an unknown entity. He looked across the nook with a worried frown. This would be seven nights in a row now that she had these ongoing dreams, but she hadn't thrashed enough to wake him until now. He reached out to shake her leg to try to wake her, but she jerked away at the contact. Her feet still had very, very sharp claws and he mentally berated himself for trying something so crazy. Instead, he moved forward to grab her shoulder, shaking her again. “Laje-tal, wake up.” Wherever her mind was, she seemed too far away to hear him, so he shook both shoulders harder. She suddenly scrambled in his grip, waking violently, her startled eyes widening in fear. He pinned her down to keep her from hurting either of them in her confusion. “Laje-tal, it's me! It's just me. You were dreaming.”
It took a moment for her to wake fully, looking up at him with recognition. “Aryon? Oh, thank the Gods.” She was still shaking, her voice strained. “It was so real, just like all the others. It was terrifying. I don't dare try to sleep and go back there.”
“It's alright.” Aryon reached for a pitcher of water he kept nearby, pouring her a glass. “Here, you look parched.” He held it out patiently until she took it, downing the glass in only a few large gulps. Why did this keep happening? What could be done for it? She looked downright starved for moisture, he found himself thinking. “I think we'd best go outdoors for a bit. You've been away from the sun and sea too long. I think I have too, for that matter.”
Laje-tal set aside her empty glass. It sounded like a good idea, but they had an obligation. “We agreed to stay here.”
“We agreed not to leave the area. Fyr won't mind it as long as we stay close, if he even cares at all to notice. If we've gone this long without the disease flaring up again, I doubt it will. A swim should do you some good.”
“I suppose.” She sat forward, her head aching. Thank goodness Aryon had woken her up. Her mind still swam with the terror and pain she had witnessed. Slowly she rose, following his lead. He paced quietly through the caverns, noticing that only Yagrum was awake. No doubt the old Dwemer had been here so long that his sense of time was nonexistent. Aryon let Yagrum know where they were going, and they hastily pressed on through the upper levels and into the outer grounds of the Tel.
Overhead, both moons were full, their bold light pale over the shore and sparkling amid the gentle waves of the sea. Just the clean, salty air was refreshing and she heard Aryon sigh with relief. He approached the shore, watching the waves. “You know, I think I'll have a swim too. I'm sure I smell about as good as a bull Kagouti by now.”
She grinned. “I'll wait for you. Upwind.” With that she turned around, offering what little privacy could be had out here in the open. The warm breeze off the sea was soothing, and she took a deep breath of it. The simple catharsis of the open sky and vast horizon was enough to make the lingering feelings of the dream fade away. Being kept in the corprusarium was nearly as bad as that horrible glass mine.
“Alright, I'm in.”
Laje-tal turned, seeing he was neck deep already and facing away. She removed her clothing and set it near his, then waded in equally deep. The water was cool enough for comfort without being overly cold, the current barely moving. She took a moment to slip entirely under, coming back up with a grateful sigh. “You know, you're right, I needed this.”
He moved around to face her, head tilted slightly, puzzled. “I know, though I don't know how I knew it.”
She regarded him with a small smile. “You always seem to know.”
Aryon looked away again, conflicted. How had he known? How had he been able to read her? Argonians were notoriously hard to read, yet he understood even her small nuances. It had been so very rare for him to understand anyone even a little. “I've always been alone,” he said quietly, finding himself telling her something he had never told a soul.”I may have had my family, other colleagues, mentors and people all around me, but in the end I was by myself. I was sent away to study as soon as I could read, and never even saw any of the other students because we all studied alone. That was the Telvanni way, and I thought it was normal. I never thought I would feel lonely.” He turned back just enough to look at her, his expression oddly vulnerable. “I think, though, that I will be when you leave.”
A strange feeling she couldn't name passed through her when she saw Aryon's open uncertainty, his willingness to share something so personal hitting a place in her heart she didn't know she had. In spite of him having a free life with a family in a land that welcomed him, he had been isolated, even more than herself. She found herself reaching back for his hand, linking her fingers with his. “I am here,” she responded, relieved when he returned her grip. “I will put a teleportation rune in my stronghold to link with yours. You're welcome to bother me any time you need me.”
He relaxed, reassured by her plain acceptance. “If we really are immortal, I may need you for a long time.”
“Then I will be here. I might visit Mournhold again if I'm released from exile, but this is my home now. I don't intend to go anywhere.” She chuckled. “You're forgiven, by the way.”
“For what?”
“When you picked me up, you said you hoped I could forgive you. It's alright.” Her gaze returned to the moons overhead, looking at their pocked surfaces. “You smelled like wood ash and black anther.”
Aryon laughed. “I'll have you know that potions of light are a good source of income!”
She released her hold to swim away, grinning back at him. “Light potions won't help you swim better. Come on, let's go farther out.”
He hesitated, wary of the unknown depth of the waters ahead. “You know I'm not a strong swimmer.”
Her hand found his again, tugging him forth to follow, eyes sparkling with joy. “You won't drown with an Argonian by your side. Stay close.” They moved out into the deeper water, burning off the remaining tension in the exercise. For a while all was calm, the night passing steadily onward. When sleep finally came, it was filled with silence, the dreams held at bay at last.
Laje-tal laid down on her bed with a grateful sigh, glad to be back in Tel Vos. She had missed being in her own bed, and she found herself amused that she thought of this little place as hers, now. The first stage of her stronghold was finished, and the second stage was on its way, but she still felt like her little borrowed room was a sort of home. As much as she tried to sleep, however, she couldn't help but be restless. What had happened earlier that day left her with several confounding things to think about.
Returning to the Tel had been as simple as using the same teleportation rune they arrived on, back in a burst of magic. Eddie had been thoroughly relieved and excited to have them back, handing back control as soon as he could. He was competent, but he hated being in charge. Most of the morning had gone on as it usually had, albeit with catching up on work from the past several days. Laje-tal also had to compile all of the notes she had written about the Dwemer tools she had seen in her dreams and what Yagrum had to say about them. That wouldn't cover everything else she had asked, either. With all of that work, there was no reason to be down in the museum. Aryon needed her help yet again with the steam centurion, however, and so it was.
What hadn't been expected was getting a very sudden, unannounced visit from Arch-Magister Gothren himself. There had been no warning except the sudden smell of teleportation magic, and an unfamiliar scent at that. Laje-tal had barely enough time to curse and escape the area, leaving Aryon and the others to stare after her in confusion while Gothren popped into the room. She had spared a moment to see who entered and knew she couldn't use her illusion on this one. An Arch-Magister would certainly be able to see through her disguise. No, she would have to go for the much more mundane way, and headed to her room and storage closet. She pulled out the maid clothes she had salvaged from some Nord's wardrobe, kept around for just this occasion.
Laje-tal struggled into the dress as fast as she dared, taking care not to rip it apart with her horns. The neck was wide enough to slip over readily enough, and she tied about it the accompanying apron. Narrow sleeves lay low past her shoulders and around her upper arms, the cut of the bodice too low for her preference but enough to remain adequately covered. She hadn't added an opening for her tail and let the dress cover it, knowing her distinct pattern would be too easy to identify. From her pack she pulled out a dark brown oily polish, often used to shine shoes, rubbing the substance into the red streaks on her face and over her neck, the scales dyed to match the rest of her. A small pot of yellow cosmetics came next, and she added a few typical markings to her head and neck. Yes, this was enough to make her look different, especially to an ignorant Dunmer.
She turned about to look at herself, checking that all was in place. It wouldn't do for a noble maid to badly represent her employer. Last of all came the jewelry, which she had hoarded from numerous cavern raids. Rings decorated her horns, a nearly gaudy gold and red pendant at her neck. Honestly she felt silly adorning herself like this after so many years of keeping things simple and plain, but she brought herself back to the present. Time for the cover-up. From her bed and storage, she gathered all of her books and research on Nerevar, drawing out a teleportation rune in plain chalk and setting them within it. She sent it and a quick note on to the safest place she could think of – Caius Cosades' house. After all, she had to go back there anyway. It was better than risking Gothren of all people finding her research. Other things were left behind, books on spellcraft, alchemy and mathematics. If Aryon was as canny as she expected him to be, he would say this was Lenassa's room, and Lenassa would certainly have these kinds of things around.
In a whirl she was out, stopping by the kitchens to raid the store room for a spare tray and selection of drinks, arranging them just so on the tray and hurrying to the museum, setting the tray on a nearby table. She positioned herself just behind and to one side of Gothren as he ranted at length about his suspicions of bribery in the town, her eyes lowered. Eye contact between herself and that sort of man was out of the question. She could feel attention being drawn to herself by the others in the room, but couldn't tell what they thought of her new look. All she could do was listen as Gothren waxed eloquent about whatever irked him so much.
“Enough of this, where is that damned Argonian woman? I know quite well you keep one here!”
Aryon, still stunned by this sudden turn of events, only gestured behind the man to Laje-tal. “She's right behind you, sir.”
Shocked by her silent entry he nearly jumped, turning around to regard her with a scowl. “I don't mean your harlot of a maid! Where is the woman who thinks herself the Nerevarine?”
Laje-tal's blood suddenly ran cold. How had he known about that? She had been very careful not to share her research with anyone in the tower except Eddie and Aryon. Every time she left Vos, she changed her clothing and demeanor while completing the tasks to investigate the prophecies. All of her books had been kept under lock, her research stashed away. There was nothing to link the Argonian seeking the Nerevarine prophecies to Vos. She had made sure of that. Aryon took a moment to reply. “I don't understand. There are only two Argonians who reside in this tower, and the other is this man behind me. She is the only Argonian woman who is in Vos.”
Gothren gave Laje-tal a second glance, as if just looking at her made him sick. She didn't have the red streaks under her eyes as if she were crying blood, nor the rusty colored neck. Her eyes were still lowered, accepting his harsh nature passively. This one didn't look or act like the woman described to him. “I have it on very good authority that you have an Argonian woman here with a different coloration who contracted corprus and was cured and, might I add, was seen having a very interesting night with you! That is who I am looking for, not this plaything of yours!”
How? How could he have... She froze. Vistha-Kai. He must have reported her to Gothren. There was nobody else who would have done such a thing. Fyr didn't care what she did, and Yagrum was a friend and thoroughly confined to the Corprusarium. The others minded their own business. Vistha-Kai, however, had gone on at length about her not being a proper Argonian, how she wasn't doing things in their way, how she was perverting their kind by being a Telvanni councilor. Oh Gods! Had he been outside when they were taking a swim? She barely managed to hold down her panic as Aryon continued. “Look around if you want, but you will find no other Argonians here. I don't know where you get this ridiculous information of yours but you can see for yourself if you must.”
“I will! I'm certain you're hiding something. Everyone in town agrees there is an Argonian woman here who has been helping your cause in this town. Closed-lipped, all of them, but I'm sure of it! Where is she?”
“She is the one, sir.” Inside, his blood boiled. Gothren had been pestering the residents! He may well have threatened them! Oh, he was going to look into the tower, what if he found Laje-tal's research? Briefly her eyes locked with his and she gave a subtle nod. Well, that was good, at least. “Please, do take a look around if it will assure you of the facts. Question my maid, she will tell you she has been through the town on my orders.”
Gothren turned around to look at her again, seeming like the notion hadn't even occurred to him. “Indeed. You, maid. What do they call you?”
She kept her eyes lowered, nodding demurely. “Xil-heedra, Arch-Magister.” Did Smokeskin just grin at her behind Gothren? Well, she had picked a particularly silly fake name, but Gothren wouldn't know that.
His scowl only deepened at her use of a traditional Argonian name, rather than a more Cyrodiilic common tongue name. “Right. What are your duties here? Are you a member of the Telvanni?”
Ever gracious, she bowed deeper. “I am but a lowly hireling, Muthsera, but yes. Master Aryon charges me with the linens, cleaning and other services. As he said, I am often sent to town on his orders. Someone of my stature couldn't possibly be the Nerevarine. Besides, that is but a silly Ashlander story.”
“Silly!” He suddenly slapped her hard across the face, but Laje-tal bore it. She'd had worse, but she hoped Aryon wouldn't interfere. “Nerevar Indoril was a mighty general and Hortator, who held together the houses under one of the worst wars in history! Such as you can't even comprehend what he means to our people! I should lash you for that insult!”
Aryon stepped closer, cautious, hands out to placate the man. “That's not necessary, sir. She is only a mere Argonian servant, she doesn't know any better.”
Gothren shot him a murderous look. “What does it matter? These things can't feel pain. Woman, where is the Argonian who claims to be the Nerevarine and a high ranking Telvanni?”
Affecting her best look of fear and Argonian accent, she waved her hands nervously in defense. “Xil-heedra does not know, venerable Arch-Magister! She only knows her kitchen and broom!”
Another slap, much harder this time. “Answer me, wretch! Where is the Argonian woman with red markings under her eyes and a rust colored neck?”
She cowered, arms protecting her face. “Please, stop this! I know nothing of the woman you seek!”
“Bah! You're as useless as the townsfolk! Neloth also told me of an Argonian by that description who came here to have lessons on enchanting. Who is this woman and where is she?”
Aryon, now in a slight panic, tried to do what he could to stop this. He knew Laje-tal was probably acting, but she was still being harmed! “Oh, her!” He moved back with a hum, seemingly in thought. He couldn't be caught showing concern for Laje-tal; no one of his standing would care for a lowly Argonian maid. “You know, I do remember her, now that I think of it. I can't believe I actually forgot about her. No, she doesn't come by here anymore, she moved on to another province.”
Laje-tal used the slight distraction to catch Smokeskin's eyes, whispering to him in Jel. “Get the other guards, he won't leave easily.”
*
Another harsh slap came her way, knocking the air out of her. Gothren was red with rage. “I will not have that primitive tongue of yours spoken around me! Learn some respect for your betters!” Behind him she could just barely see that Smokeskin was gone. “I don't believe you when you say that woman is gone. My informant was very thorough in telling me all about how you were at Tel Fyr just yesterday, and how you two were having a wild tryst in the sea! I knew you were always a little off in the head, Aryon, but to fornicate with an Argonian!” he peered down his nose at Laje-tal. “Well now, perhaps your little maid here knows about that?”
Internally she stiffened, knowing quite well what may come next. All she could do was stand there and take it, and hope Aryon didn't try to come to her aid. He couldn't! It was too risky. If he tried to intervene, Gothren's point about his attachment to her would be proven. She shrank away. “Xil-heedra is innocent, she knows nothing more than her work!”
“Hah, I see through you, yes. You are a shapely little thing, no doubt you draw many heads around here. I wonder how many you had to service to get into this tower! Tell me where the false Incarnate is! Is it you? Are you the Argonian I seek?” He hit her hard, drawing blood. “Are you the one who thinks she can elevate herself beyond her station, to be uplifted into being equals with the Telvanni councilors?” Another hit, a solid punch, followed by him yanking her horns back roughly with one of his hands. “Hear it from me now, no one of your wretched kind will be uplifted in this house ever again! It was bad enough the first time, and I will not let such a thing happen again!”
There had been another? Another Argonian who sought the upper ranks? Who? When? These thoughts were pushed aside when he yanked her back again. Aryon looked torn, not knowing what to do. He knew he couldn't intervene, but he had to do something! “Arch-Magister, I have need of all of my capable servants. I insist you don't harm her.”
Gothren spun around, fire in his eyes. “Oh? Do you hold some attachment to this one?” At this point Smokeskin returned with Drelan and three other guards. The other Argonian looked horrified at what Gothren was doing. “Does it bother you, Aryon, that I am causing harm to your whore?” He twisted on her horns, wrenching her head around like one would do to an unruly bull. Now that did indeed hurt, and she didn't have to fake her cry of pain.
Memories of her childhood came back to her in a surge, unwanted and unwelcome, times when she had been beaten senseless. She remembered the slave masters twisting the males about just like this, and any females who had horns long enough. It had looked painful, and now she knew just how true that assumption was. Her thoughts turned to the implements, the hot chains, the spiked flails, the shackles on the walls and heavy clubs. As brave as she was, the memory of a time when she had been too weak to fight back, too small, overcame her and she heard herself keen in agony. Thankfully Smokeskin had had enough, and rallied the guards to surround them. “Take your hands off her! How dare you grab an Argonian's horns in a place where we are free! Get out of here!”
Drelan and the others surrounded Gothren, who looked about himself, amused. “Well now this is most interesting indeed. Aryon, are you going to allow this beast to dictate what I do in this place?”
Aryon faced him with an icy stare, eyes narrowed dangerously. “I told you not to harm my servants. It doesn't matter whether they are beastfolk or not, all in Tel Vos are necessary. Leave. Now.”
With several spears pressed to his face and neck, he seemed to decide he was bored with this little game and backed away, hands up and heading for the door. “Yes, well, perhaps we shall see. You had best watch your back. You may have won for now but we will see who wins in the end.” In a blast of light he was gone, leaving the guards looking grim and nervous.
Aryon rushed to Laje-tal's side, inspecting the damage. She was hurt badly, her face bruised and bloodied, the skin near her horns swollen. “Damn him. Smokeskin, would you come back with me? I need your expertise on this sort of wound.”
The man followed after without question, the two leading Laje-tal into a far empty room, having her sit on the floor. Smokeskin inspected her horns under the bright sunlight from the window, growling at the sight. “She'll be hurting for a while but it's not the worst I've seen. He didn't manage to break any of her horns. I wouldn't mind breaking his face.”
“You'll have to get in line.” His hands glowed golden with restoration magic, laid gently on her face to heal away the worst of the cuts and bruises. Her eyes were far away, though, glazed over with pain and something else. “Laje-tal, are you alright?” She only curled in on herself, and he tilted her head up to face him. He looked into her golden eyes, troubled by her vacant gaze.
“Past trauma,” Smokeskin said quietly, looking at her eyes as well. “I have seen that look in the eyes of many a former slave. We Argonians may often choose to not remember the past, but some of us are stricken with never being able to forget. Let her be. She'll get better in time with some rest.”
“Oh, by Azura, what can I do?” Ignoring Smokeskin's advice he held her face in a way that had nothing to do with healing, brushing his thumb against her angular scaled cheek. “This has gone too far. Come on now, Laje-tal. You're not a slave in that horrid place anymore.”
Slowly her hands came up to lay over his, her eyes clearing as she smiled up at him. “Aryon...”
“Thank the Gods, you're alright.” He returned to healing her, looking down with a relieved smile. The pain of being unable to stop Gothren, having to watch her be manhandled and not being able to do a thing, had been downright unbearable. It was then he was unable to deny it. He cared about her deeply and wasn't about to let something like this happen again. Such was his devotion to his task that he didn't even notice when Smokeskin slipped away, the man looking after them with a confused, uncertain gaze.
Presently Laje-tal rolled over yet again in her bed, remembering the events with a frown. If she thought about it, she could still feel his warm hands on her face, how she had covered them with her own. She couldn't sleep. At a loss she rose, pulling her Telvanni robes on and heading into the library. Maybe she could read herself into sleep. Where was that book on Imperial protocol? That always seemed to put her right out. What she hadn't expected was to find Aryon already there, on the floor near the fire with an open book on his lap. His sharp red eyes darted up to meet hers, softening with the smile that broke across his lips. “Couldn't sleep either?” she asked.
“Not one bit. I added an extra spell to the tower defenses, it will keep anyone from teleporting here except you, Eddie and Fyr. I'm guessing you came to the same conclusion I did,” he added with a scowl. “Vistha-Kai told Gothren everything! He must have been trying to sabotage your position here in the house. I know he has always been very proper but I never thought he would stoop so low as to try to have you removed. You are one of the best damned Telvanni I've ever known, and he of all people should have understood what it meant for you to progress in the house.”
“I just don't understand,” she said quietly. “I tried to do my best. I could overlook the fact that he looked like Mular-Da. I was so very sorry for what I said to him, and I did truly want to know more about my kind from him. What could I have done to make him want to do this? I know I'm terrible at being who he expected me to be, but I can't be anyone but myself.”
His lips pursed in another bothered frown. Vistha-Kai had never been much of an intellectual, and had often done odd things to maintain order. Nearly getting one of his kind, and a higher ranking Telvanni to boot, nearly beaten to death was a new one. “Well you aren't Lenassa, thank the Gods. You are my protégé, a ranking member in this house. I know you, and I know your race won't keep you from moving forward. Don't let people like him influence you into being what you aren't.”
That reminded her of something, and she sat down on the rug across from him, leaning back against a nearby chair comfortably. “Gothren commented about another Argonian advancing in the house. I'm not the first?”
“I thought you were but when he said that I remembered a rumor Dratha told me. She said that once, when Therana was still sane, an Argonian was taken from slavery to be her hireling and a mage. It sounded silly and I forgot all about it. It must be true, though, if Gothren said something like that.” His eyes flicked down, averted. “I am so sorry you had to endure him. I couldn't do anything to help you without compromising our situation. I wanted to. I couldn't... never mind. I know that you know I had no choice. I don't know why I'm saying this.”
Her tail flicked slightly to idly tap against his leg, laying across it just as she had done in Tel Fyr. “I know. I had hoped you wouldn't fall for his ploy. I wouldn't have been all that bothered if he hadn't made me remember some very unpleasant things that happened in the mine. Those were the sorts of things that come back to you at the worst of times. I'm alright, really. It would take a lot more than that to break me.”
“Laje-tal...” He sighed, setting aside his book to come closer, straddling her legs to inspect her face. The swelling seemed to have gone down, though she still had several bruises showing a dark black between her facial scales. He eased restoration magic into the affected area, the soft glow adding faint light to the corner. His insides tensed when one of her hands again laid over his, her trusting eyes looking up into his own. Strangely he felt drawn forward, leaning closer into her touch. It should have felt so very, very wrong and yet his otherwise vocal conscience had gone silent. By now the magic had stopped, and the hand not covered by hers traveled down her neck, feeling the rampant pulse that raced underneath.
Laje-tal went still. This was dangerous. She understood the sudden surge of emotions that threatened to overcome her sensibilities. After all they had been through, despite the adversity, she recognized the love that had arisen from the depths of her heart. Damn it all, but she loved him. She couldn't let him throw everything away, she loved him too much. “Don't do this,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Your reputation is already on the edge of a cliff as it is.”
He huffed. “It's always been that way.” Leaning forward he pressed his brow to hers, eyes closed. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No.” She put her hands on his shoulders, however, and pushed back slightly. “You should, though. There will be no peace until Gothren is dead. When that happens...” Her eyes opened, looking back into his, feeling the familiar pang in her chest at his desperate look. “When that happens, perhaps there can be a chance.”
Aryon seemed to accept her logic, drawing away with a sad but hopeful smile. He understood what she meant. There would be no end to Gothren's harassment until he was gone, and there was no telling what the other councilors would do. Her place on the council was now very tenuous and could be upset at any moment. They couldn't afford to slip up right now. “Then I will give you the one last task before I can name you a Magister. There are two new councilors, one Hlaalu and one Redoran, who built their strongholds without approval from the Duke. I'll write up a list of where they are. If you take care of them, I will declare you a Magister.”
She slowly rose to her feet, the distance between them back to where it should be. “Consider it already done.”
Laje-tal had been gone for a long time. Everyone had noticed, and even Eddie started to look concerned. She sent letters in the beginning, but over a week had passed now with nothing. Aryon stewed over his notes on a book at his desk with a scowl, Eddie nearby rifling through even more notes to find what they were looking for. Drelan lingered nearby, all guards now on alert after Gothren's invasive entry. Aryon tucked a bookmark in a nearby large tome for later. “Still nothing?”
Eddie flung a hand up in dismay, not looking up from the notes. “No. She's probably in a place where she can't send messages. Might be too dangerous. I'll bet she's trying to cover her tracks even on our end to keep from being caught. I spent a long time with the You-Know-Who and I can tell you there were many times I had to do the same thing.”
He knew exactly what Eddie was talking about. The Twin Lamps. There would have definitely been many times where sending a note would lead someone right to the sender. “Yes, I suppose.”
Across from him Eddie looked on discreetly, observing Aryon's demeanor. After the rather interesting things Smokeskin had told him, he was curious about the possible turn in Aryon's thoughts toward his protégé. It was all suspicion, of course, but he couldn't help himself. He didn't have much time to consider that as Laje-tal suddenly recalled into the room, looking worn and distant. He moved to greet her, but saw the look on her face and instead gestured her to sit down. “Gods, Laje-tal, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
She managed a slight laugh, sitting down at the table wearily. “This is Morrowind, Eddie, there are ghosts everywhere. You wouldn't believe what I've just been through. I went to Vivec to free a dissident priest from the Temple Ministry, went to a whole monastery full of them and received quite a few of the lost prophecies about Nerevar. Went through Kogoruhn... I would not recommend that, by the way. Then... well.” She placed her left hand on the table, a clearly new ring showing plain and clear. It was the moon and star. Nerevar's ring. “I don't know why I did it. The ring is said to kill anyone who isn't Nerevar, yet all I could think of was how I needed to do it, how it felt like I was meant to have this. It was reckless, stupid even, but I had no hesitation. I knew I could do it.”
Shocked, Eddie turned pale. “By Azura!”
“By Azura indeed,” Aryon stated, looking at the ring. It glowed with enchantment, pulsing softly. That ring was no forgery, it was the real Daedric artifact. She was the true Incarnate. “You're the Nerevarine.”
Laje-tal shook her head, barely meeting his gaze. She was still uncertain how to go back to the way things were after what happened between them. “Not officially. I have to be named the Nerevarine by the four major tribes of Ashlanders, as well as be declared Hortator by the three Great Houses. The ring not rejecting me is only one part of this. I also took care of the illegal strongholds. The way is clear for House Telvanni to take control.”
Their eyes locked, and he could see the hurt and anguish within. He'd had a long time to consider how he felt, and suspected his own look matched hers. He had missed her insight, her kind smile, even their arguments over magical theory. Mostly he missed just having someone he could talk to candidly without being slandered to the four corners of the isle. It didn't even matter in that moment that she had just come back as the Nerevarine. She was here all the same. “Then I will not hesitate to name you Magister. You have done everything and more that a Master of the Telvanni could be expected to do. I will draw up the needed forms and you can present them to Gothren.” He smiled just the slightest bit. “I also expect you to give him that left hook of yours.”
When she laughed, the tension eased. “He will get more than that, I promise. Blast it, I'd better write to Barenziah. She will want to know about my progress. Caius has been recalled to the Imperial City, so I'm on my own now. Someone from the Mages Guild came to me, by the way, and asked some very interesting questions about you. He won't be coming around again.”
Curious, his brows raised. “A Mages Guild affiliate? Why? You killed him?”
“I didn't intend to until he asked for your schedule and your habits. I found a note on him from Arch-Mage Trebonius. The idiot was going to assassinate the Telvanni Councilors! That know-nothing didn't even make it past me. If I can manage those stupid Dark Brotherhood assassins, I can manage the likes of him.”
“The Dark Brotherhood!” Eddie exclaimed. “In Vvardenfell? I know we heard about the Brotherhood in Mournhold but all the way out here? They were after you? When?”
“Well, that's why I didn't respond for a week,” she said wearily. “I had to throw them off my scent. I made a point to leave pieces of their armor where the Morag Tong would find it, along with a copy of the contract I found on their bodies. They'll be busy with the Morag Tong and shouldn't bother me for a while now, but I will have to find out who is sending them after me. My money is on Helseth, given the contract was signed with an H. No doubt Barenziah will be very interested to hear that, too. She might be able to get them off my back, but we'll see.”
“Gods, Laje-tal, how you've managed to have such an insane life is beyond me. I'm considering going off on more missions with the you-know-who just to get away from all of this!”
She chuckled. “I won't stop you if you do, but do remember that you're my Mouth now and I will still need your help with Tel Uvirith. Once I take care of Gothren, things are going to be very different. We'll need to set a steward to manage the place, transfer documents, sort materials, all sorts of things! You'd better not leave me to do that by myself!”
“I won't, I won't!”
Aryon rose, heading to a nearby cabinet where he kept most spare documents. He removed a sheaf of them, setting one page out from the rest. “Present this to anyone in Tel Aruhn who inquires on your business there. Gothren might just decide to not act against you at all, forcing you to make the next move. I trust you will find a way to not incur a bounty.” This was it. After all the setbacks, the careful planning, the studying and scheming, it was time to remove Gothren as the Arch-Magister. “Gothren won't go down easily, but you might be able to use his habits against him. He loves to talk during a battle, and will go on for some time to goad the other person into responding. You being an Argonian will be an advantage since he will expect little from you.” He laid down the rest of the papers, signing his place on the necessary lines. When finished he looked up at her, firm and resolute. “I'd advise to not use magic at first.”
She nodded, already considering her options. “I was thinking that as well. The more I lure him into thinking I have little magical skill, the more careless he will become. I have a couple plant seeds I stashed away for this, and a few roots. He will never expect high level plant manipulation. I have a few ideas.” With a wave she enchanted the paper she was to present with a ward against flame and water damage, stashing it away in her satchel. “Very well. I will depart just after first light and go on to Tel Aruhn.”
Aryon rose when she did, looking at her tired form with concern. “You should rest for a few days before heading out. I don't doubt you're exhausted after all of this.”
“I am, but my magic is building up again. By morning I'll be well on my way to being overly full. There is no better time than this, and I'd hate to wait any longer and give Gothren more time to make his move. I've delayed enough as it is.” When she saw his tense lips, his furrowed brows, she stepped closer to him, giving him a reassuring nod. “I wouldn't do this if I weren't sure of it. Please trust me on this.”
He nodded in return. Yes, he trusted her discretion and her confidence in her abilities. She had always been a strategist, one who thought carefully about everything she did. Deep down, she did have the heart of a Telvanni. “I will trust you.”
Chapter Text
Laje-tal woke early, packing away everything she would need. A newly enchanted amulet was part of it, something she had been working on for some time now. It rendered her entirely incapable of casting magic and suppressed her overflowing magicka from being released. Originally it had been meant as a fail-safe for a time that her magic might be impossible to drain away or if she were in a situation too dangerous to do so. Now, it would keep her from unintentionally casting magic until the time was right in the battle. Right now her magicka was too full to hold back without it. She proudly wore her Telvanni council robes, not stashing them away as she usually did, her moon and star ring plain for all to see. There would be no more hiding, no more covering up.
She hadn't expected Aryon to be awake and waiting to see her off, but he stood there at his desk near the library entrance, eyes on her as she entered. When he neared, she stayed as she was, uncertain. So much had happened over the past year, she still wasn't sure how to make sense of it all. The time away from the Tel, when not filled with fighting Sixth House monstrosities and the Dark Brotherhood, had helped settle her thoughts. She needed to handle this professionally for both of them. “I will be leaving now.”
Aryon came close, looking across the short span of air and feeling the slight tension that still separated them. He understood why she was reticent, perhaps even afraid, of his attentions. Briefly he worried that he had gone too far, influenced by the sudden realization of what had managed to happen between them. “I'm sorry if I did something untoward,” he said quietly, resisting the urge to reach for her. “I should have considered-” He paused when she shook her head, a small smile on her lips.
“There's nothing to apologize for.” She came the slightest bit closer, a hand resting on his arm. “I have always been forthright with you. If there had been anything untoward, I would have said so. We were caught up in all that has been going on around us, it's understandable that things could get out of hand. We might have said or done some things we shouldn't have, and if you want to forget about it, we can.”
“I can't do that.” Aryon's eyes held a rare candor, the conflict plain in his open gaze. “I tried. I kept telling myself while you were gone that it was nothing, that I should go on as if it never happened. I couldn't. There shouldn't have been such indiscretion, but I can't forget about it.”
That feeling in her chest was back again with a vengeance, just when she thought she had tamped it down firmly. This couldn't happen. There was just too much at stake right now. Everything they had worked for was on the line, it couldn't be ruined by misplaced feelings. A small thought came to her, making her reconsider. What if his feelings, too, were genuine? Was it possible? She thought back on all that had transpired, every fond glance, every gentle touch. Confused, she backed away slightly, an unfamiliar warmth coursing through her blood. It was just like the stories she heard several of the men in the caravan tell, especially the indiscreet and bawdy Nords. “I... I need to go.” Aryon looked so worried, so afraid, but she couldn't do more than edge away from him. She needed time to think.
So quick was her escape that he lost her after she exited the library, and he slumped against a shelf in defeat. He wasn't at all prepared for the voice that came out behind him. “Well that was badly handled.”
Aryon turned to see Smokeskin standing at casual attention near the doorway, brushing away a bit of dirt from his glass armor. “Wha- What are you doing here?”
He leaned against the wall, tail flicking against the door frame. “Guarding you, of course. You put me here on first shift, remember? After the whole Gothren incident?”
“Oh, Gods.” He pinched his brow, a headache already threatening to form. The man had heard everything. “I suppose I have a lot of explaining to do.”
“What is there to explain?” he asked, crossing his blue-scaled arms. “You tried to court a woman and, as a wise man once said, I don't think she understands the meaning behind such a gesture. Then again, perhaps she understands too well.” His green eyes were calm but filled with a shadow of darkness that never seemed to go completely away, even when telling his finest tales. “I am called Smokeskin-Killer for a reason. I have killed many Dark Elves, all in the name of freedom. I have seen the worst of the mines and plantations, you can't comprehend what she has been through if you haven't been through that hell yourself. To have that only compounded further by having to fear her fellow slaves and the men who wanted to have their ways with her, well, it's no wonder she ran off. I doubt she's ever had any good come to her besides Eddie watching over her as he has.”
Aryon regarded the man with surprise. He knew he had mentioned Laje-tal's past enslavement during the incident with Gothren, but he hadn't expected Smokeskin to be so informed. “You sure seem to know quite a bit about this.”
With a proud grin Smokeskin stood tall, sharp teeth gleaming. “I know everything that goes on around here. Everything.”
His brow raised curiously. “Everything?”
“Oh yes. Did you know that Drelan collects different types of candles? No? Andil has a habit of checking the lock of his door twice before leaving his quarters, Cidius puts a septim under his pillow, and Eddie? He has been having secret meetings with a blind Altmer in the Twin Lamps. Laje-tal goes out to the farming fields once a week to help the farmers grow their crops and burn off magic. Oh, and then there's you, of course!”
Despite the gravity of his situation, he couldn't help but want to know. “Me? What is so interesting about me?”
“Besides trying to court one of my fellow marsh-kin? Where do I start?” Smokeskin sat down on a nearby bench, head tilted back in thought. “You always read before you sleep, stir your tea precisely three times before you attempt to drink it, and you always leave that book about Daedric artifacts on the table when you're done with it instead of putting it away. Laje-tal always finds it and puts it back for you.”
Aryon found himself laughing at the extent of his observations, sitting across from the Argonian on a nearby chair. “Alright, I admit it, you quite possibly know everything.” He also had to admit that Smokeskin's humor was a relief. “It's funny, I didn't think this conversation would go in this direction. I was worried you might have some choice words to say.”
“What, because I was once interested?” He scoffed. “That went right out the window as soon as she said Dwemer! By my egg can that woman go on at length about magic, never mind relics! It's maddening!” With a sigh he removed his bracers, stretching out his hands. Aryon could see that his wrists were just as worn and scarred as Laje-tal's. “It's strange, I should also be mad at you for being a Dark Elf pursuing an Argonian, but I'm not.”
He looked at the deep marks, the rough scales, knowing what it meant. “You were a slave too?”
“Indeed, Laje-tal and I actually have had a very similar path, you know. I had my family, though, and we were saved by the Twin Lamps. We were turned over to some Imperials, and I went to Cyrodiil while the others went back to the marsh. They saw I was good with a blade and trained me as a knight. As for why I'm here, well...” His lips twisted in a wry smirk. “As I said, I know everything that goes on, including some very interesting things about the Emperor. It might have been very sensitive information, and I might have thought a Dark Brotherhood contract or ten was on my head. This is, of course, speculation.”
A brow raised suspiciously. “Of course. I also speculate that if you came upon information that was necessary to the preservation of my tower or my person, you would think to tell someone about it.”
Smokeskin laughed, reaching briefly to clap him on the shoulder. “Hah, that's why I can't be mad at you! You Telvanni understand these things! Fear not, I will continue my quest to know even more than Drelan does! I have a lot of catching up to do!”
“Blast it all, what am I going to do...” He leaned onto his hand, forehead on his palm. As hard as he tried, he couldn't think of a way to mend things.
“If you can't have a good talk, have a good fight.”
“What?”
Rising to his feet Smokeskin shrugged, pulling his bracers back over his arms. “She's a battlemage! If you can't get her to talk, get her to throw a punch!” He mimed a few punches in the air for dramatic emphasis. “Now if you don't mind, I'm going outside. I want to be well out of earshot when she comes back!”
Aryon chuckled, waving him off. “Oh, go rot!”
Laje-tal faced one of Gothren's many tower inhabitants, Endase Avel. She had met the woman a few times and they exchanged civil pleasantries, though after what was about to happen it was anyone's guess if things would stay civil. “I do hope you can pardon me, but I must speak with the Arch-Magister.”
“You can try,” Endase said, “but as you know, he will just delay an answer on anything as long as he can. You're much better off asking his Mouth.”
She removed the paper stating her challenge from her satchel, presenting it with a slight flourish. “I do believe my business involves the Arch-Magister specifically.”
Her eyes widened when she looked over the sheet. “Magister! Hah! Well, Laje-tal, I never expected that one! I won't try to stop you.” With a shifty look Endase leaned close, whispering. “Give him a good kick in the seat for me, would you? That bastard tried to grope me the other day!”
“Gladly.” With grave purpose she strode up the stairs into Gothren's study, the man slumped in his chair and reading a heavy, thick book. A shame he wouldn't finish it. Two Dremora guards stood nearby, their red glowing eyes watching her as she approached. Laje-tal's eyes narrowed as she looked down at him, turning cold when he finally noticed she was there. He regarded her with a scowl as she spoke. “I heard you have been looking for me.”
Gothren took in the appearance of the Argonian that dared approach him, seeing that she matched perfectly with the description of the one he had been trying so hard to find. Yes, it was her, Telvanni robes and all. His prey had delivered herself right to his doorstep! He had to be careful, though, to not appear too interested. “So I have. You are the one who claims to be the Nerevarine and a Telvanni councilor! Pah! What do you want? Can't you see I'm in the middle of reading? I don't have time to kill you right now.”
She impassively presented her paper of intent, her stance unwavering. “By the right of one who has been declared Magister, I hereby challenge you to a formal honorable duel for your title.” By now Endase and a couple others had gathered near the stairs, witnessing her challenge. Good. She needed witnesses.
The man only waved her off impatiently, going back to his reading with a huff. “Nonsense. Get out of here!”
“I have the proper documentation. I know you never bother to read these things, but-” Abruptly Gothren launched a ball of fire at her hand, straight to the paper. She didn't flinch, the unscathed document still held in place. “Oh come now, you should know that no mage leaves official papers flammable.”
For a moment he analyzed the situation, seeing she did indeed have a form declaring her a Magister. Aryon's doing, naturally. Well, maybe he would pay that man a visit when this pawn of his was taken care of. Briefly he went over all he knew on this peculiar Argonian who had apparently breezed through the ranks without more than a handful of people knowing. She didn't carry a wizard's staff, her magic was known to be loud and showy, and she was rumored to have been sent from Mournhold. It wasn't much information. He slumped down further, annoyed. “Bah, try to strike me down, I dare you! You'll be taken to prison for the rest of your miserable days!”
Unfortunately, Gothren had a point. If she struck him down as he was, unprovoked, she would certainly have a bounty on her head. As she looked at his Dremora guards, however, she came up with an idea. “It's not illegal to kill Daedra.”
His eyes narrowed as he stared over his book, clearly incensed. “You wouldn't dare!”
Out of a sheath she drew an enchanted sword, a tough glass longsword gleaming with frost. The nearest Dremora turned to face her and she feinted a punch with her right fist, forcing him backward. She blocked as he swung a heavy Dwemer axe in her direction, arcing the sword hard to the left to wrench him aside. The space they were in was too narrow for his axe and she used that to her advantage, coming too close for the axe to hit her with any amount of heft. From the other side the second Dremora took out a glass pike, aiming to hit her from a distance. She managed to dodge at an angle just sharp enough to make the second Dremora close in tighter, accidentally stabbing the first through the heart.
Laje-tal shoved the pommel of her sword into the ribs of the second Dremora, closing in on his limited range. A quick jab from her elbow landed straight at his face and broke his nose, a stomp from her foot aimed at the gaps in the armored boot beneath, bruising his instep. As he lurched forward in pain, she charged straight forward with her head, her sharp horns piercing the Dremora's throat. As the Dremora fell it was clear she had made her point. Gothren was downright fuming with anger, and she couldn't help but goad him on. “What do you say, Gothren? Want to try twisting my horns again?”
“You!” His face turned the most dangerous shade of red she had ever seen on a Dunmer, pointing a finger at her sharply. “I knew it! It was you! You blasted lizard! Fine, you want a duel with me, then? So be it! Get down to the plaza, I won't have your filthy reptilian blood staining my new rug!”
They ended up in the middle of town with a host of onlookers, every merchant, guard and commoner with a moment of time to spare gathering around to gawk at the fight. Gothren paced and stared at her from one end of the open area, all townsfolk giving them plenty of distance. Laje-tal took Gothren's moment of pacing to remove her long robes, leaving behind her tunic and pants. She didn't want to be encumbered by the long sleeves or flaps. Gothren made no move to take off his own purple and gold mage robes, and she made note of his neglect.
Gothren finally stopped pacing, brows furrowed, eyes on her cautious stance. “Well, come on then. Fight Aryon's fight for him, or whatever it is you think you're doing here!”
“This has nothing to do with Aryon,” she said firmly, tail lashing in anticipation. At last she put away her necklace, her pent up magicka flowing through her again. Her skin itched with the restrained energy and she resisted the urge to scratch herself. She wasted no time, summoning a winged twilight to her aid as she advanced, ice spell in hand. The winged twilight was a calculated distraction, summoned to give her time to observe her surroundings. Not many plants were around, so she would have to rely on no more than what she brought with her. Satisfied, she froze the ground around them with her ice magic, landing another burst on her summoned Daedra. Gothren seemed startled that she would harm her own Daedra, and directed a fire spell at the frozen incoming beast.
Talons digging into the slippery ice under her feet, Laje-tal charged, aiming her sword to cleave her winged twilight in two as the fiery burst from Gothren covered her action. She managed to come very close to him, drawing blood from a thin cut on his chin. Gothren struck back with another blast of fire, but she turned it aside with a small, precise ward. When she closed again he drew his Daedric dagger, mindful of the ice now all around him. He had managed to melt some of the ice around them with his fire spell, but he needed to be cautious. They traded blow after blow, their differing fighting styles paving the course of the battle.
Laje-tal parried a stab and sent a hard, hot blast of fire beneath them, melting the ice and filling the area with a thick steam. Under the cover, she removed a large vial of poison, smashing it, the vapors of the poison mixing with the steam. She could hear Gothren cough before he struck up a wind, blowing the poisonous mist back her way, slipping back under the cover of an invisibility spell. The spell was a good idea, but she could hear him moving as he tried to maintain his footing on the ice, wheezing from the choking poison. Once he came just within range, she blasted him with a strong dispelling magic while he skidded forth to launch a stab from his dagger in her direction. In a flash she diverted the blow, using the momentum to close in. Her tail wrapped around his lower leg, unsettling his balance as she laid a hard punch to the back of his head.
Stunned, Gothren struggled to his feet, shielded with a quick spell. She was ready for this, and didn't press the attack, letting him wear his magicka thinner with the draining shield. Gothren recovered quickly, charging at her with a flame spell in one hand and shock in another. He closed in and managed to glance her with the shock spell, jolting her sharply. She bore the pain to keep the close distance, grabbing his arm to throw him as the shock spell relayed back on him through their contact. The jolt coursed through him but he recovered, his fire spell still ready. He laughed. “Hah, you fight as fiercely as everyone says!”
Laje-tal made no comment, not allowing any distraction to interfere. He seemed more affected by the shock spell than she expected, or maybe the poison was starting to do its work, and he was likely trying to buy some time by talking. While he made some comment about Argonians she didn't pay attention to, she withdrew a root from her pocket, readying it in her right fist. She charged forward, using her sword and her horns to force him back onto the defense. They exchanged magical and physical blows back and forth, and eventually the older man started to tire. He lunged and she allowed him to come just short of making his mark, feeding magic into the root in her fist, allowing the sudden explosion of roots to snag into his long robes and capture him.
Her victory was messy. The roots of the plant had hardened to points, entangling Gothren and stabbing into many vital points in his body. When the crowd of people around her started cheering, she almost jumped with a start, so focused on the battle that she had forgotten about them. She just wiped the blood from her face, looking around at them as the sudden realization hit. She had won. As much as she hated standing on ceremony, she had to make it official, and faced the crowd. “By the right of the Magister who has defeated the Arch-Magister in fair single combat, I declare myself Arch-Magister of House Telvanni.” From the group she could see Endase approaching quickly, a triumphant smile on her face. Laje-tal sighed, tired, and greeted the woman with a nod. “Excuse me, but would you have Gothren's remains taken care of in the proper rites? I would see to it myself but I need to secure a steward for this Tel and report to the other councilors immediately.”
Endase looked over the field as the remaining roots withdrew, no longer fueled by the magic coursing through them, leaving behind only Gothren's still form. “I will see to it that he's given the proper courtesy and rites. You should take his dagger and robes, as well as his councilor helm from his study as testament to your victory. I'll manage things around here, I've been doing so for years! Go on now!”
Laje-tal shook her head with a smile as she retrieved the items suggested, including the helm from Gothren's study. Once all was settled, she took a moment to rest in the empty study, catching her breath as the last jitters from the shock spell wore off. There was so much to do now! First and foremost, however, had to do with Tel Aruhn itself, and the slave market just outside. That would have to go, but she didn't want to leave the trader without work. Then there was the matter of the other councilors. Dratha would probably be beside herself with joy that the new Arch-Magister was a woman, never mind her race. Therana didn't even know what day it was. Baladas was close enough to be a friend to her now, but Neloth was another story. She would keep a close eye on him.
Her thoughts turned to Aryon. Damn. She would have to face him. What could be said? What did she even want from this? Her arms crossed around herself as she sat in silence, struggling with the answers. She knew what love was; she was in her thirties, after all, and she had watched that sort of thing go on around her all her life. What she didn't know was how to accept the fact that she had that sort of love for Aryon. She knew what could come next if things went far enough. Could she accept that, too? A drop of blood fell from her horns onto her shirt, and she remembered she was still covered in it. Maybe a good swim would clear her head.
Smokeskin stood on duty outside the tall tower of Tel Vos when Laje-tal returned, certainly looking worse for wear. She hadn't even recalled to the tower as she usually did, coming up from the docks after having taken the boat. He greeted her when she approached, chin raised high. “Welcome back, Laje-tal. Or, should I say Arch-Magister?”
Hesitantly she nodded, her nerves still frayed from the battle. “Yes, I formally declared it to all witnesses in Tel Aruhn. There will be some new changes made in this house.”
“Good,” he said with relief. “Starting with that damned slave market, I'm sure! Can you imagine? If we can end it here even in Telvanni territory, we might be able to end it for good. Ah, Master Aryon wanted to see you, by the way.”
She scoffed. “After what I just did, I would imagine so. Anything important?”
“Something about... ah, making up for what he said to you?” His grin was downright mischievous, his green eyes narrowed. “Apparently it was something very interesting.”
Her own eyes narrowed, though in her case it was with suspicion. “Gods, do you have your nose in everything going on around here?”
He only stood tall and stiff, affecting nonchalance. “Me? Never!” After a short laugh he grew serious, however, watching her with a wry smile. “Well, maybe. I know how these things are, my friend. Don't let the past get in the way of your future. Face it with the same brave face you always have.”
His reassurance was unexpected, and she found herself returning his smile. While she'd had her doubts in the beginning, Smokeskin had turned out to be a kind, reliable friend. “I will. Thank you.” She headed into the Tel, the lightened mood making it easier to approach the inner study with confidence. Aryon was at his desk yet again, agonizing over a pile of enchanting contracts. Determined to start off her return on a positive tone, she grinned at him when he looked up at her with a wary glance. “Did you know that Smokeskin is the authority on anything interesting going on around here?”
As hoped Aryon smiled, standing straight to greet her. “He made me well aware of that. Did you know that Eddie has been having secret meetings with some blind Altmer from the Twin Lamps?”
Startled, she nearly dropped her pack as she moved to remove it. “What? Eddie is meeting with Tenvaril again? In Vvardenfell? By the Gods, you can't be serious!”
He waved his hands, confused. “That's what Smokeskin said, anyway. Is that important?”
“Important!” She set her pack on the table, removing what she salvaged from Tel Aruhn. “If Tenvaril is in Vvardenfell, that's very important! Blast it all, why didn't Eddie tell me? I'll have a few choice words for him!” Belatedly she realized she had been going on about something Aryon knew nothing about and shot him an apologetic smile. “Ah, right, I never mentioned this. Tenvaril works with the Lamps back in Deshaan, liberating slaves around the southern border. That Altmer has the biggest heart of any I know. I never thought he would leave Deshaan, even for Eddie's sake. The Dunmer have some rather mixed feelings about hulkynd Altmer, never mind Altmer in general, and for him to be here in Vvardenfell? They must be planning something significant for him to stray so far from our allies.”
He relaxed, their usual talk putting him at ease. “A hulkynd? Oh, right, Smokeskin said he is blind?”
“Yes, from birth. Those silly Altmer in the isles throw out their children for the most idiotic reasons I've heard. He's just blind, he's not incompetent. He arranges transportation, or education if the slaves wish to move on to work in Cyrodiil or other free provinces. Fine mage, too, and infinitely better at restoration than I will ever be. Blast, though, what could he be doing in Vvardenfell? Maybe he heard about what I'm doing here. Maybe he wants to free slaves farther out of his usual range. Gods, damn it all, I want to know!”
Aryon laughed. “Relax, I'm sure Eddie has it under control.”
“It's Eddie I'm worried about,” she said, frustrated. “He likes to make it seem like he's all business but I know better! I'm sure Tenvaril isn't here just to free some slaves. This is also about what happened in Mournhold, I'm sure of it.”
He leaned back against the wall, completely lost. “What in Oblivion are you talking about?”
“I'm talking about one of the most frustrating romances that has ever taken place! Oh never mind that, if you want all the details I'll give them to you, but I really need to sort out the plans for Tel Aruhn.”
Baffled, he blinked in surprise. “He's involved with Tenvaril?”
“Well, I hope so, it would be about damned time. They've been playing this game since I've known them, it's maddening. He knows Eddie's actual name! Even I don't know that!” She laid out Gothren's tattered robe, wondering what to do with the thing. It looked irreparable, too full of holes and stains to do much of anything with. What a waste. Glancing up at his face she could see he was still trying to process what she told him, and she grinned. “Like I said, Eddie's interests lay in a different direction. Don't let it ruin your perceptions.”
Aryon only held a small, sad smile. “I'm hardly in any position to judge someone for who they love.”
She froze, having just set aside Gothren's Daedric dagger. In an instant the tension had returned, but she was determined to see this through. Silently she left the rest of her pack as it was, coming behind the desk to face him just as she had when she first arrived in Tel Vos. “Is that how this is? Do you love me?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation, taking one of her hands in his. He could feel her shaking, though the shakes stilled within his grasp. “Yes, I do. I won't be sorry for how I feel, but I understand if you don't feel the same way. If you truly want to forget about it, I will.”
She found herself reflecting his words from earlier, facing his gaze with direct conviction. “I can't do that.” Just as she had so long ago now, she backed him up against the wall, her other hand on his chest. “To forget about it would be to deny my own feelings.”
Aryon, surprised by her assured advance, felt a slight hope raise with her words. He needed to be careful. He rested his hands on her waist, pulling her just the slightest bit closer. “Don't, then. Let it be as it is.” Laje-tal quickly closed the distance, leaning forth to kiss him. She wasn't sure if her kind did such a thing but she managed, the warmth rising as he returned the kiss. Aryon's embrace tightened, pulling her flush against him, deepening their kiss. When they separated, Laje-tal laid her brow against his.
“I think I found a rather good way to shut you up if you start to prattle on.” He chuckled, laying a brief kiss on her nose. He doubted he would mind being shut up in the future.
In a brace of shrubs, Laje-tal and Aryon crept close to the ground, waiting. Laje-tal was itching to see if Smokeskin was right and Eddie would be having one of his clandestine meetings. Insects buzzed in the night air, the light wind rustling the trees and shrubs. Hopefully there would be enough overlaying noise to cover their presence. “If it's Tenvaril, we'll have to be careful,” she whispered. “That man can hear a pin drop in the next province!”
A shadow passed through the field from the Tel, and soon Eddie came out into the clearing. He carried a sack of items, but it was unclear what. Vigilant, he looked around the clearing, biting his lip nervously. A hand went through his short red hair, and he started to fidget. Before long he was joined by his contact, and it was indeed an Altmer man. He was quite tall, as most Altmer were, a whole head above Eddie. His hair was very long and silver despite his youthful appearance, a long strip of cloth tied over his unseeing eyes.
Laje-tal gestured and nodded. Yes, that was indeed Tenvaril. What was most peculiar, though, was his odd assortment of clothing. His mage robes were short, only to his knee over his pants, and a stark red and gold. There was hardly any sleeve to it either, his arms almost entirely bare. Aryon knew they had to be quiet but he couldn't help but wonder. “Strange mage robes.”
“Helps him feel changes in the wind and temperature,” she said close to his ear. “Be still, he will use a detect life spell if he suspects anything and then it will all be over.”
Tenvaril also carried a long staff, and swept the end of it about until it made contact with Eddie's foot. He smiled. “Ah, there you are, you're so quiet today. Did you find all of them?”
Eddie brought out the sack, metal jingling within. “Almost, I still have a few more to go. I couldn't find one for Molag Mar or the Telvanni canton in Vivec. We'll have to go about it another way.”
More metal clinked about as Tenvaril fished through the sack, head raised to listen. “This is very promising, you found quite a few!” He withdrew a few pieces and suddenly it was clear what had been found. Keys. The sack was filled with keys! “You've outdone yourself, my friend. Is the Dren Plantation one in here too?”
Eddie laughed. “Oh come now, who do you think I am? Of course it is.”
“Naturally,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Goodness but there are so many. I can't imagine how many slaves will fit with these keys. Ah, you were right to ask me to come here. If we free all of these people, there will need to be quite a bit of doing to get them on their way.” He suddenly tilted his head around, seeking out an unheard noise. “You'd better come out, Laje-tal, I know you're here.”
She held back a curse. Damn, how did he always know? From their cover they both approached the clearing, Eddie looking on with a grin. Laje-tal did, at least, have the grace to look apologetic. “It's good to see you again, Tenvaril. I see you two have been up to quite a bit.”
Eddie managed a nervous laugh. “Ah, well, I was going to tell you about it eventually, honest. With you being the new Arch-Magister, though, I figured the less you knew for now, the better. Things are still in the planning stage.”
Beside him Tenvaril turned in the direction of her voice, leaning forward curiously. “You are the Arch-Magister of the Telvanni, Laje-tal? I have missed quite a bit, it seems. Who is with you?”
Aryon came forth, not sure if he should offer a handshake. “Master Aryon, sir.”
“Oh my. We have quite a few Telvanni involved, don't we? The three of you, and one other Argonian who has come by. What a strange world, indeed. Well, for now we had better get these to Lenassa, we still need to get the number of the slaves in the places we can't find keys for.”
“Lenassa?” Aryon looked at Laje-tal, perplexed.
“Lenassa Hlaalu,” she supplied. “I based my illusion on her quite a bit, actually. She was the one who set me up to work with the Imperials, she still runs the Lamps near Tear. Well, I'm in on this mess now. How many keys do we need to get, yet? Anything I can do?”
Eddie passed her his list, only a few location names not yet checked off. “There are a few that don't seem to have keys to the slave bracers. No idea why anyone would do that, but we can break them off the hard way if we have to. Tenvaril has been working on an alteration spell that we hope will work, but all of the unlocking spells and picks we know can't break these modern slave bracers, they're made to be opened only with a key. Cracking them open with a grinder and pry bar isn't a pleasant experience for anyone involved!”
She shuddered. “Gods, no. Well, I will try to find out what I can. The Sadrith Mora market is under Neloth, we might not be able to do much for them and not get caught. Tel Aruhn is open now, but I want to get that trader into different work. If I just remove her, she'll continue her same work elsewhere, and probably make herself harder to find.”
“Messy,” he agreed. “We'll have to go about this carefully. What you can do for us is not be involved. I know it's hard, but you can't be doing this. This operation we're doing is going to be slow, freeing the smallest caves first and working our way out. We'll go for the big ones when the time is right, but you need to leave your nose out of this! You can accomplish far more by doing whatever it is the other councilors and Telvanni need done, unlike Gothren.”
Tenvaril nodded, leaning on his staff in thought. “He has a point. Even the Telvanni aren't so proud that they won't recognize competence and perseverance. If you provide a good example of what an Argonian can do in a place of power, you will contribute toward their perception of your race on the whole. So much of this conflict has come from lack of understanding. Speak with your fellow councilors and help them understand you, not as an Argonian, but as a person.”
Laje-tal couldn't help but absorb his words, knowing he was right. She shouldn't involve herself. She should also leave the details of Tel Aruhn to them, if she were wise. Allowing them to operate for her behind the front she posed was the safest method, and the most likely to succeed. “I understand. I will let you take care of freeing the slaves and removing them quietly.” She reached forward to take his hand in a firm grip. “I know that if anyone can do it, you two can.”
He returned her grip briefly before withdrawing. “I don't have the highest numbers in the Lamps for nothing!”
Eddie scoffed. “You mean we do!”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he said with a laugh. “This is a team effort, after all. Ah, I know!” He held out the bag of keys to Laje-tal, opening it. “I know how you can be of help. Why don't you pick out which place we will go first?”
Laje-tal reached into the bag, fishing around until one caught her interest. She removed it, looking at the attached label. “Yakanalit.” The key was handed to Tenvaril, who placed it in his pocket. “So, you'll be leaving, then?”
“Soon, yes. Once we have-” He suddenly turned, a magical shield cast wide around his staff, blocking an incoming poison dart. Everyone was soon on the defense, attacked from all angles by five Dark Brotherhood agents. Laje-tal stood with her back against Eddie's just as she had many times before, drawing her sword as he readied an ice spell. Aryon caught on to the strategy and joined their close group, summoning a bright orb of light overhead. Each agent had the distinctive armor of the Dark Brotherhood, close-fitting suits of black and red.
Two agents converged on Tenvaril, who stood separate from the group. He cast a detect life spell, the thrum of the magic in their resulting auras enough for him to hear where they were. With his staff he countered a swipe from their daggers, knocking one back with a forceful ward. The other was dispatched when Eddie launched a shard of ice through the agent's chest. Laje-tal gored her agent with a calculated strike from her talons, Aryon summoning a storm atronach to their aid. While they were slightly outnumbered, the Dark Brotherhood agents soon fell one by one. When it was all over, Laje-tal searched their remains to find yet another note.
“By Azura,” she groaned with aggravation, “they're after me again. I would have thought the Morag Tong would be hunting them down by now. This is getting old.”
Aryon glanced at the note, frowning. “Same initial of who is sending them, too. Have you told Barenziah yet?”
“I did, yes. I'm waiting on a reply. Blast, what if it is Helseth after all? What could he want with me?”
“I think I understand why he would want to do away with you,” he mused. Unwittingly he now reflected her own thoughts over the past days. “You're quite dangerous, you know. You also now hold quite a high power in this land. Only the Duke himself is higher than the top councilors of the Great Houses. You also now pose yourself as the Nerevarine, the reincarnated soul of one who has become quite a legend. Then, of course, is your affiliation with the Imperials. To say you might threaten his crown is quite plausible, if a bit ridiculous. It's his own fault that he has drawn negative attention to himself.”
Tenvaril neared them, his voice thick with concern. “The Nerevarine?”
Laje-tal held out her left hand to let him feel the moon and star ring, knowing there would be many questions she may not have answers for. “If this ring is any proof of it, yes.”
“Oh, this is terrible. This is very terrible indeed.”
“I know, I heard that Almalexia has gotten very unstable from being unable to renew her powers, the Temple is going to start hunting me down, and to top it all off I still have this Dark Brotherhood contract on my head.”
“No, not just that,” he said emphatically, his worry plain. “The Nerevarine is said to remove the false gods from Morrowind, that means all three of the Tribunal. Vivec is the only one able to keep the moonlet above the city where it is. Baar Dau has slipped from its position before, which is why it is so terribly close to the Temple canton, but without Vivec there to hold it, it will certainly crash into the city. There's no telling how much damage that could cause.”
She drew back in shock, suddenly realizing what he meant. Everyone in Morrowind knew the story of Baar Dau, and how it had been flung at the canton for reasons nobody could completely agree on. The story went that Vivec held it there with his power instead of sending it elsewhere, on the threat that if his people ever stopped loving him, the moonlet would destroy the city. “Blast that man and his vanity. It would take a whole team of mages and then some just to even hope to divert the thing! Why did I not think of that?”
“You have quite a bit on your mind as it is, my friend,” he assured. “Cause and effect are often difficult to see until the event in question has passed. You will cause many unknown things to happen if the prophecy is fulfilled. Perhaps I can be of some small help to you. Eddie?” When the man in question approached, he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. Would you mind writing down some notes for Laje-tal in the coming days? I doubt our friends want to stay out here all night just to hear my thoughts on the Nerevarine.”
Eddie laughed, but from her close proximity Laje-tal could see the slight hurt in his eyes. “Sure, I'll do that. It's no trouble.”
“Much appreciated. If you all will pardon me, then, I must be leaving. I have a feeling it is quite late. You know where I will be.” With that, Tenvaril excused himself, disappearing into the dark brush.
Only once he was very well out of earshot did Laje-tal turn to Eddie, holding his shoulders until he looked at her. “By the Gods, Eddie, what are you doing?”
Aryon seemed to understand the shift in tone in the conversation, and withdrew from the area with a gesture back at the Tel. “I will be heading back now as well. I'll be up for a time if I'm needed.”
Several long minutes passed in silence even after Aryon was long gone. Finally Eddie let out a sigh. “I don't know what I'm doing. I thought everything would be alright after all this time. I really do need his help with all of these slaves we're looking to move out. I thought that as long as it was about the business, everything would be fine.”
“I think you really need to talk to him about what happened in Mournhold. You can't let something like that hang between you indefinitely. Even if it was nothing, at least then you will know.”
“Oh what do you know?” His brows furrowed sharply, but just as quickly relaxed. “Ah damn it, Laje-tal, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”
Silently she pulled her friend into a light embrace, offering what support she could. “What I know is that I'm glad to have voiced my own feelings. I realize I am more direct than you are, but I could not have gone on not knowing. I'm fortunate to have my feelings returned, but even if they hadn't been, it would have been better than being in between. Even a broken heart is proof that you have one.”
Eddie grumbled into her shoulder. “Damn you and your logic.” When she released him, though, he had to admit he felt the slightest bit better. He managed a smile. “Let me guess, Aryon?”
She scoffed playfully as she walked away toward the Tel, looking back over her shoulder with a grin. “Who else?” Together they returned to the Tel in improved spirits, though the lingering threat of the Dark Brotherhood still loomed on the horizon. There was yet so much to do and as the coming days would prove, so little time in which to do it.
Chapter Text
Deep within the Hlaalu canton of Vivec City, Laje-tal took a steadying breath. This was all she had yet to do to secure her position as Hortator of the three major Great Houses. As Arch-Magister, there was nothing to stop her from being the Hortator of the Telvanni, and the Redoran had accepted her readily enough after a bit of work and a duel with Bolvyn Venim. The Hlaalu, however, would be interesting. After a bit of asking around, she learned that no other than Crassius Curio was the man to start with, and her guts twisted just at the thought of that horrid man. Hopefully he wouldn't recognize her.
Laje-tal hadn't yet worn the Telvanni Arch-Magister robes she'd had made up. She felt a bit uncomfortable with the elegant embroidery and the color purple in general, but Aryon had insisted that if she ever needed to impress anyone, looking the part would be necessary. Right now it was the best bet for trying to look very, very different from the young commoner maid she had once been. With all of her finery, enchanted jewelry and staff of office, surely she would look like someone else.
She was terribly wrong.
“Laje-tal!” Damn. The man had recognized her as soon as she entered, and she tucked her tail close to her legs reflexively. Despite this she kept her head raised, looking down her nose at him. She didn't need to take any more of his nonsense. He was a councilor, but he wasn't the head of the Hlaalu. She outranked him, so she would give him civility and nothing else.
“Good day,” she said with a touch of ice. “As current Hortator of the Redoran and Telvanni, and as Arch-Magister of the latter, I have come to petition for the position of Hortator for the Hlaalu.”
Crassius leered at her from his desk. “Hmm, yes, I might just consider it... for a kiss.”
She held back a particularly foul comment. “I will do no such thing.”
He only bit his lip in thought, eyes narrowed with glee. “I have a Dwemer tube that needs polishing. There's plenty of oil on hand to lubricate a few... pistons.”
“No.”
“Perhaps you could be a darling and handle a couple of grand soul gems, they require a delicate touch to grant their full power to the bearer.”
Her jaw clenched with repressed frustration. Where did he come up with these insane things? “I have no time for this. Be serious with your request and I shall consider it.”
To her dismay he pulled forth a broom. “I have a very fine broom that could use a resting place between your soft pillows!”
Laje-tal managed not to kill him by some grace of an unknown number of gods, withdrawing a large pile of coins and sliding them across the table to him. “Hortator. I'm sure we're now speaking the same language?”
He looked over the hefty sum, a thousand septims, with a tinge of regret. “I believe we are, yes. Very well. I will give my support, but you will need the support of the others as well, pudding. Dram Bero will support you if you can find him. Two others can be swayed if you can convince Orvas Dren to be on your side. I'm sure you can turn your sweet charm on him and he will be putty in your hands.”
She held back a scoff. She knew that Orvas Dren, in particular, would be even harder than what she was doing right now. Charm, indeed. No, she would need something far better than that. As she left she heard Crassius call after her, but she pretended not to hear him. She didn't have to listen to him any more. It was high time to come up with some very good blackmail.
“I have an idea on how to compromise the Dren Plantation.” Laje-tal's statement took Eddie by surprise. She had found a very interesting note in the plantation, but instead of presenting it to Orvas Dren and simply asking to be named Hortator, she brought it to Tel Vos first. The Duke would be outraged if he found out that his brother was conspiring to have him murdered, which would leave Orvas to succeed him as the closest heir, never mind Vedam's daughter. The fact that Ilmeni Dren was a supporter of the Twin Lamps in Vvardenfell made it even better. It all laid the perfect path to make a very calculated strike against Orvas Dren. When she explained her thoughts to Eddie, he sighed with exasperation.
“Conspiring to murder the Duke, smuggling Skooma and moon sugar, leading the Camonna Tong! This is very risky, but I don't have to tell you that. Still, if we can take away all of his slaves, it will stifle his business. If we then expose his treachery to the Duke, he would be ruined if not killed outright. I know Ilmeni would love to free those slaves, but I don't know. There's no telling what might happen if we do this. It might not be the right time, yet.”
From her pack she withdrew a peculiar metal implement, placing it on the table before him. “I think you should also know that the Dren Plantation is using these on their slaves.”
Eddie's ashen face paled, eyes widened as he looked at it. “Scale hooks!” He made a revolted noise. Spring-tensed hooks like that were intended to latch into the scales on an Argonian's spine, wedging themselves deeper as the victim moved until they met the spine itself. It was a horrendous torture item meant to keep the victim still. “I thought those things went out of style years ago. Trust the Dren Plantation and people like House Dres to keep tradition alive. Alright, I see your point, I truly do, but I think we should contact Ilmeni Dren to get her opinion on this. She will know the inner workings of that family and can tell us whether we should do it. I think we should also consult Tenvaril. We'll need his help too.”
Aryon came into the library as soon as he heard their conversation, approaching them with a thoughtful look. “That's true enough. What you want to do is illegal, after all. The Armistice allows for the open ownership of slaves and removing them from their owners is theft. Considering that a fit slave sells for a thousand septims, it would be a very expensive mistake if you were caught.”
Laje-tal nodded, knowing the facts. “Right. I know we need to bide our time. There is no harm in thinking it over. I have also run into a rather peculiar situation with the Zainab Ashlander tribe and I hoped you two might have some insight on this.”
“The Zainab? Is this about them confirming you as Nerevarine? What did they need?”
“Oh, it's such a ridiculous thing! Their ashkhan wants a bride, but do you know what he asked for? He wants to have a high-born Telvanni woman as his bride!” When they both laughed she only sighed. “I know, I know. That would never happen. I asked their wise woman for her thoughts, and... well, she suggested I go back to Tel Aruhn and acquire a slave! How can I even think of doing such a thing?”
“Savile Imayne would certainly be the right person for it. She finds molding people to be an art.” He frowned. “Perhaps you should take a look for now. You have been considering what to do with that slave market in the future, why not take this time to speak with Savile and see what other sorts of work she would be suited for? While you're there, maybe see who Savile suggests for your dilemma and if the slave is willing to wed an Ashlander. That slave may find the opportunity a blessing, after all.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed. “I've known slaves who wanted little more than a warm bed, three meals a day, and nobody harming them. To be dressed up as a noble and matched with a man who would take care of her might be more than she ever dreamed of. Alright then.” With that she straightened, resolved. “I will look it over and consider it from all angles. What a headache!”
Eddie agreed with an emphatic nod. “You've always been good at acquiring headaches. I'll see what I can come up with about the plantation. Oh, Tel Uvirith is done, by the way! It will be guarded by Dwemer constructs, too. You'd better have a look at it before you go back to Orvas Dren and rub this information you found about him in his face!”
“Blast it all, I haven't even been there yet!” Her tail flicked against the wall in annoyance. “I have a home and yet I apparently can't be bothered to even go there before it's done! Ah well, I just haven't had the time. Eddie, you'll have to come look it over too when you can, I requested they add on a house pod for you and I must make sure it has all you need.”
“What?” He chuckled in surprise. “For me? Why?”
She prodded his shoulder playfully. “Do you really want to put up with those Mouths at the Council House any longer than you have to? I have noticed you stay here at Tel Vos whenever you can! Your little hole in the wall in Balmora is likely full of dust now!”
“Hah, you know me! I suppose I could spare a couple days down there. I'm not needed for the venture into Yakanalit yet, it's high time we break the place in. Look at all this work!”
Laje-tal sighed at the pile of papers already amassed in front of them, knowing there was yet more and more to do than just this one stack. “Damn, but a new stronghold is needy! At least Tel Aruhn isn't something I need to worry about just yet, Endase is taking care of everything. She can be in charge permanently for all I care. I just need to figure out something for the Zainab. I took care of the other three tribes already, and House Hlaalu shouldn't be any trouble with Orvas cornered. Am I missing something?” She paged through her notes, frustrated. “Gods, what am I missing?”
Beside her Aryon took away the notes from her hands, setting them aside. “I think you have quite enough to keep track of as it is. If I find anything missing, I'll have it done.”
“What about all the enchanting contracts?”
“It's fine, I'll take care of them,” he insisted. “You've done plenty. After all the times you have torn me away from my projects to have some needed rest, it's only fair that I return the favor. Whatever it is can wait until morning.”
“Morning! That's right, I was going to visit Tel Mora in the morning.”
He sighed, taking hold of her arm to drag her away if he had to. “We'll remind you. Come now, it's late even by our reckoning. Even Eddie looks about ready to sleep where he stands!”
Eddie, who had indeed been blinking himself awake more than once that night, now straightened with a huff. “Not my fault that Laje-tal doesn't know what the appropriate hour to bring in all of her nonsense is.” He smiled, though, taking up his own stack of papers and gesturing with them on his way out. “You can count on me, I'll do my part! I'll find Ilmeni Dren and get things moving, you just keep your nose out of it!”
Laje-tal all but shooed him out the door. “Yes, yes, I know about it! Go on now! Get!” He laughed his way out, leaving her to sigh and lean against the wall in his wake, overwhelmed by everything that needed to be done. “How can I rest with all of this in front of me?” She was quickly pulled into Aryon's embrace, his arms snug around her waist.
“How anyone can rest with those heavy robes is beyond me.”
She chuckled. “Hah, are you saying I should undress? By Azura, you're as bad as that Hlaalu councilor.”
“Councilor? Oh, him.” He frowned in disgust. Everyone knew about Crassius Curio and his tendencies. “What did he ask of you?”
“Nothing I agreed to. That idiot asked for a kiss! Me, the Arch-Magister! He had some nerve! I'm not someone's maid to be bossed around anymore!”
“You most certainly are not.” She came closer, her tail snaking around his leg as she returned his embrace, giving him the kiss she wouldn't share with any other. When they parted, he faced her with a serious look. “If he does anything unwelcome, it would be a great insult toward yourself and the house. When all of this is over, you'd be within your right to hold him accountable for his actions.”
“When all of this is over, hm?” She rested her chin on his shoulder, leaning into his warmth. Sometimes it felt like the pile of things she had to do would never be over. “When this is over, I think I will go give Barenziah a piece of my mind for shoving me into all of this. I think she assigned me to this project on purpose. Not that I mind, of course,” she added. “I have enjoyed my time on Vvardenfell more than I ever thought I could.”
“You'll go to Mournhold, then?”
“At some point, if I'm able,” she said quietly. “If Helseth has a contract on me, I would prefer to settle our differences in person. If you can, you should come along.”
Surprised, he drew back to look at her. “To Mournhold?”
“Yes, you could come meet some of my companions, and I could show you the palace.” She grinned. “Sorting out the business with the Dark Brotherhood could take any length of time, and I would hate for you to be lonely.”
“Oh is that how it is?” Aryon asked with a laugh. “Well I surely can't leave you to do something like that all by yourself. Perhaps once your exile is lifted, and your stronghold isn't quite so needy, things will be well enough in order. For now, I must insist that you rest.”
“Rest! I can't rest like this!” A stifled yawn made his point, though, and she pulled away in resignation. As Aryon moved on into the inner chamber, she removed the weighty Arch-Magister robes, relieved to have them off her shoulders. She hung it on a sturdy wall hook as Aryon set aside his own, her excessive jewelry tossed into an awaiting box. Thank goodness that was all done with, at least. For now, she could be comfortable for a while. When Aryon pulled her close again, though, the difference was very noticeable. He often went without a shirt under his robes, and her own tunic was the only layer between them. It suddenly seemed like a very, very thin layer.
Instinctively her hands came up to land on his chest, the smooth, warm skin inviting. Equal parts panic and enticement warred in her thoughts, leaving her to stay still, waiting. She knew she could trust him, that he wouldn't hurt her, but she couldn't stop her body's reaction. Aryon seemed to feel her tense, and his grip loosened, enough for her to move away if she needed to. He laid a soft kiss on her brow, the tension easing as she relaxed in his grip. “It's alright.”
“I know,” she said with confidence, looking him straight in the eye. “I trust you, but it's hard to fight against what I have needed to do all of my life to protect myself. I will stay by you, but I can't be like any others you may have had.”
“Others? Gods, I hope you're never anything like them,” he grumbled. Though he wanted to leave the statement as it was, the inquisitive tilt of her head was enough to draw the rest from him. “There were only three. The first thought she could use my naive, idiotic younger self, and I'll admit she did for a while. The second was brief, nothing special, but the third ended up being so horrible she made me swear off these things entirely.” He tapped her nose playfully. “You made me an oath breaker, you know.”
One hand brushed up to his neck, feeling the steady pulse underneath. “I hope it's worth it.”
He answered her with a burning kiss. “Stay with me tonight?” When her look turned concerned, he added, “to rest, that is.”
“Alright.” The answer came out before she even thought it over, and somewhat surprised her. It had been several days, but she was still unsure how to react to certain aspects of a relationship. Apparently some part of her had an idea. She followed after him to the back and down below, the one and only place in the Tel she hadn't been allowed into until now. For a long time she had wondered what it looked like, and her need to know kept her calm.
Aryon's room wasn't an enclosed room, but rather a carved out section that went partially under the main study. It was low and fenced off for privacy, but open enough to access with little effort. Aside from extra storage and a few trinkets, there wasn't much else to the room that wasn't different from the rest of the Tel. While Aryon laid down with a tired grumble, she took a moment to examine a chunk of raw glass laying on a shelf. It was clearly flawed, but the shape of the internal flaw was part of what made it intriguing. “Someone found that in the lower caverns,” he stated when he saw her interest.
“It likely had quite a bit of volcanic pressure on it, and the quartz impurities and air pockets caused the flaw inside to rupture.” She was soon at his bedside, smiling down at his puzzled look. “Someone had to make sure that all the glass we dug up was worth the trouble.” After a moment of consideration she joined him, laying down on the soft, wide bed. Aryon drew her close again, and she rested her chin on his shoulder with a contented sigh. Any worries left faded to nothing in the warmth of his embrace. In only moments, she was asleep, only recalling a brief sensation of his hand on her side.
Aryon woke with his right arm almost completely numb. He looked over to see Laje-tal's head on his shoulder, and though he didn't want to wake her, he also wanted to feel his arm again. Carefully he moved enough to relocate her to a pillow, wincing at the intense tingling pain shooting down his arm. That hadn't exactly worked as planned. He laid back down, a hand idly on her back. Under her thin shirt he could feel the raised bumps and pocked depressions of her old scars, and he again scowled at the memory of Gothren's abuse. Despite the man being dead, Aryon found himself bristling at the thought. It was a bit silly to feel protective of Laje-tal when she was the one who killed Gothren, but he did.
He leaned close, his nose near hers, calmed by her steady breaths. Her tail flicked, soon alert, eyes open and irises thinning to slits as she looked his way. She closed them back up with a groan. “Damn it, that's right, I need to go to Tel Mora.”
“You don't have to,” he said with a chuckle.
“I do, though. Dratha is expecting me. Apparently there was quite a list of things she needed approval on from the Arch-Magister, and as Gothren so very loved doing, he let it go indefinitely. I intend to be as efficient and punctual as I've been with you.”
“Just like an Imperial!”
Another groan. “Yes, just like the Imperials, I'll admit that wore off on me. You can't complain about me being ineffective.” She rolled on top of him, pinning him down. She had been about to say something else, but his eyes widened at her unexpected gesture, and she realized her leg had brushed up against a very sensitive area. Carefully she moved away, rising to leave.
“I would definitely say you are very effective.” Though Argonians couldn't visibly blush, she still managed to look completely embarrassed by her inadvertent actions. “Don't worry, go ahead to Tel Mora. I'll be here whenever you wish to come back.” Thankfully she left without comment, though the tilt of her shapely hips as she left made him grit his teeth against the very obvious effect it had on him. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. “Damn it, I'm getting as daft as that Hlaalu idiot!”
Aryon moved to a nearby dresser, putting on a spare set of mage robes. He had never expected to be attracted to the physical aspects of any sort of Argonian, yet here he was. He stared at the row of books on his dresser, regaining his composure. Why had he left a book about Ascadian Isles flora down here? Annoyed, he took the book, heading up and back to the library, filing it where it belonged. He nearly jumped with a start when Laje-tal came up from behind to look over his shoulder, her hands at his waist. “Flowers of the Ascadian Isles? Strange sort of thing to read before bed.”
With a huff he turned around to see her back in her elaborate robes, watching him with open interest. “It puts me to sleep.”
“Ah yes, the exciting adventures of gold kanet and corkbulb on the shores of Lake Amaya.” She chuckled. “I'm going to Tel Mora, I suspect Dratha has far more interesting reading material.”
“I must remind you that that book is yours, actually! It has your initials in it!” He took the book back out to show her inside the cover where she had indeed written her initials on the first page.
“Yet you found it so interesting that you took my book down to your bedroom to read at night! I don't know what to think of that!” She moved back to leave. “I must keep an eye on my possessions now, I think, lest I find you reading something of mine in a far more compromising position.”
“Get out of here!” Laje-tal exited with a playful laugh, and Aryon wouldn't admit even to himself that he watched the sway of her tail as she left.
At a moderately sized table in a reception room in Tel Mora, Laje-tal sat, waiting for Mistress Dratha's arrival. She was still a little baffled by just how many people were in the Tel – and that they were all female. It was well known that Dratha's tower was entirely staffed by women, but to actually see it was something in itself. The Tel itself hosted a few services and managed well for itself, but Dratha and her women interfered as little as possible with outlying lands. Dratha herself was the eldest Telvanni second only to Fyr, and it was rumored she had gone to drastic lengths to maintain her lifespan. Laje-tal would not ask on the how or the why. She didn't want to know.
After a time, Dratha entered the room, accompanied briefly by her assistant. Laje-tal rose to greet her, nodding in a polite bow. “Good day, Mistress Dratha. I hope you can forgive me for not seeking you out sooner.”
The elder woman's cunning eyes only narrowed with interest as she waved away her assistant. “It would have been unwise to expose your intended rise to Arch-Magister prematurely, even if you had been a Dunmer. I would have done the same in your precarious situation.” She settled herself at a chair across the table, ever watchful as Laje-tal also seated herself. “I have heard quite a bit about you, as close to Aryon's stronghold as I am. I do hope you understand the gravity of your position as Arch-Magister. I have learned the value of careful neglect, but it doesn't do to ignore all matters as Gothren did.”
“I completely agree,” Laje-tal stated. “One must use a gentle hand, neither too much nor too little, as Barenziah herself has said. My intent is to offer each of you Masters the courtesy you very well deserve, and to step no further into your matters than I must. I trust that you know what you need and will let me know about it, and I will fulfill your requests if they are within my power and ability to do so.”
“Good, I'm relieved. Gothren insisted that I was bothering him with my requests, but I do not ask for things out of idle boredom.” She tapped the table pointedly. “Tel Mora must be in top condition at all times, and going through less direct channels only wastes time and energy!”
“Having Tel Vos and Tel Mora in order will benefit us all,” she agreed. “I know that the other Telvanni will be slow to accept me, if ever they do, because I am an outlander and an Argonian. However, I feel that my experiences both outside and within Vvardenfell have given me an outlook on the situation that I would not have had if circumstances were different. I know that if we aren't prepared, we won't be able to survive the coming storm. If you know what preparations are needed, I will not hesitate.”
It was then that Dratha caught sight of Nerevar's ring on her hand, and she drew back in surprise. Just as quickly she composed herself into a vaguely intrigued look. “Is that ring what I think it is?”
Laje-tal laid her hand flat on the table, close enough to inspect it. “It is.” For several minutes, she explained her investigations into the Nerevarine prophecy, and how she had come to be infected with corprus and cured, had put on the ring without being killed, and how she was so close to being named Hortator and Nerevarine for the houses and Ashlander tribes. She found Dratha trustworthy, and Dratha did indeed take in all of the information with calculated interest.
“I see. Well, I suppose it is time, then.” She sat back with a pensive frown, eyes averted as she considered something. “I will send Aryon the list of what I need, seeing as you have quite a bit yet to do for your own self. The only thing I urgently need are more guards – women, of course. All the rest can wait, though not indefinitely. There is much to do.”
Laje-tal's brow ridges furrowed as she frowned. “It seems that what you are doing has something to do with me. Are you also anticipating that my being the Nerevarine will have catastrophic effects?”
Dratha regarded her with surprise and a touch of respect. “Well now, this is unexpected. I appreciate that you are considering more than just what you need to end the blight. Yes, you may indeed have effects on this world that none of us can anticipate, but I try to be as imaginative as possible. I received visions of the Nerevarine's arrival long ago, and since then I have been considering all of the many things that may happen as a result. I want to prepare for as much of it as I can.”
“I would appreciate any of your thoughts on the consequences, even if it seems very unlikely for it to happen. It's clear that the blight must end and Dagoth Ur must be stopped, but there is no telling what else may happen as a result. I don't want to cause any more harm than is necessary.”
Dratha rose, a small smile on her lips. “A good sentiment. Very well, Arch-Magister, I look forward to working with you in the future.” She held out her hand, and Laje-tal took it firmly in agreement.
“Tel Uvirith stands with you, Mistress Dratha.”
She wouldn't let her forget it, either.
Her first thought about Tel Uvirith was that it looked chaotic. Several twisted branches quirked at an angle, reaching up into the sky while others twined about the tower itself. Eddie had been unable to come with her, having been not invited to a meeting of all of the other council Mouths and making certain he would be there without them knowing. He suspected that she would be the topic of interest at that meeting, and she didn't disagree. Instead, Aryon was now here beside her, looking up at the tangled stronghold.
“At least you have enough room out here that the overgrowth won't harm anything,” he mused. “It has a strange sort of charm to it, I think.”
Laje-tal took a second look. Aside from the Dwemer constructs guarding the Tel, it really didn't seem all that different from the other towers except for the overgrown tendrils. “We'll just say it was intentional and if anyone asks why I did such a thing, I'll say they could never understand true art!”
He chuckled. “True art it is, then. I see they included the extra house pod. It will feel less empty when your staff comes, I'm sure.”
“It's as quiet as the inner ashlands, aside from the Dwemer machines.”
A long moment passed as she hesitated. Aryon looked at her, her mixed reaction difficult to read. He reached for her hand. “Aren't you going to go inside?”
“Right, of course.” Despite her words she still stood there, looking up at the massive structure. “I just can't believe this all belongs to me. I've never owned anything besides what I take with me or put in your tower.”
He offered her an encouraging smile, leading her forth. “You do now. Come on inside, I'm getting anxious just looking at you.”
She held tight to his hand as they entered the main tower, and she was taken aback at what she saw. As far as she knew, the Tel wasn't supposed to have been furnished yet, her requisitions so far related to the Dwemer constructs and the actual structure. The entryway seemed nearly complete, with tables, chairs, bookshelves, cupboards and storage. “What is all of this? I don't recall sending away for the furniture yet.”
“I might have added a few things to the list.”
“What?” She peered up into the upper level, open through a hole in the middle, and saw that it too was entirely furnished. “Why? This must have been terribly expensive!”
“Most of it came out of the money you already put down, after I convinced a few people to come up with a better deal. You may not have much influence yet, but I can move a couple mountains if I need to. I did put in for a few extra shelves and chests, though, this place didn't have enough storage for someone who does as much alchemy as you need to. Come upstairs.”
Still overwhelmed by the seemingly vast amount of things she now owned, she followed along to the upper levels. The main study was large, and led off into an upper bedroom and a smaller one on the side. The far corner had the storage he mentioned, along with a long table full of alchemical equipment and a potion rack. One stacked shelf was filled with several small containers, labeled for the ingredients she used most. Nearby were copies of her preferred enchanting and alchemy reference books. Everything she had needed and used in Tel Vos was duplicated. She approached the corner, looking over everything with astonishment. “Hah, I don't know whether to be flattered or worried that you know what I need so well.”
“I'd suggest flattered, since I also added in a teleportation platform. Eddie and I both tested it while you were away and it can link to anyone else who keeps one open to you.” He gestured to a far wall, where a slightly raised platform awaited use. It had a teleportation glyph carved into its surface, just like the one in Tel Vos. “There's one more thing, though, that I think you will be even more interested in.” From a pocket he withdrew a sealed letter, handing it to her with a grin. “This arrived shortly after you left for Tel Mora.”
She knew what it was the moment she saw it. It was a letter from Barenziah, complete with her official seal and colored envelope. She snatched the letter eagerly, opening it with care. A few sheets had been enclosed, and one of those papers was immediately obvious. “My term of exile is up, from the look of it.” The letter looked to be quite long, and she sat at a nearby bench to read it over. She motioned for Aryon to have a seat as well. “Barenziah dropped a few hints around Helseth about myself and the Dark Brotherhood, that was a rather dangerous thing to do. I hope she's being careful. Oh this is quite long, I'll have to save this for later.” Exasperated, she looked over at him. “Anything else you want to spring on me?”
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “There is one more thing, actually.”
“Oh by the Gods...”
“I spoke with the guard I told you about, the one who was previously posted at the Ienith mine in Tear. I wasn't sure when exactly you would come back and I do need him out there guarding the south. As soon as I described you, he knew exactly who you were. He was the very guard who was sent to purchase you from the orphanage. He wasn't sure, but he suspects it's still there and he knows where it is. If that wretched woman is still there, we might be able to... convince her to tell us where you actually came from.”
Her eyes narrowed at the memory of the matron, the tired, angry, paranoid mess of a woman still a vivid image in her mind. “I like the sound of that.” She suddenly perked to attention, looking to the teleporter. “I smell Eddie's magic, what is he doing here so soon?”
In a flash Eddie appeared on the platform, frantically looking around the room. As soon as he spotted her, he rushed to meet her, looking disheveled and worried. “There you are. You wouldn't believe what is going on in Sadrith Mora right now!” He drew a bound yellow book from his pack, waving it at her dramatically. “Those damned Mouths are spreading this rot all over town!”
Laje-tal hastened to the platform, taking the book with a scowl. “What is this?” She paged through the book, her teeth bared, hissing. “That damned fetching s'wit! I'm going to scour his hide from his back with the scales of a daedroth!” Her oaths grew even fouler as she started speaking in Jel, Eddie looking more and more mortified at her language. He knew enough Jel to know exactly what she was saying.
“By Azura, Laje-tal, would you be mindful that some of us can understand that?”
Thankfully that was enough to stop her raving, though she obviously still seethed under the surface. She handed the book to Aryon, her tail lashing in anger. “I think this is well enough to qualify as an insult to the house!”
Aryon glanced over the book, puzzled, making a face at its contents. “Bah, Curio again. The Lusty Argonian Maid? It's garbage, but what does this have to do with the house?”
She barely held back a groan. Well, he wouldn't know. “Aryon, Laje-tal is my marsh name. When translated to the common tongue, it means Lifts-her-Tail. I worked as a maid for those Imperials, and they often had visitors from House Hlaalu. This vile excuse of a man was one of those visitors and every damned day he was there, he tried to get me to do all sorts of strange things for him! Oh!” Her teeth gritted as she thought back on the incident. “Blast, now I understand why he asked one of the maids if he could watch her make butter. This damned play has some of the things he asked me to do in it! Anyone who knows the meaning of my marsh name and that I was rumored to be a maid will think this sounds very much like me!”
It was rare now for Aryon's eyes to blaze with the intense rage he used to frequently display, but now it returned with a vengeance. “Did he recognize you when you went there recently?”
“Oh, he did, alright! I made it quite clear what my rank is and that I would have none of his advances. Damn it all, I have to leave him be until this whole Hortator mess is over. When this is done, though...” Flames came to her hands just at the thought of it, raging around her in a wild inferno.
Eddie, ever the voice of reason, calmed her with a hand on her shoulder. “The right thing to do would be to inform Curio of his error and allow him a chance to retract the play. If he refuses, you can challenge him to a formal duel. Give him a few chances, make the challenge public so all know of your intentions. If he refuses, he will be seen as a coward. Whether you win or he abstains from the duel, the play will fail. Think, Laje-tal. Use your head.”
“I know,” she said with a weighty sigh. “I'll give that idiot a chance to right his wrongs, but if he fails I will not hesitate to issue a challenge.” A grateful smile on her lips, she gripped his arm firmly. “Thank you, Eddie. This is the right thing to do. It's only fair that I give him at least one chance, all he's done so far is say the wrong words. What happens afterward is of his own doing.”
“What of the other Mouths?” Aryon asked.
“I'll let them be. If I react to this, it will only encourage them to keep going. If I earn enough favor with the other Masters, they may be inclined to control their Mouths on their own. I was just released from exile and I had best mind myself.”
Eddie perked up at that. “You can go back into Deshaan?”
“Yes, I just got the letter. We can go to Mournhold again! I wonder what they're showing at the open theater. Can you imagine, finally being able to go down the grand bazaar again, over to that bookshop you really liked? We can go to the Winged Guar and-” she stopped, clamping her mouth shut before she said another word. At the mention of the bar in Godsreach, Eddie had that faraway look in his eyes again. She cleared her throat nervously. “Ah, I only need to go look into the matter of the Dark Brotherhood. I would, of course, need someone here in Vvardefell to watch over Tel Uvirith if I do that.”
He took the offer with a wan smile. “You know you can count on me for it. Well, I'm here now, I'd better take a look at this housepod I supposedly have! How did I even miss that while I was here?”
Relieved, Laje-tal followed after him as he left the main tower, cursing the fact that she had gotten carried away. Damn, but she had been too excited to go back to the familiar places she had enjoyed so much, she had forgotten how Eddie had moved to Vvardenfell to forget. He hadn't even left the island in the past few years. Aryon caught her gaze on the way out, and she turned to him with a slight shake of her head. No, she wouldn't interfere. There had been far too much of that already.
The alchemical mixture now stewing in the calcinator looked to be as boiling as her mood. Laje-tal stood over her work, frowning down at the nearly complete batch of potions. Tel Uvirith still wasn't quite set up for making potions yet, and many people infected with the Blight had traveled to Vos when they heard she would be handing out potions for minimal cost. It was all that kept her from going out into the practice field and burning down all of the encroaching vegetation there.
Surprisingly, the task she needed to complete for the Zainab Tribe had been the least problematic one to accomplish. She had been able to discreetly observe Savile at the slave market and get a feel for other things the woman might be willing and able to do, and the slave she had in mind for the tribe had been eager to find a match. The Ashkhan had seemed very satisfied with her as well, and though he later confided that he knew Laje-tal had tricked him, he agreed that a true high-born Telvanni would have been both a burden and a bore.
Right now, the Hlaalu were the ones who were making her scowl down at the innocent potion she was concocting, her tail batting against the wall behind her with barely contained anger. Despite all of her attempted bribes, fair words and appeals, Crassius Curio would not retract the filth he had written. No, he wanted it to exist as a memory of their time together! He had given no consideration to what she might think of that! She cursed to herself in Jel, readying the potion to be poured into the awaiting bottles. At last the final batch was finished, and she set them aside to cool as she cleaned up.
One good thing that had happened was seeing the look on Orvas Dren's face when she presented the note he very much didn't want anyone to see, waving it in his face as she shot him a wide grin. Oh but he was so very upset that an Argonian had gotten the better of him! Two other Hlaalu councilors under him named her Hortator without any further convincing once Dren gave the word, and the other councilors agreed to name her Hortator after a bit of persuading. Too bad Curio would have to stay alive long enough for this whole mess to be over with. When this was over, though, she would insist on a duel for her honor.
Laje-tal crated up the bottles and heaved the box to her chest, walking it down into the town below. A few guards had offered to take the other crates down already and she brought the last, joining them by the docks at a long table filled with smaller boxes and the crates. Dozens of ailing Dunmer men and women, and a few of other races, waited nearby. So many of them were suffering from shakes, weariness, mental instability and immobility. Many who came were impoverished farmers and laborers, unable to pay for potions, a mage, or travel to a shrine. They had also often been refused service by the chapel healer in Vos for their inability to pay. That simply wouldn't do.
At the table, Aryon stood ready, looking over the vast number of people who had come for aid. He was naturally very concerned at how many there were, and she knew he too was worried about how far and wide the Blight had spread. She approached him with her crate, laying it down with the rest. “Alright, this is it. They can pay two coins for each bottle or donate one helping of any alchemical ingredient. I set up an empty crate at the end to return the bottles to.”
He gestured to the smaller boxes laid out around the table. “Is that what these smaller ones are for? The ingredients? Why aren't you just giving the potions away if they can't pay?”
“I could, but that would be too difficult for some to accept,” she explained. “You know how proud the Dunmer are. Accepting charity is unbearable, and this gives them a simple way to pay for it. The ingredients we collect can be used to make potions for others, so it's not for nothing that we collect them. It will contribute to the cause and keep their honor intact.”
“I don't think Yakin appreciates the sentiment.” Sure enough, the sour-faced restoration master of the Vos chapel was standing just outside the chapel door, glaring at her. Aryon scoffed. “I think this is an excellent idea. Farmers and laborers are often the proudest, and I'm sure they would find outright charity to be degrading. It's enough that you're giving a discount if they return the bottles. Alright, I'm ready to offer a cure spell if anyone can't take a potion. Let's get this crowd back on their feet.”
Laje-tal beckoned the closest individuals forward, Drelan standing nearby to help anyone who had trouble making it to the table. She stood openly as the Arch-Magister, no illusion or different clothing to hide herself. There was no point now, she was the Hortator and Nerevarine, and everyone knew it. Her illusion may still come in handy for surveillance, but she hoped to use it as little as possible. One by one, people struggled up to the table, and she greeted them by name if she recognized them. Drelan helped an elder woman forward, the woman offering a portion of marshmerrow. “Thank you, Idrasa, is your daughter well?”
“Oh yes,” Idrasa managed, her creased face spirited in spite of her illness. “Thank you, Arch-Magister, I do hope we are not a burden on you.”
“Not at all. You brought quite a bit of marshmerrow, I can certainly use this for restoration potions. It's no trouble at all, don't you mind it. It's a fair trade.”
Aryon watched the progression, wondering just how many of these people Laje-tal knew since she addressed so many of them by name. He was beginning to feel a little guilty for not knowing his own people as well as she apparently did. As a few he recognized passed by, he made sure to refer to them by name as well. Eventually the line was nearly gone, small groups rejoicing in their newfound health on the outskirts as others left to return to their work. An unexpected small group of Ashlanders then came up to the area, all looking to be blighted. Each offered their portion of ingredients, but it was then that Yakin couldn't take it anymore. The Temple priest nearly charged over to the table, getting almost right up to Laje-tal's face. “What is this? These are Ashlanders! Are you going to help these godless infidels?”
She took his words as calmly as she could, waving him off. “Of course I am. They are clearly all suffering from the Blight, and they have brought payment as agreed just like everyone else. Stand aside so they may be aided.”
“I will do no such thing! It's bad enough that Master Aryon allows the likes of you here. You damned Argonians are responsible for martyring Saint Roris and starting a war over a trivial slave rebellion! I, too, will not deny my faith in the Tribunal and what that stands for, even if you are here playing at being the Nerevarine! Pah! I should have you turned over to the Temple!”
“I had nothing to do with what happened to Saint Roris,” she stated, “and I have never interfered with anything you have done here in relation to the Temple or its teachings. Many of Vivec's lessons are good, sound ones and I have not objected to you quoting Saryoni's sermons loudly as I pass you by in the street. Vivec worked like a common farmer in the fields of Kummu for a woman whose guar had died, displaying humility and respect for the lowest among us. He did it for free, too,” she said with a glare. “I may be the Nerevarine, but I think I understand quite well the concepts of what the Tribunal have been trying to teach.”
By now Yakin had attracted the stares of several nearby people, all of them looking on with a mixture of uncertainty and distrust. He edged away to head back into the chapel. “Bah, help the Ashlanders, then! You will get your own for serving the Daedra!”
Laje-tal shook her head at him as he left, greeting the band of Ashlanders with a smile. One woman neared, a very small, new baby in her arms. “Azura guide you, Nerevarine. My child is as blighted as the rest of us, can you heal her with a spell?”
Aryon leaned forward, placing his hand on the child's brow, the blue glow of a curing spell lighting the area. “There, that should do it. Come take whatever you need, you've brought more than enough ingredients for all of you.”
At long last, all who had traveled to Vos were cured, leaving only those who were unable to travel. All who needed to take bottles with them had brought extra ingredients to make up for the cost of the glass, and by the end of it the boxes set aside were full of several varieties of ingredients from the region. Marshmerrow and wickwheat made up the largest part of what was brought, enough to create dozens of potions to restore health. Anyone hurt in the area wouldn't have to wait long to be treated. Each box was taken back into the tower, guards and townsfolk volunteering their efforts. When it was all finished, Laje-tal retired to the library, collapsing on the couch with exhaustion. It had taken days to make that many potions! Aryon soon joined her, rubbing away the tingle of magic from his hands. She offered him a small container of salve from her pocket. “Here, this should help.”
“Thanks.” He took a generous dab of the mixture before handing it back, working the salve into his palms. Slowly the magicka burn eased away. “Damn but the Blight has gotten so much worse. I know we had a terrible ash storm but did you see all those people? Even Ashlanders, and they live with this all the time out in the wilds!”
“At least we can help in some small way for now. Until the Blight is gone, I'll do what I can to help the people here.” She glanced his way, a mixture of emotions warring in her expression. “I don't know what to do next. I have become Hortator and Nerevarine, and I know I must defeat Dagoth Ur, but how? His connection to the heart of Lorkhan is likely much stronger than it is with the Tribunal, and he could be protected by any number of wards and enchantments. He may be protecting the heart as well.”
“I heard that Archcanon Saryoni has been seeking you out,” he said. “I think you said that the persecution of the Nerevarine was to end as part of the prophecy, correct? Having you fulfill the prophecies under the Temple's permission will look good for him, seeing as it's inevitable anyway. If you do this with the Temple's blessing, they might be able to save some face.”
“Yes, I was just thinking that. I will see what he has to say. I do wonder if perhaps Vivec might meet with me. He would know about the heart and how to sever the tie. I might be able to ask him about his plans for Baar Dau.” She heaved a sigh and leaned against him. “Aryon, I'm so very tired.”
He took her nearby hand in his, understanding that her weariness was from more than just the exertion of the day. As the true Nerevarine, the very future of Vvardenfell depended on her fulfilling the prophecies and ending the hold that Dagoth Ur had on its people. Many consequences of doing so were unknown, but she knew as well as he did that it had to be done. It was already written long ago. He only offered what little he could to assure her. “I know. I am here.”
Chapter Text
Within the cavernous depths of Yakanalit, Tenvaril unlocked the last slave bracer on one of the Khajiit slaves, the woman purring with content. “S'rendarr bless you, kind one.”
His hands rested on her arm, inspecting her with restoration magic just like the others. “It's my pleasure. Are you hurt?”
The woman tensed under his grip. “This one learned not to fight when the masters ordered work.”
He stilled with a frown. All of the slaves but one in this cave were female, and there seemed to be no mining going on, only the collection of various treasures and contraband. All injuries treated so far were sprained wrists, twisted tails and aching backs. He had an idea about what their work might have entailed when it wasn't about hauling boxes. “There will be no more of that. You and the others are free now, and you can be taken back to Elsweyr if you wish. I can arrange for the trip.”
A long, tense silence fell over all of the slaves as they looked to each other for an answer. None of them seemed to know what he meant. “All of us have always been here. Our mothers and fathers were always here. Grandfather only spoke of other places one time before the gray-skins killed him.”
His lips pursed with worry. These people wouldn't understand the concept of anything other than this island, never mind foreign concepts like Elsweyr. They may never have even seen anyone other than their fellow slaves and the slavers. He would need to be careful not to overexcite them. “I see. Not to worry, I know people in the Twin Lamps who can tell you about the lands beyond here and help you find a new life in any place you might wish. Come, there is a boat awaiting to take us to Ebonheart. Please follow me.”
Tenvaril led the small band of slaves out of the cavern and to the shore, many of the slaves squinting in the bright light of the sun. Nearby, Eddie was preparing the small boat they had borrowed, a moderate sized, covered fishing vessel that could hold all of the slaves under the cover or down below. Few ashore or on other boats would bat an eye at a lone Dunmer man out fishing if they saw him pass by. Eddie beckoned the group closer. “I'm sure you're tired of being in dark, cramped places but you'll need to hold out a bit longer. It isn't a long trip, but you can't be seen above deck.”
The slaves didn't seem to mind the inconvenience if it meant being free, and gathered together under the cover, keeping their heads low. Tenvaril fished through a box he had left on the boat, pulling out an outfit often used by Ashland scouts. The suit fit over his normal clothes well enough, and the mask with its dark goggles and face cover easily hid his blindfolded eyes and golden Altmer skin. He would need to go without his staff both on the journey and in Ebonheart, but it wouldn't be the first time he had needed to do so. “I'm ready.”
“Alright, let's go.” Once Tenvaril was seated with the slaves, Eddie shoved the boat out to shore, using a long pole to guide their way through the shallows. Most fishing vessels like the one he had chosen tended to stay near the shore, rarely venturing into waters deep enough to require rowing or large sails. He prodded the vessel along slowly, keeping an eye out for any other boats around the isles. In the distance, other much larger fishing ships and tiny skiffs skirted the waves, casting their fishing poles into the depths of the sea. Going out of his way to avoid them would be suspicious, so he made his way to Ebonheart as directly as he dared.
After an hour of travel, the tall towers of the Ebonheart council building loomed on the hazy horizon, leftovers of the ash storm a couple days prior still fogging the air. A few fishermen on a skiff waved at him as he passed and he waved back, holding up one of the fish he had caught during the trip. Tenvaril stirred, handing out clothing to each of the former slaves to wear once they reached Ebonheart. “I suspect we're nearly there. Here, put these on.” Each slave put on their assigned clothing, looking like common fishers. One was dressed as a guard in steel armor, a sword at her side. “If you would, please take with you all of the crates that we salvaged from the cave. Those treasures are to be donated to the Argonian Mission here in Ebonheart and will help pay for slaves such as yourselves to move on. It will also make it seem that this is why you have traveled with us.”
One of the Argonian women grumbled at the thought of the slavers left dead in the cavern. “If those things the slavers hoarded can serve to get us out of this place, I will help.” The others muttered agreement, ready to take out their share.
“Excellent, thank you.” He paused when Eddie tapped the guiding rod against the hull twice. That was the signal that they were nearly in port, and he got to his feet to listen to their surroundings. There were many people coming and going, boats creaking, orders shouted, blades being sharpened, all overlaid by the sound of ocean waves lapping against the shore. The lone male slave, an Argonian, tapped him on the shoulder.
“I can share a box with you and guide the front so you can follow after me. If I tip the box, you will know there are stairs ahead.”
He took the offer with a grateful nod. While he could just as well follow the sound of the cluster of seashells Eddie had tied to himself for this purpose, there were often so many people coming and going he could lose track in all the noise. “I would appreciate it, thank you. Let's take the box of armor, I know that will require both of us.” A scuff of wood on stone resounded as the crate was lifted from the dock and the corners eased into his waiting hands. Eddie came close, his voice quiet.
“Be careful, the crows are down from the rafters.”
He tensed. “Their hunger makes them bold.” This just made things worse. The Camonna Tong were in Ebonheart, and every one of their group would need to be on highest alert. They proceeded carefully but with enough of a casual air to not be suspicious. He kept an ear out, ready if Eddie gave any signals in their code.
“The dragons found them. Let's hurry.”
Their pace increased, and he held back a sigh of relief. The Imperials wouldn't tolerate much from the Camonna Tong, and frequently had to fight off the braver members. Thankfully they made it to the Mission with no further trouble, though an Argonian greeted them with a wary tone as they entered. “Good day, travelers. What is your business here?”
Tenvaril recognized the voice right away and removed his helm. “It's been a long time, Im-Kilaya! I have brought you a few people who could use a fresh start.”
Im-Kilaya spotted Eddie, however, and turned to the man with a hiss. “You! What are you doing here, Telvanni? I know you, you're the Mouth of that turn-tail Arch-Magister!”
“He is with me,” Tenvaril explained.
The Argonian only glared at Eddie harder. “Have you seen the Twin Lamps?”
Eddie answered immediately with their pass phrase. “They light the way to freedom.”
Still unconvinced, he did at least motion for the former slaves to enter. “Bring them in, then, but I still want answers. You must agree that you are most suspicious, considering who you work for.”
He held back a sigh. He had known this would come up, but he wasn't sure how much of the truth he should give. Too much, and someone could blackmail Laje-tal. Too little and he may well be attacked. “I would feel the same in your situation, but you can confirm that I'm in the Lamps by speaking with Lenassa Hlaalu in Tear. Arch-Magister Laje-tal and I have agreed to do away with the slave market in Tel Aruhn, and I suspect that slavery will, in general, fall out of favor with the Telvanni in Vvardenfell now that Gothren has been eliminated and replaced with an Argonian who is sympathetic towards the struggle of slaves.”
One of the Argonian slaves looked over at him with utter disbelief. “Your Telvanni Arch-Magister is an Argonian? You can't be serious!”
Im-Kilaya only hissed with barely contained distaste. “It is so, but one must wonder why. You have done what you came here to do, Telvanni. Get going before I decide what I wish to do with you.”
He didn't need any more reason to leave, and nodded politely before exiting the Mission, Tenvaril close behind. The Altmer put a hand on his shoulder, giving a light squeeze. “You did what you could.” Instead of releasing his hold, he lingered, head lowered slightly. “Might I hold on to you while we head back to retrieve my staff?”
Eddie huffed, regarding him with a worn, tired gaze. They both knew that he was quite able to make it back to the docks without holding on to anyone, but he wouldn't deny the small comfort. “Go ahead.” He allowed himself a good, hard frown, knowing the other man couldn't see it. After all this time, he really thought he would be able to handle being in Tenvaril's presence without the past constantly nipping at his heels, but his now sour mood was evidence to the contrary. Inwardly he berated himself for his inability to focus.
Once at the boat, Tenvaril took up his staff and the boat was left in port, soon to be retrieved by another of their members for return back to the Deshaan province. From there, it would go on to Mournhold. Damned Mournhold. Eddie scowled as they both used a spell of Recall to return to Tel Vos, enough on the outskirts of town to not be seen. He tried hard not to give any outward signs of his internal struggle but as always, Tenvaril knew more than he should. “You are terribly stressed. I doubt you are worried about the Argonians at the Mission. What is troubling you?”
“It's nothing,” he lied, resisting the urge to pace. “I'm... tired. I just need to rest, there's been quite a bit of work needing to be done between freeing these slaves and setting up Tel Uvirith.”
He didn't believe Eddie for a minute, but he allowed the lie to pass unchallenged. If he didn't want to talk about it, that was his choice. “Very well. I will be in town if you need anything.” With a tilt of his head he leaned on his staff, the conflict plain in his tone. “If you want to tell me, I will be here.”
With that Tenvaril left, bothered by the silence that endured as he searched for the road leading down into the town with his staff. The texture soon turned from soft grasses into packed dirt, and he followed the sound of the sea as the path diverted. Cliff racers cackled in the distance, and the toll of a bell on the ship harbor clanged loudly over the bustle of the workers below. He soon found the market, farmers hawking their wares, metal on metal clanging at the smithy, and vats of tanning fluid running at a boil. He had not expected a sudden tap on his shoulder. “Good day, Tenvaril.”
He turned, recognizing the somewhat familiar voice. “Master Aryon, correct?”
It was indeed Aryon, and the man in question hummed in surprise. “Yes, you have quite a knack for remembering voices.”
He chuckled. “Well, being blind has made me quite a good listener. What brings you here today?”
“Ah...” Aryon hesitated, the slightest tinge of worry in his tone. “I realized I have been a bit negligent in communicating with the people of Vos lately, so I came down here to see if anyone needs anything. I'll also admit to doing a bit of shopping. I assume your task in the cavern is finished? Is Eddie back?”
“Yes, it's finished, and he is back. I expect he's going on to the Tel.” He paused, feeling the shift in the air. “You seem to have some things you wish to speak with me about.”
Aryon balked, surprised by his perception. “What we might discuss would be better said among fewer ears.”
“I understand. Lead on.” A slight shift on the gravel sounded as Aryon turned to the far side of town, leading the way to the outer homes. One home had been abandoned for quite some time, only the faint scurry of rats in a corner showing any signs of life. It smelled dank and dusty, and he could feel underneath that ashy soil had been drifting in under the door crack. Said door closed, creaking on its hinges.
“I hope I'm not bothering your shopping at the market.”
“Not at all,” he said pleasantly. “I don't mind answering any questions you might have. After all, we have been using your home for our meetings, even if we do try to stay away from your tower. If Laje-tal thought it was alright to bring you to our meeting, she must find you trustworthy.”
“That, or because I already know too much,” he said with a laugh.
“Perhaps.” His staff searched the side of the room, tapping as it hit a chair. He sat down, the worn furniture creaking under him. “The Twin Lamps are, by necessity, very secretive. There will be things I can't tell you. I had better ask you how much you already know, lest I say more than I should.”
Aryon found an equally noisy chair, settling himself on it warily. The old thing didn't look very steady. “Laje-tal told me about the orphanage and how she was purchased for the mine, then how she and Eddie escaped from there. I had suspected those two still did some work I shouldn't know about.”
“She told you about the mine?” It was Tenvaril's turn to be baffled, and he tilted his head back in thought. “The orphanage, too? Blast it all, what got into her head? I understand that you were her patron during her rise in House Telvanni, but she made an oath to not speak of those things to anyone else.”
“It wasn't intentional,” he started, explaining how Laje-tal had been badly injured and how the evidence of her scars had been unavoidable. “I still don't know who those Argonians were or where they came from, but she had brought an escaped slave to Ebonheart not long before that. I can't help but wonder if the Argonians at the Mission tipped a few of them off about her being with the Telvanni.”
“It's probable,” Tenvaril mused. “They were very upset at Eddie's presence and knew quite well who he worked for. Im-Kilaya is very distrustful of anyone who isn't an Argonian or Khajiit, and has only been kind with me due to all of the work I've done for the Lamps. I have missed so terribly much since Laje-tal left Mournhold! I would have liked to do more to communicate with them, but I suppose it couldn't be helped.”
He replied after a moment of thought. “It's true you wouldn't be able to read anyone's letters, but someone could have read them to you.”
Tenvaril deflected the statement with a shake of his head. “I do much of my work in the wilds, and I'm not fond of couriers or other such folk being aware of my private business. Even when we use our code, it can sometimes be understood.”
He huffed. “That's how I got roped into this whole mess. Laje-tal was given a coded message to deliver to one of the Telvanni for me, but do you know what she did? She decoded the damned thing and used it as leverage to get me to sponsor her in the House!”
“That sounds like her,” he said with a laugh. “She would sometimes intercept scouts and couriers since she stayed on the outskirts of the caravan guard, and solved the codes in their messages.” With a sad smile, he wondered just how much he had missed. While it really hadn't been all that long, he felt the absence of their previous ease of communication as firmly as he felt the ground under him. “Master Aryon, I hope I don't ask too much of you, but would you tell me what has happened since Laje-tal came to Vvardenfell? Eddie has told me a few things, but he's been terribly busy and I suspect he doesn't want to tell me much even if he wasn't.”
Aryon knew quite well what was wrong, but he wasn't sure if he should say anything about it. He doubted that Tenvaril would be pleased to know just how much Laje-tal had told him, and it was none of his business anyway. Instead he spoke of all he was aware of, the exile to Vvardenfell on assignment from the Imperials through the Queen, how she had come to join the House, and her rapid rise through skill and careful plans. He explained the Nerevarine prophecies, and how those had come to be fulfilled. Then, there was the matter of how both of them were now immortal through their affliction caused by the corprus disease. “You know the rest, I believe.”
“So you are both now immortal due to this disease, since it couldn't be entirely cured. It's a real tragedy, to have to live on while those around you fade. It's hard enough as it is, with our lives being so long. Oh, yes, I do have some notes for Laje-tal, though I suppose Eddie is delivering them as we speak. It seems impossible to me that a few mages would be able to divert the moonlet if Vivec fails to do so. It might be possible if a contract with a Daedra is made, or something to that effect, but I'm sure you know how risky that can be. It may be better to evacuate the city and hope for the best.”
“Would that work, though?” He sighed, knowing that many people would refuse to leave Vivec City. They were all so very certain that Vivec would protect them, that nothing could happen to their city, many would stay as everything crumbled around them.
“Whether it works or not, we must try. If she is truly the Nerevarine of prophecy, all will be thrown into chaos in everything having to do with the Temple. There will be rioting, looting and death, all while a terrible moral spear will be thrust into the hearts of the hardest believers. Their Gods will have deserted them, powerless and weak.”
Aryon rose to his feet, the long conversation on a rickety chair enough to make him anxious. “What should we do, though? Walk right into Vivec City and tell them Baar Dau is going to fall onto the cantons?” He paced harder than ever, circling. “I'll ask Fyr about it, and Baladas. If they can also make the tie between the severing of the heart link to that of the fall of the moon, it would give more weight to the claim. We need to be careful who we tell about the Heart of Lorkhan and how the Tribunal is getting their power, but those two already know about it.”
“The fewer who know about the Heart, the better. It's just as likely that some may take this information and try to manipulate the Heart.”
“Agreed. I wouldn't breathe a word of this to Neloth. Damn, I'd better get what I need from the market before it closes. You can enter my tower, if you wish. I'm sure Eddie won't mind putting together a few notes for you.”
“I'm not so sure about that,” Tenvaril replied, his voice drawn with worry as he rose as well. “I don't think that being in Vvardenfell has been agreeing with him well. Ever since he left Mournhold, he has been so very distant. Nobody even knew why he left.”
The figurative door had been opened, right into what had been making his mind burn with curiosity. He wanted to know what happened in Mournhold, but he resisted temptation. He settled for trying to simply ease things along. “I can't say I know, but maybe something happened to make him want to leave. “
Tenvaril stood there so very still, head down as he thought, and stayed still for such a long moment it almost seemed like he had forgotten Aryon was there. “I had best get to the Tel, I think, to think over the matter of Baar Dau further. I suspect I distracted you long enough from the market, and I had best get Laje-tal her fish before I forget about it.”
“Fish?” He followed after as they left the house, back down to the bustling market. The change in topic was welcome, and he went along as if nothing just happened. “I don't recall her asking for fish.”
“Oh, she won't, and she didn't, but I know she will want it. She will eat whatever is put before her without complaint, but like many Argonians she particularly enjoys fish. Sailfin, in this case.”
It was true that she had never voiced any sort of food preference, but given her past, she was likely just grateful that there was food to be had, and plenty of it. “I had better come along, and make sure the merchants give you a fair bargain.”
“Not to worry,” he said with ease. “They have learned that I'm not to be underestimated.”
Aryon only pressed on through the market with him, intrigued. “Maybe you can show me a thing or two, then. Let's see if we can find the freshest fish in the market.”
Laje-tal faced Aryon with a worried frown, her golden eyes searching his. “I hope what you said helps.” He had come into the tower to find her making more potions, this time for her own use. Since being infected by corprus, her resistance to poison had only grown and she had needed to formulate a much stronger poison to reduce her magicka because of it. She had been surprised to see Tenvaril come into the tower, laden with sailfin for dinner, and he found himself explaining what just happened. “I'm so worried I might say the wrong things to them, I've already done too much to harm their friendship.”
He came to her side, automatically stepping in to help with the work. “I know it isn't my place, but I do wonder what happened.”
“I don't know why I said as much as I did.” She sighed, passing him a jar of ingredients to add to the alembic. “You are not so involved in this situation to not see the problem objectively, though, and I think I knew that somehow. Let's finish this batch first.” Several prying eyes and ears were always around in the form of guards and residents, and she resisted leaning closer. The mixture was nearly finished, and before long several bottles of the enhanced poison were ready and packed away, the station cleaned quickly. Only when they were within the upper library in Aryon's chambers did they address the subject.
“You don't have to tell me,” Aryon said firmly, heading into the inner study.
Laje-tal only paused for a moment, knowing she wanted to finally tell someone. It had been so long that only the three of them had known about the incident, never telling anyone. “We all went to Godsreach as we often did, down to the Winged Guar. Everything started off as it usually did, getting a bit to eat and drink and settling in for the evening. Tenvaril was talking with Hession, the publican, about some sort of news from Summerset, I don't remember what. He is a rather attractive man, and some women weren't shy about flirting with him. You know how some young Dunmer women are.”
“They will make eyes at anything that breathes and moves,” he said with a huff.
“Right, and he didn't know what to make of the attention. He would sometimes joke around that they only flirted with him because he couldn't tell if they were ugly or not, but it made him very uncomfortable. He hates to cause trouble, so he would often let them cling to him for a while before he excused himself. Whenever this happened, Eddie would start to drink harder. Nothing ever came of the attention, but it still bothered him every time. For some reason, Eddie became particularly drunk that day. Whether he didn't eat enough or he asked for something harder than flin, I don't know, but he started telling me everything. Neither I nor Tenvaril had known for sure until then that he had no interest in women, but on that day he told me, and confessed that he was taken with our friend.”
“He never told you before that?”
“No, I think he was a little embarrassed, though there were some pairs around Mournhold that were the same gender and few paid them little mind. I had already guessed, of course, after knowing him for so long. Being my young, ignorant self, I told him that if he wanted Tenvaril, he should just go right over and say so. As drunk as he was, that's precisely what he did. I was too far away to hear what was said. I learned about what happened next on the day after, since I had been called away just then to deal with an altercation in town and had to stay elsewhere. Only then did I realize what I had inadvertently caused.”
“Oh, you mean...”
She nodded. “Yes, it was that sort of mistake. I don't know how or why, because this is not at all in his nature, but Tenvaril took advantage of him.” Aryon drew back in surprise, and she gestured helplessly. “I know, I don't understand it either. Eddie wouldn't say a word about it, and Tenvaril doesn't know that I know at all. Tenvaril disappeared for several days afterward, nobody knew where he had gone. After that, all I know is they agreed to never speak of the incident again.” Her hand met his, gripping lightly. “That's partly why I've been so very careful with you. I didn't want to repeat that mistake.”
His hands came to rest on her waist, and she readily returned the gesture. “I'm grateful for that.”
Despite her ease with their contact, she felt terrible that she was here with him while her friends were barely able to work together. “I feel so guilty for my involvement in this, but at the same time I know I couldn't have predicted something like that happening. Gods, Aryon, Tenvaril dedicated his life to the Twin Lamps to free the oppressed, I would never have believed he could do such a thing if anyone but Eddie told me.”
He gave her an assuring nod. “What's done is done. You did as you thought best at the time, based on what you then knew. All you can do now is listen, and help where you're needed.”
“That's true,” she said quietly, leaning slightly on his shoulder. “They will need to sort this out themselves. I only hope they can.”
Eddie finished enchanting the last of the items on the pile of contracts he was assigned, the belt in question imbued with a strong fortification spell. Thank goodness that was the last one! So many orders had come in, and while it was very good for business, it was exhausting. Right now he was in the room he had borrowed within the services tower, packing away the finished items into their boxes to be sent back to those who commissioned the enchantments. He was halfway through when he heard a tap on the door. While the interruption was unusual, it was even more so to see who was on the other side. “Tenvaril? What are you doing here in the Tel?”
The man hovered just by the door, hesitant. “Master Aryon allowed me access. Might I come in?”
He wanted to sigh and say no, but that would be too suspicious. “Alright, I don't have much in the way of chairs, but you can use this one.” The chair he had just vacated was not taken, however, as Tenvaril only stood just inside the room, clearly tense. “What-”
“Am I the reason you came to Vvardenfell?”
The question caught him off-guard as completely as Tenvaril interrupting him. He considered his answer carefully, trying to keep his tone even and nerves calm. Why was this coming back up out of nowhere? Hadn't it been enough to leave things as they were? “I came here for a few different reasons.” Despite his attempt at control he frowned, feeling the slightest bit of spite. “Whether you're part of those reasons doesn't need to interfere with our work.”
Surprisingly he smiled, leaning on his staff with a sigh. “It's always about the work, isn't it? Well, it's true enough. This does not need to interfere with our work, but I will break the silence. We need to talk about what happened between us.”
“There's nothing left to say,” Eddie replied with unmasked bitterness, torn between anger at what Tenvaril had done and the strong affection that still lingered. “You said to never speak of it again, to forget it happened. Well, I tried, damn it. What more is there?”
He neared just the slightest bit closer, everything he wanted to say not coming as freely as he had hoped. The weight of months upon months of guilt, self-loathing and regret left him struggling for words. All of this was his fault and he knew it. “It shouldn't have happened like this.”
“Like this?” He scoffed. “Is there some other way it should have happened? Should it have happened at all? Weren't you so desperate you would have taken anyone? Why me? Why didn't you just take one of those women who were hanging around you if it didn't make any difference?”
Tenvaril came close enough to place a hand on Eddie's shoulder, staff set aside, having a rare moment where he regretted not being able to see. He knew in theory that Eddie said more with his face than his words, often hiding his true feelings behind a careful tone and cautious phrasing. All he could do was take a page from Laje-tal's book and be direct about his own thoughts. “The thought of taking one of them never occurred to me. When you came to me, saying how you had felt about me all these years, I wanted so badly to believe it was true. I wanted to believe that it had nothing to do with your state of mind at the time, that you felt that way even without the alcohol. That's why when you asked me for only one time, I couldn't refuse. I thought it was the only chance I would ever have, and I would have done anything for you in that moment. I know I was mistaken to make use of the situation, that's why I left for several days. I was so horrified by what I had done to you.”
A sinking feeling surged through him, realizing that all this time, Tenvaril had been burying the same feelings behind his carefully constructed mask, his cool demeanor rarely faltering. How long had this gone unsaid? The truth of what had happened eased the pain, a thin glimmer of hope left in the ashes. Things should not have happened the way they did, but he could finally reconcile the fact that it had happened. He took Tenvaril's hand in both of his, hoping he could communicate his expression through their touch. “I may have been completely out of my mind, but I meant everything I said.”
The admission struck like a physical blow as he realized just how very wrong he had been. “Oh, I've been so stupid!” Tenvaril grumbled, easing him into a light embrace. “I hope you can forgive me.”
“We've both been stupid.” He leaned into the embrace, resting his brow against the man's collar. “I should have said something a long time ago, but... well, you know how I am when I'm mad.”
“That I do,” he agreed with a chuckle. His hand met the side of Eddie's face, relieved to feel the smile that slowly formed. “Alright, we're both idiots. Do you think we can start over, Drevis?”
He huffed a laugh, not bothered anymore by the use of his actual name. It no longer killed him a little inside to hear it. “I think we can do better than that.” Without hesitation he closed the distance, leaning up to kiss Tenvaril, finally at peace when the kiss was returned in full.
Laje-tal sat at her desk in Tel-Uvirith, alone, stewing over what had come of her visit to Vivec City. For all of her insistence, pleads, and angry outbursts, Vivec had refused to say anything about what he was going to do with the moonlet hanging precariously above his city. He told her anything else she wanted to know, how to use the artifact Wraithguard, where to find the other two artifacts, who to ask for help, yet he said nothing whatsoever about Baar Dau, only turning aside and changing the subject. It didn't help that she found his gaze just as unnerving as Almalexia's cold stare.
She sighed, looking over Eddie's notes on Tenvaril's theory about the moonlet. Only days after arriving, Tenvaril had opted to leave Tel Vos, staying on the outskirts of the tower until he could be relocated to Tel Uvirith. The two other Altmer in the Tower, Rimintil and Andil, had been completely unnerved by Tenvaril's presence, the two going out of their way to avoid him whenever possible. Tenvaril wasn't bothered, as he was very used to such behavior and worse by now, but he asked to move on to Tel Uvirith to avoid causing Aryon any trouble. Aryon had tried to ease things around the Tel, but it couldn't be helped. Thankfully Tel Uvirith was still not staffed, and if anyone had a problem with working near Tenvaril, they could damned well leave as far as she was concerned. As it was, everyone who had been offered to come work at her tower refused.
On the corner of the desk, the pile of rejection letters waited to be dealt with. Even the somewhat more desperate Telvanni weren't desperate enough to work under an Argonian's leadership, Arch-Magister or not. It was a conundrum she had hoped wouldn't happen, but still expected. At least the Tel itself was guarded by Dwemer constructs, which didn't care who they worked for.
A brief surge of magic signaled Aryon's arrival, but she stayed as she was, too intent on the information about the Sixth House base in Odrosal. He soon came to her desk, looking down at the stack of staff refusals. “What is all of this?”
“That would be the reason this Tel is empty,” she said wearily. “Hah, maybe I should just make the rest of my staff out of Dwemer machines.”
He flipped through page after page, his frown growing when he saw some of the comments left in addition to the formal refusals. “Not even one?”
“One of the vampires nearby in the Galom Daeus ruins showed interest, but I'm not sure if she can tolerate surviving only on the blood of creatures instead of people. I was very firm with her about that. I did manage to work things out with the rest of the vampires there, they will leave my tower alone and I will leave them alone. At least they are more tractable than all of these folks looking for work.”
“They know the Telvanni have always been more accepting of vampires,” he mused. “I can hardly believe it, though, some of the staff I asked after have been looking for work for months!”
“If they want to turn down an Argonian to beg for their bread on the side of the road, that's their decision. Between myself and Tenvaril, I think we'll chase off all but the bravest of souls. I like that notion, actually.”
He groaned, wondering how they were going to fix this. All Telvanni towers subsisted by hosting merchants and craftsmen, and he doubted that Tel Uvirith could get by with only a few people running things. “Even the more tolerant Imperials would hesitate to work here. What will we do?”
Just then Tenvaril came into the room, having heard their troubles from the nearby storage area. He bowed his head in thought. “If you don't mind others like myself around, I know a few people who could use honest work. It's very difficult for castoffs to fend for themselves on the Isles, and impossible to find employment.”
Laje-tal hummed in approval. “I think I know which Altmer you mean, and they are surely welcome to come here. They will make far better workers than these Telvanni. Alright, I suppose I will check with that vampire again and see if she can commit to my conditions, as well as the presence of you and your friends. She's a Breton woman, but I doubt she will mind you if she can agree to work with me. Could you check with the others in the Lamps to see if they know a few folks needing work?”
He smiled. “Laje-tal, there are always people looking for work, many with hardly any prospects. You had best keep those letters of rejection, because I suspect those people will moan and fuss about you not hiring any true Telvanni in your tower! You can show they were given the chance if they cause too much trouble for you.”
“That's a good idea.” She took a moment to file away the letters into a small box, feeling better about her own prospects. “Well, that's solved, at least. Damn it all, I couldn't get a thing out of Vivec about the moonlet. Not a word! Every time I asked him about it, he ignored me! What was he thinking? He must know he is the only one with the power to divert it. Is he just going to let it fall?”
“He might do that,” Tenvaril muttered. “Preparing for the worst scenario is all we can do if he refuses.”
“Bah, I've had quite enough of refusals. While I was in the city I tried to get that Hlaalu lecher to remove his play from circulation. Can you believe that fool tried to grab at me? I will be sending out a very formal and very public challenge soon, though I doubt he will accept it.”
Aryon listened on with a smile as they discussed the matters at hand, relieved that a solution to the problem with the Tel was in the works. Staffing Tel Uvirith with castoff Altmer and vampires was certainly unconventional, but she was being no more eccentric than any other Telvanni. If anything, she was very much a Telvanni, making use of all available resources. “Did Vivec at least have some details about Dagoth Ur?”
“Oh, he was quite willing to talk my ear off about that. He referred me to quite a few people to get more information, which is why I've been away for more than a few days, and I think I have about as much as I can get on the ruins I need to visit next. I need to find two artifacts, plus I have this Dwemer gauntlet. It's just like that dream I had, every detail is the same.”
“Were there any other dreams?”
She leaned back in her chair to regard him with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “A few that were uninteresting, and a few that repeated, nothing more about the artifacts. I think I should bring the artifacts to Yagrum before I actually use them. Since they are all Dwemer make, he might have some thoughts about them. In theory I should be able to use them without consequence if I also use Wraithguard, but it wouldn't hurt to have him take a look.” Her placid glance turned into a scowl. “I can also settle the score I have with that fetcher Vistha-Kai! I owe him a twist to his horns!”
Aryon couldn't blame her for wanting to get back at Vistha-Kai after what happened. He wouldn't interfere if she landed a few hard punches to the Argonian's face. “I don't think Fyr would object as long as you don't kill him. Fyr might even be wondering why you haven't come by to do that already, if he thought to think of you at all. I'm sure Yagrum will give you his honest thoughts about the tools, even if he can't help you with them.”
“I can ask him about these books, too.” From a pack nearby she brought out three peculiar books she had found in different Dwemer ruins, one written both in the Dwemer language and Aldmeris. “Would you look at this! Aldmeris and Dwemer in the same volume, translated! It's illegible in quite a few places but the parts you can make out are enough to get by. I'll bet this can be used to translate some of the other two books if someone knows Aldmeris. Yagrum would have to know at least something!”
“Let me see that!” Excited, he looked over her shoulder, taking in what legible words there were. “Oh, Baladas would love to see this!”
“I already showed him, he said he believes this one here, Divine Metaphysics, is about the Dwemer trying to make a mechanical god using Kagrenac's tools and the Heart of Lorkhan. Something about manipulating the earth bones through tonal energies? In this third one here, The Egg of Time, you can see a drawing of a heart, Lorkhan's heart, and two tools striking it. They look just like the tools I saw in my dream. So, apparently these tools altered some sort of tone to draw power from the Heart, which we know the Tribunal did. I think that if I can try to understand what these tonal energies are and what they do, I might have a better idea on how to sever the connection. Then again, maybe I won't. Even when Baladas explained it, I knew I was getting in over my head in trying to piece this all together.”
Beside her Tenvaril chuckled, moving towards a nearby bookshelf. “I sense a very long bout of you waxing eloquent about all of your theories, and I doubt I will have much to contribute. Why don't you select the next set of slaves we'll go after while you talk Master Aryon to death?” He touched the side of the shelf, following the books stacked there until he found the bag of keys. Laje-tal eyed the open sack with a sigh.
“Don't you two want a chance to pick one?”
“I don't mind it. You did want to be involved, after all.”
“Fine, fine.” She reached into the bag to select a key when she was struck with a completely unexpected vision, taking over her senses instantly. It felt nothing like the dreams and visions she had had so far, this one oddly smelling of soaked wood, leaves in the sun, and the Hist sap she had been given long ago. She could hear someone talking to her, but she was too far removed to understand it. A hill appeared in her sight, one she didn't recognize, deep within a marsh and a strange ruin in the distance. Stone in the shape of a Daedric rune shot from the ground, a plane of fire reflected in it like a portal. It tainted the ground beneath, cracked, dry soil sprouting plants she had never seen before. A soft, insistent voice called to her.
Come. Defend. Protect. Destroy.
Daedra of every size and shape appeared from the portal, ranks of Dremora, atronachs and other lesser Daedra marching straight toward her, on into a city she knew was there but couldn't see. A band of Argonians in foreign armor met the Daedra with immense ferocity, cleaving through the beasts with swords and spears. It seemed the flow of Daedra was never-ending, the Argonians hard pressed to turn them away. As quickly as it had come, it was gone, the vision all but ripped from her mind.
By now Aryon was accustomed enough to her lapses that he wasn't particularly concerned, though he still shook his head at the occurrence. “I hope Azura has the good sense not to send you these visions in the middle of a fight.”
“This one wasn't from Azura,” she said, her voice rough with the strain the vision had put on her. Hastily she pulled a sheet of paper from the shelf and a twig of charcoal, drawing out a rough sketch of what she had seen in the vision. While she was no artist, she had needed to sketch out enough technical drawings to get by, and soon it resembled the scene well enough.
“What is that place?” Aryon peered over one shoulder, his hand on her other. “The Bitter Coast?”
“No, see this ruin? Even the strangest Dwemer and Daedric ruins look nothing like this. It does somewhat look like the old Dunmer stongholds, in a triangular, tiered sort of way. It's plain stone, though, a little less refined. I think this vision came from the Hist, from this marsh, so perhaps this is in Black Marsh.”
Tenvaril set aside the rest of the keys, now intrigued by her description. “You say it is triangular, but in tiered levels? Stone, in a marsh? It sounds like an Argonian ziggurat, from what I've heard, built by ancient Argonians on several sites. What else was in this vision? Maybe I know of the place.”
She took his hand, and traced the shape of the strange portal on his palm with her finger. “A stone portal in that Daedric rune shape came up out of the ground.” Briefly she described the dream exactly as she had witnessed it, the sounds and smells still vivid in her mind. “I feel like this will happen in the future, though nothing in the vision indicated when. What could this be, though? Some sort of invasion of the marsh? I could feel the Hist calling me away from here to defend it- oh, blast! Smokeskin! I wonder if he would have seen something like this?”
“It is unlikely that the Hist would only call out to you, an Argonian who hasn't even been to the marsh. I suspect many other Argonians should have received the same message if the Hist thought it would need protection. Why, though, would a mass of Daedra attack Black Marsh? There would be little to gain, and Argonian natives defend their land viciously.”
Laje-tal racked her mind for anything the Daedra could want. The alien power of the Hist? Destruction of infrastructure and people? Subjugation? It was nearly impossible to perceive the plans of even the Daedra they understood. “Who can say? I think it would be prudent to make plans in case something like this spreads to Morrowind. Let's keep getting those slaves out of here and on to wherever they feel they are needed.” She then realized that she had grabbed a key just before the vision struck, and handed it over to Tenvaril. “I almost forgot I even grabbed this thing. Here's the next one.”
He took the key, running his thumb over the embossed tag. “Rotheran it is. You know, this may work to our advantage. You will be able to resist the pull of the Hist easily since you are well rooted in Morrowind, but I'll bet you that many newly taken or poorly adjusted Argonians will be clawing at their cages, and anyone lodged with them for that matter. It would be the perfect argument against perpetuating slavery here in Morrowind.”
“Might as well take whatever we can work with. I'll send a few subtle inquiries out to see if any other Argonians are acting in an unusual way. We'd better not have any working here, either, in case they get the notion to run off. Would you please ask Eddie to look for any information on incidents like this that may have happened before? I know you're not exactly here to help me, but I would appreciate it.”
Tenvaril only waved off her concerns. “It's no trouble. It's only fair, since Eddie is expending so much of his time on this effort to liberate the slaves of Vvardenfell. I am aware that having a subordinate who frequently wanders off is a rather unorthodox thing in House Telvanni.”
Aryon shot a grin at Laje-tal. She readily returned the look. “I've been made well aware of that.” All felt lighter in the Tel, the companionship and support of her friends taking the edge off the looming troubles ahead. Those troubles, however, would not stay silent for long. That night when all of the notes were finished and books marked for reference, well after she had retired to bed with Aryon beside her, the memory of the vision haunted her mind. She could feel the Hist still calling her, and she fought away its influence. There was no way she was going near that cursed swamp. Instead she moved closer to Aryon, reminding herself why she was here. This was her home.
Chapter Text
A strong gust of wind blasted through Ghostgate, the howl echoing eerily through the halls of the Tower of Dusk. Yet another ash storm was raging outside, and Laje-tal was stuck here for now. She had come to Ghostgate to speak with several Buoyant Armigers about their experiences in and around the Ghostfence, and anything they might know about the inner ruins. All of that was done, and she only had to wait out the storm. At the edge of the bar near the wall, she quietly ate her meal as she read over the notes she had taken. She hadn't noticed that a strange Imperial man took the stool next to her, his sudden appearance startling her out of her concentration.
The man next to her appeared to be in the Legion, wearing the steel cuirass of a man of rank. What was really strange was that he seemed familiar, his old, tired face an echo of someone she couldn't place. He turned to her, his lined face creasing further with his smile. “Quite a place, isn't it? So what's your story, Argonian?”
Amused by the strange happening, she decided to tell him the truth. “I'm the Nerevarine. I'm here getting details about the area before I go defeat Dagoth Ur. What about you?”
He chuckled. “I'm a Legion veteran who has seen his share of war and strife. I came to get a good look at what hell is like. Damn these aged bones of mine, though, I can't make it any farther than this. I'm as old as that poor Emperor, bless his soul.” His armor creaked as he pulled a coin from his pocket, handing it to her. “Think you could do an old man a favor and take my lucky coin with you up to the mountain for me?”
Laje-tal took the coin, looking it over. It seemed ancient, its metal tarnished and worn. “Certainly. It's strange, but I think I know you from somewhere. What was your name again?”
“I'm Wulf. Just Wulf. Take care of that coin, would you? Sort of a token of the man I once was.”
“If it's that special to you, perhaps you'd better keep it,” she deferred, wondering if she should hand it back. He only shook his head, leaning forward onto the bar.
“No, no, keep it. I've been wanting to give it to a young hero like you, someone who's going somewhere, someone who is going to do great things in their life. You're going places I can't go anymore, shaping this nation's history. Can't let old dogs like me think they can change the world. Old dogs don't get any new ideas, you know.”
She knew how Imperials felt about their aging in comparison to the longer lived races, and she sought to reassure him. “Oh, you're not that old, surely.”
“This whole Empire is getting old, just like the Emperor,” he mused. “The Legion has done all it can to hold this Empire together. It's been a pretty good thing, you know, but maybe it's time for a change. Something new, I don't know what.”
Suspicious, she looked at him closer, but all she saw was a worn out man who had seen more than he ever should have. “Change... You mean to the Empire itself? An end, even? What could possibly replace something like that? I'm sure the Legion wouldn't give up their Empire without a fight.”
“Change is often messy,” he agreed, running his hand through his thin hair. “You can't expect to keep the same old thing going on forever, though.” Slowly he rose from the stool, groaning as his joints creaked. “Take that coin with you, it will bring you luck. I'm sure of it.”
She took out the coin to look at it closer, so filthy she couldn't see a thing under the dirt. With the corner of a napkin she rubbed the face, the raised surfaces gleaming. The year almost illegible. Then, finally, she could see it. Third era, 38th year, the same year Tiber Septim died. That was well over three hundred years ago. When she looked up to ask more questions, the man was gone. Not a single person she asked in the bar had seen the man she described. She returned to her spot, confused, wondering about the peculiar stranger who had vanished without a trace.
Laje-tal had found a fair use for her illusory self, Lenassa, in helping her with the Tel Aruhn slave problem. She surreptitiously watched the area for two days, noticing that any Argonians being kept as slaves had indeed become restless. One hissed at anyone who came by, completely unfazed when Savile yelled at him. He butted his thick curved horns against the bars to no avail. In disguise, Laje-tal approached the market, slowly passing by a few onlookers.
“By Azura, would you look at that one?” she said, pointing at the Argonian man. “He looks about ready to bite someone's head off!”
A nearby woman seemed to be having the same thoughts, and looked at her with a worried frown. “I know, he was just fine last week. I heard that nearly every Argonian in the province has all but gone mad, many of them just disappearing from their homes and shacks! Oh, what about...” The stranger shuddered, looking around warily. “What about the Arch-Magister? Did you know she is an Argonian? Perish the thought, what if she goes mad too?”
Laje-tal leaned closer. “I heard that she has heard about this too and is coming here today to see for herself! Everyone who has seen her recently say she seems fine enough, apparently she's not bothered at all by this insane marsh frenzy that has all the others in a tizzy. Honestly, I don't know why we even bother with slaves at all if it's going to be like this.”
“Well, it is our tradition,” the woman reasoned.
“A tradition that's more trouble than it's worth! I'd much rather pay for a worker than keep around some wild Argonian who might shove a knife in my ribs at the soonest opportunity! Ugh, I can't stand the sight of this.” In a huff she left the market, going round the central square a few times to browse before escaping into the outskirts. For the next couple hours she waited, giving enough time for Lenassa to have been all but forgotten about. Then, finally, she emerged as her own self in her official robes, coming to the slave market as if she had just gotten there. Oddly enough the same woman strayed from the other markets again to watch as the slave grew more vicious, trying to swipe at her with his claws. She screeched and backed away, noticing Laje-tal approaching.
“Oh! Arch-Magister, thank goodness!” She neared, her dark hair escaping from her neat bun, fine clothes being fussed with by her nervous hands. “Surely you can explain what is happening! I... I mean... can you? Do you know? Ack!” She cowered again when the Argonian man growled. “Nearly all of these Argonians have gone insane! What is wrong with them?”
Laje-tal held her composure, standing tall and firm before her and Savile. “From what I have heard, all Argonians in the province have received a vision, myself included.” Her skin crawled as a torrent of influence from the Hist surged through her veins. No wonder the man looked about ready to kill. “Some cultured Argonians have been able to resist the primal pull of the Hist, but slaves such as this man are still fresh from their birthplaces. They, above all others, are the worst of the sufferers.” She nodded to Savile gravely. “I know this may come as most unusual, but for now I recommend there be no more use of Argonian slaves. It will be impossible to sell a mad slave, and much too risky to put such a slave with any other person nearby.”
As expected, Savile eyed her with suspicion. “Oh? And what, then, do you suggest... Argonian?”
Laje-tal waved off the concern. “I speak not as an Argonian, but as a logically thinking person. I am not the first to bring up this suggestion, and a few of the upper council have agreed that this is the safest option. Consider the Telvanni who have already forgone slaves, or only keep a scant few about. Baladas and Dratha don't have any, and Divayth Fyr and Master Aryon only have one Argonian resident each. There will be hardly any interruption to service at all at those towers. Here, though, and Sadrith Mora? The Telvanni cantons, the Hlaalu plantations? How many things will now go awry simply because they still keep Argonian slaves?”
Savile seemed to consider that notion, no doubt thinking of the mess that was likely happening at the cantons at that very moment. “Yes, I suppose that's true.”
“I know that the call of the Hist is a difficult thing to explain and understand for those who never experienced it, but I assure you it's a very strong influence. I'm resisting it as we speak, and it has come and gone in waves, varying in strength since it started. There is no telling how long this may go on, even I couldn't tell from the vision I received when or precisely where this odd event will occur.”
She peered at the Arch-Magister with a wary eye, her feelings mixed. It was true that every Argonian questioned had received a vision, though none had been open in talking about what they saw. All had agreed, though, that they felt the mysterious pull of the Hist, compelling them to leave Vvardenfell. “How can we be sure of you not leaving or going mad like the rest? How long do you really think you can resist this compulsion? From what I've heard, even those who have never been to the marsh are feeling the urge to leave, in spite of all that ties them here.”
“I have considered that,” she stated, not denying the possibility that even she might be overcome. “I have found myself able to resist as it is. As far as I can tell right now, those of us who feel little tie to our ancestral lands can refuse the summons if they wish to, and I will refuse. I am and always have been a resident of Morrowind, and I have no intention of leaving. I have made arrangements if the worst should happen, but every effort will be made to continue business in House Telvanni without incident.”
Offset by Laje-tal's forthright admission, Savile took a moment to respond, considering the still-pacing slave. “I suppose that's all that could be asked of you.” She had the grace to appear the slightest bit apologetic. “Pardon me, Arch-Magister, I often forget there are Argonians who have little to no tie to Black Marsh. I did hear that Skink in Sadrith Mora was confounded by the incident but also had no intention of leaving Vvardenfell. Damn it, though, this will make things difficult.” She bit her lip in thought, crossing her arms. “While Khajiit are popular as slaves, that won't be enough to keep this market going. Other races aren't as preferable and sell slowly.”
“Have you given thought to other work?” Laje-tal asked in the plainest tone possible. By now, the third woman had moved on from their group, reassured that the Arch-Magister wasn't a threat. She could offer her full attention to Savile, and she needed to be careful with her words.
“Other work!” She gestured back at the market. “This has been my only work for years! If this gets worse, I'm ruined!”
“Well, now, I wouldn't say you're out of options just yet,” she mused, taking a relaxed stance. “All over the province there will be Argonians abandoning their work, and those workers must be replaced. You have a true eye for character and I'm certain you would be able to interview potential workers and assign them to the right place and people. The house makes plenty enough money to hire on workers instead of taking a chance with slaves. A person working under the coin is far more reliable than the one working under the whip.”
Savile grimaced. “Yes, one of your fellow Telvanni came around earlier saying much the same thing.”
“I understand how important your livelihood is,” Laje-tal continued, “but perhaps this is a sign of the times. Nowhere else in Tamriel keeps slaves like Morrowind does, and even on the mainland many areas have already done away with it. I have looked at the general sale records and aside from the lands of House Dres, a few Hlaalu lands and those few Telvanni who keep slaves, sales have been slowly dwindling over the years. There has even been talk in Mournhold in past years about outlawing slavery entirely. When you look at the facts, it is only a matter of time before it falls out of favor.”
“Helseth's court has been talking about that,” she admitted with a sigh. Long before Laje-tal had even come to Vvardenfell, her sales had been steadily dropping. Even she could see the logical conclusion, one that Gothren had been denying for years. Laje-tal being an Argonian in this case was irrelevant. “Alright, I see your point. What can we do?”
Laje-tal mentally let out a breath of relief, still treading these waters carefully. “I suggest we redirect our efforts towards finding suitable workers for any holdings that have lost their Argonian slaves. I would appreciate your help in this, and I suspect you would enjoy the challenge.” She gestured around the market in a wide sweep of her arm. “Can you imagine this place being a site of industry, a place where craftsmen, laborers and field workers can come to find placement? We have so many who are desperate for work, and here we are bringing in slaves from other lands to do that work! Imagine if everyone can make an honest living here, earning their coin and working with honor.”
That hit the mark, she could tell. The Dunmer were all about honor and pride, praising industry and innovation. Savile started to visibly shift, clearly considering the thought. “Some have come through here looking for work...”
“Work they will sorely be needed for now.” She gave Savile a sly grin. “Besides, think of how Houses Hlaalu and Dres will squirm in their skins when they see us prosper while their plantations lay fallow because there's hardly anyone left to do the tending! We can direct workers to them, surely, for a fee...”
Now Savile returned the grin, finally at ease in her presence. “Hah! Yes, I can imagine it now! We'll be able to get ahead of the Hlaalu, for sure.”
“I intend to always be a step ahead of those damned Hlaalu,” she said vehemently, her genuine disgust at that house coming through. “One of their councilors has written some rot about an Argonian maid, a maid with my very name! Oh what I wouldn't give to show him what happens to someone who crosses a Telvanni!”
“Oh, that one?” Savile asked with a grimace. “Ugh, the council house has been passing that around for a while. Well,” she added with a chuckle, “the Morag Tong does have its uses.”
Laje-tal sniffed in amusement. “Indeed. I have been gracious and challenged him to a formal duel, since he hasn't seen fit to retract that play as I asked. If you ask me, it's too good for him.”
“Far too good,” she stated with a scoff. “I think I have a few ideas on how we might do this. Endase will want to put in a few requests for supplies, though I'm sure you'll approve those right away and send them on to our suppliers. Yes, yes, I can see it now.” She pointed right to where the rough slave cages stood, the wild Argonian man growling. “We could have the merchants relocate here, keeping open stalls instead of having their businesses operating in their homes. Those looking for work can first apply for an apprenticeship to their trade of choice, or be referred on if we're too full. We can convert and expand the slave quarters in the tunnel into apprentice dormitories, perhaps some storage. There will be cost in getting raw materials in, but we can export the goods they make during training and give them a small stipend for their efforts. Yes, not bad, I think this could work.”
Now Laje-tal looked around the open market as well, envisioning what Savile described. It sounded downright brilliant. “I knew you would come up with an even better thought than I had, Savile! Between you and Endase, I think you'll get this place running well. Maybe we can spread this idea on to that man in Sadrith Mora, ah... oh blast, what was his name... never mind, we'll let him in on this too. As many people coming through as there are, we might even get an edge over the Imperials!”
“Hah, that would show those Imperial dogs,” she agreed readily. “Oh, there is going to be so much to do. I've taken enough of your time, I think, Arch-Magister. I can take it from here, if you have other matters to attend to. I'll have to see if I can find someone to take this Argonian off my hands.”
“I'm sure I can take care of that,” Laje-tal replied with a cautiously impassive tone. “I wouldn't mind studying this peculiar effect plaguing him, and I have a new, quite empty dungeon. Would you be willing to release him to my care?”
“Oh, take him.” Savile gestured out into the distance. “What a damned waste, but nobody would buy a vicious slave, as you said. Take some chains, though, he's going to be a handful.”
Internally Laje-tal rejoiced at her small victory. She would have to thank Tenvaril for suggesting this tactic. It was a small start and would require even more caution from now on, but it was a step towards the possibility of eradicating slavery at least in Vvardenfell. One small bit at a time, she reminded herself. “I'll hold him with a spell, let's get him out of there.” Laje-tal cast a strong paralyzing spell while Savile came forth with a set of chains and cuffs, securing him so well he could hardly walk. The man started raging the moment she released her spell and was handed the lead chain.
“Traitor! Foul snake!” His words slipped into Jel, describing many ills he wished upon her and a few foul names even she hadn't heard used before. She only sighed with dramatic annoyance, pulling him along.
“Yes, yes, I know. Come now, I haven't got all day.” She drew him to a nearby open area, a strong teleportation spell in hand. It was very difficult to teleport somewhere without a mark or a rune, but she wasn't Arch-Magister just for show; she could do it just as Gothren had done. In a flash she transported both of them to Tel Uvirith, straight onto the rune of the back platform. Her head tilted to hear if anyone was in the Tel, only the sound of buffeting winds outside disturbing the silence. She looked over the Argonian man closely, noting every mark and scuff on his greenish blue scales. “Well, let's get those chains off and get you on your way. Stay still.”
Narrowed pale eyes watched her suspiciously, a low hiss accenting his words. “You are not my master!”
“Of course I'm not,” she said as she started loosening the chains. “I just don't want you hurting yourself any more than you already have. Stop that!” The man had started lashing his tail at her and she dodged it just barely. “I intend to free you, if you'll just hold still!”
He wouldn't have any of it and only struggled more. “Lying Telvanni bitch!” Laje-tal kicked forth his knee to force him to the ground, pinning him down with her weight.
“By Azura, would you stop this nonsense?” Her struggle to remove the bracers was even further hindered when she realized that Savile hadn't given her a key, and she had her hands too full to check the bag of bracer keys. “I have a key to your bracers but you'll have to let me go get it. I don't suggest you run off.”
Run off he did, though. As soon as she let him up, he bolted for the door, and she finally decided she had enough of it all and let him leave. He'd be back. While she waited for the inevitable, she found the sack of keys on the shelf and poured them all out onto her desk, searching through the tags for the one she wanted. It was then that the man returned, looking completely stricken with fear. She only glanced up at him with a grin. “Ah, I see you noticed the Dwemer constructs outside. You really shouldn't leave here without being authorized or they will certainly attack you. I must also tell you there is a whole coven of vampires nearby, and I don't pressure them to leave rogue adventurers alone. Ah, here it is!” She held up the key she needed, giving him a look. “Well, are you quite ready to let me get you out of those chains?”
The man eyed the pile of keys dubiously, then finally held out his arms for her to get at the bracers. “Fine, but I will not obey you. You can't keep me here!”
“I'm not trying to,” she said, irritated. “I only suggest you let me lead you from the grounds so you don't get attacked. If you can wait, I can have agents from the Twin Lamps take you on to wherever you need to go.”
He glared in disbelief. “Why should I do that? Have you seen the Twin Lamps?”
“They light the way to freedom.” She nodded at his shocked reaction. “I did not intend to go so far as to liberate all of the Telvanni slaves when I joined the house, I'll admit it, but now that I can... I want to help you, and others like you, as I did before I came to Vvardenfell. I'm not an official member of the Lamps, but I have two friends who are. They are at Rotheran right now and I expect them to return in a couple days. Stay or go, it's up to you. You are free,” she added with a smile, unwittingly reflecting the very words she had been told long ago. “You can make your own destiny if you work hard.”
His nervous eyes darted over the features of the Tel around him, taking in the furnishings and items on the shelves. It was certain he had never seen the inside of a Telvanni tower, at least not as a free man, and he seemed to be weighing his options. Finally he seemed to settle, his form relaxing. “I am Han-Kur,” he said quietly, again looking over her pile of keys as she put them away. “Are all of those for slaves?”
“Yes, we found nearly all we need. I doubt I need to tell you, though, how important it is that my involvement in all of this is kept secret. As Arch-Magister, I do have some influence but it will take a great deal of work before the others will trust me. You saw how it was with Savile. I'm certain I can work toward a future for this house that doesn't involve enslaving the likes of us, but I must not be exposed. Make up any other sort of story you wish, say I grew tired of you and let you run off, just keep what I told you now a secret from all others, even other slaves. Eddie and Tenvaril won't be able to get the slaves from secure places like Tel Aruhn and Sadrith Mora, but if I do this just right, I might be able to.”
Han-Kur's eyes seemed to brighten as he looked on with surprise. “You know Tenvaril?”
She gestured him toward the kitchen, guessing he was probably as hungry as she had been as a newly freed slave. “Yes, he's one of my friends. You know him too?”
“Everyone in the north of the marsh knows him.” He was about to follow after her when she suddenly looked back at the teleportation platform, puzzled.
“Odd, I didn't know Aryon was coming today. Don't panic, now. He knows what I've been up to.” Her advisory had been warranted as he did indeed look about ready to bolt at the sight of another Telvanni when Aryon appeared in the Tel. Aryon brought in a moderate sized crate filled with a few odds and ends, clearly surprised to see the new face in the Tel.
“I found a few things you left behind in Tel Vos.” A sly smirk crossed his face as he held up her book on the flora of the Ascadian Isles. “I think I'd better give this back, too.”
She moved his way with a chuckle, taking the book with a casual flourish. “Oh, so you're finally finished with it? No more trouble sleeping at night?”
“No, I'm back to my old habit of recalling Neloth's lecture on the varieties of dirt on the mainland to sleep at night. It's nearly as effective.” The box was set aside on the table, all but forgotten as he looked over the unexpected guest she had. From the look of the man and the loose chains and bracers laying about, he seemed to be a slave she had just managed to free. “I see you've been busy.”
Laje-tal quickly explained everything that had transpired in Tel Aruhn, including the possibility of the slave market being converted into a workhouse. He seemed intrigued, and she found herself getting even more excited about it than she already was. “I think Savile will be just the right person to get things started there.”
“That does sound promising. I might have to stay in Tel Vos for a while, things have been chaotic in the area. I've received word that one of the many cousins of the Arch-Magister of Port Telvannis is intending to visit soon and everyone is fretting over the whole thing. It's under control, but I won't have much time.”
“Damn,” she agreed sympathetically. “Well, it can't be helped. I think I have everything I need for the last mission. I'll be away in a few days, but let me know if I can be of any help. I'll have plenty to keep me occupied until I need to leave.”
He frowned, concerned. “You're leaving so soon? You're not going to ask Yagrum about it?”
“I know everything I need to know, honestly. There's no sense putting it off any longer.” She didn't miss the confused glance from Han-Kur, but she wouldn't elaborate. Telling him she was the Nerevarine would only make things worse. “Eddie and Tenvaril will be back in a couple days, and I am sure they can take care of sending this one on to wherever he wishes. Once that's done, I'll be on my way.”
Aryon's expression said what his words couldn't. They both knew how dangerous invading Dagoth Ur's citadel would be, even if she used the tactic of stealth. “I'd like to come with you.”
As much as she wanted to convince him to stay out of the very danger she was plunging into, she knew he could take care of himself and would be exceedingly helpful in taking care of any of the Sixth House followers. She also knew he could be as stubborn as herself and wouldn't be stopped. “If you can manage it, I'd welcome your help. Are you going back now?”
“Yes, unless you managed to take a few things from my Tel that aren't yours and I need to collect them!”
“Oh go on, now,” she said, exasperated but lightened by his good humor. Only then did she realize just how on edge she had been for the past couple days, agonizing over the fate of Tel Aruhn. So many things now required so much attention and thought, she had become absorbed in her work. The slight break from reality was a relief. Suddenly she shuddered, though, when a surge of energy crossed through her, the same happening to Han-Kur. While he only flinched, she was far more affected, and she had to stand stiffly to keep from losing her balance. Thankfully Aryon had the presence of mind to not overreact, ever cautious of showing any sort of attachment. She stood straight again, shaking off the influence. “Gods, is it me or is this getting worse?”
Han-Kur, though less shaken, still looked rattled by the insurgence. “Those of us who are closest to the Hist will be called the strongest.”
She knew, then, why she was being called with such force. It all had to do with being inadvertently overdosed with that damned Hist sap so long ago now. Aryon also seemed to think the same, though his expression changed little. “I'll be alright.”
Her words were enough to put him back at ease, and he moved back toward the platform to head back to his own tower. “I will await your message, then.” The exchange was brief by necessity, bereft of their usual discussions. Any careless move on either of their parts was too risky, and Han-Kur already knew too much. She now felt as stifled as she felt in Tel Vos, always wary of any eyes watching on. Fully annoyed, Laje-tal pressed on into the kitchen. At least there she could slice hapless vegetables and meats into bits without being scrutinized.
Loud, raucous shouting filled the Rotheran arena as crowds of Dunmer cheered on the fight going on below. Two slaves, an Argonian and Khajiit, had just been shoved out onto the floor, flinching as a few empty bottles were thrown in their direction. Nobody had bothered to clean up the last contender who had fallen in battle, the poor Argonian's corpse left as it lay. Eddie had left Tenvaril just inside the entrance while he infiltrated the stronghold, knowing how to make himself an anonymous onlooker from many years of practice. Tenvaril would stick out as much as any of the slaves below.
Eddie took a swig of sujamma from the nearly empty bottle in his hand, following suit with the others and throwing the bottle down into the ring. He did, at least, intentionally miss hitting the competing fighters as he considered a way to break up the match without getting killed. Everyone seemed to be here in the arena, not a soul missing other than the two guards already dispatched outside. Several Dunmer crowded the bar and the tier overlooking the arena, an unknown number of slaves below. Someone next to him nudged his elbow, the man grinning as he pointed down to the Khajiit and Argonian men now warily circling each other. Soon the fight would be on.
“Hey, who do ya think will win, the cat or the lizard?” The inebriated man slurred. It was only midday but he looked nearly under the table already.
“I don't care,” Eddie grumbled, turning away from the man with a scowl. “A fight's a fight.” The man turned away, disinterested, to ask the same question of his other neighbor, Eddie slipping away toward the bar. There were too many people to fight through to the slaves. He would have to try something more subtle. At the bar, it was clear that there was no way he could slip something into all of the drinks. There were simply too many, all in individual bottles. Any noxious or altering gas could just as easily catch him in it, and a massive sleep spell would affect Tenvaril. That left just one thing.
Affecting illness, he staggered away as if he were leaving to be sick outside. Tenvaril waited patiently by the outer door, facing him as soon as he neared. “So what will it be? I can hear quite a few in there.”
“Right, there are too many for the usual things. I'm thinking we'll sneak you in with an invisibility spell while I head close to the door going down into the slave pit. Then I'll cast a wide-reaching spell of blindness on everyone but myself.”
“A fair plan,” he mused. “If anyone tries to fight, they won't be accustomed to fighting without their eyes. Some might even fight each other in the chaos. I'm ready.”
“Alright, let's get in there.” He waited for Tenvaril to become invisible, the spell long enough in duration to get them to the far door if they didn't linger. Eddie led the way, only the slight pressure of a hand on his back marking Tenvaril's presence. Slowly he weaved through the crowd, mindful of the available space behind him as he pushed on. Finally he made it to the back door, readying the blinding spell. The sudden burst of magic filled the room, hitting everyone within the enclosed space, Tenvaril dropping his invisibility at the same time. Confusion quickly erupted, panicked tones of Dunmer and slaves alike echoing through the arena.
Eddie paced down to the arena pit, knowing they had very limited time. While his spell would last much longer than invisibility, they might need every moment they could get. Tenvaril quickly scanned the area with a brief detect magic spell, counting the spell feedback from each magically altered slave bracer. There were quite a few slaves, all locked behind a series of doors. Soon he came upon the Argonian and Khajiit in the center pit, quietly telling them to be still while the others were collected. Nearby Eddie set about unlocking the doors, several lockpicks in hand and ready.
In a rush they routed the slaves through the exit as some of the men and women above started overcoming their shock, weapons being drawn. Tenvaril cast a ward of Sanctuary on them, causing physical blows to miss their targets all around, followed quickly by Silence to disable magic. Their only goal was to escape, and the room was effectively disabled while still allowing the slaves following behind to run freely. In the chaos they received a few scrapes, Eddie barely holding in a grunt of pain as he was struck, but in all they managed to remove the slaves from Rotheran and escort them down to the nearby shore.
Beyond on the island, the town of Dagon Fel was only a short walk but wouldn't be welcoming to a group of escaped slaves. Instead they planned to take another boat to Tel Vos, where the slaves could be discreetly moved to Tel Uvirith. No time was wasted, the slaves directed straight into the boat even before the inhibiting spells had worn off. Tenvaril set to work unlocking the slave bracers while Eddie guided the boat out to sea as fast as he dared. Halfway to Tel Vos, the spells finally eased off of everyone, the slaves muttering in confusion.
“Stay still,” Tenvaril urged, sensing their restlessness. “We will soon enter Telvanni territory but I assure you you will be taken somewhere safe. Is anyone injured?”
Eddie managed a look back in his haste. “I am.”
“Anyone else?” There were a few replies of minor scrapes, but nothing serious. “I will see to all of you shortly.” He moved up front to lay a hand on Eddie's arm, his magic searching for the source of injury. It had been worse than he expected, a long gash traveling down the length of his left arm. “You were hit rather hard.”
“Some drunk idiot with a sword fumbled into me and I didn't see it coming. That Sanctuary spell can only do so much.” He felt the pain ease as Tenvaril's magic worked quickly at the gash, his flesh mending before his eyes. Before long he could use both arms to guide the boat with little effort. “Thanks. When you're done with the others do you think you could take the back rudder? The current is pretty strong right now.”
“Certainly.” Tenvaril withdrew, lingering just the slightest bit longer than necessary. The slaves were all thoroughly inspected and healed, though they still remained a little dazed from all of the spells used on them at once. One had to lay down, dizzy and disoriented. With the one settled, he took his position at the rear of the boat, gripping the handle to steer the rudder. Soon a tap sounded on the right side, the long guiding pole used to give direction. He veered the rudder, the boat turning more forcibly toward the right. For the next couple hours they continued in the same fashion, guiding the vessel through the finicky waters as the winds increased and the clouds sped overhead, a storm on its way in the distance. Faint sounds of dock workers soon echoed around the grasslands, signaling their arrival at the outskirts of Tel Vos. Eddie exited as soon as the boat was aground.
“I'd better just go in and see if I can find a way to get everyone to Tel Uvirith. I'll be back.” He strode to the tower quickly, knowing Tenvaril could take care of the slaves by himself with no trouble. Inside the Tel, he could tell that a bit more activity was going on than usual, kitchen and tower staff hurrying back and forth. He passed Andil on the way, who shot him a very disgusted look. No doubt he was still upset over Tenvaril. Eddie pressed on, ignoring him.
Aryon, when the poor man was finally found in his library, had his hands entirely full. A loud, irritating noble Telvanni woman hovered nearby as he tried desperately to make himself seem too busy to deal with her. To his continued dismay, he was unable to shake her. The pest was telling a story about her cousin, the Arch-Magister of Port Telvannis, and she was apparently the most sought-after woman in the province. She might charm some, Eddie thought, with her shadowed eyes and deep red locks, but Aryon wouldn't have it even if he wasn't already involved. Taking pity on him, Eddie approached quickly, putting on an air of urgency.
“Master Aryon, come quick! There is a storm atronach raging in the lower dungeon!”
The look on Aryon's face could have filled an ocean with the gratitude expressed, and he took the excuse to leave in an instant, shoving past the woman. “Damn, not again!” Only when they were very safely ensconced in the deep, lava-filled pit of the dungeon did he pause to sigh in relief, leaning against the wall. “You arrived just in time, my friend. If I have to endure another tale about her relations I think I will be sick!”
“You're a braver man than I,” Eddie replied. “I hope I'm not intruding too much but we've got quite a few slaves from Rotheran we need to move along to Tel Uvirith.”
“Ah, I thought as much. Why don't you go ahead and use my platform to open the way and bring Laje-tal over? She can teleport without a rune if she needs to, and it might do some good to scare that damned woman away from here. She's terrified of Argonians! She shrieked so loud when she saw Smokeskin I doubt his ears will ever work the same again. I think he was more afraid of her!”
“I don't blame him. Oh, and to surround her with not one, but two Argonians! Perish the thought.”
Aryon shot him a thankful grin. “Honestly, though, I think I might need Laje-tal here for a bit. I need a touch of sanity in all of this.”
As he followed along back to the Tel, he returned the grin with ease. “I don't know if I would recommend her for restoring sanity, but I suppose I'll mention how desperate you are.”
“You'd better not put it like that,” he retorted with a chuckle. “Alright, let's get you on your way.” Unfortunately the teleportation platform was in the main Tel near his library, where the visitor now lounged freely. The woman rose as soon as they entered, giving Aryon a look.
“Well, is the storm atronach taken care of? Can we move on to business?”
Aryon scoffed as he passed, activating the rune. “Did we have any business?”
“Of course we do,” she yelled imperiously, planting her hands on her gowned hips. “Have you not heard a word I said? I am a very eligible woman, of a very considerable rank. My cousin has insisted on me coming here in hopes of making you learn some sense! When are you going to stop tinkering around with your Dwemer constructs and have a proper wife and heirs?”
He froze, his blood chilled. Oh, Gods, was that what she was here for? Quickly he urged Eddie to the rune, giving him a significant look. Laje-tal needed to be here, and soon. It was his only hope of getting this woman to leave without insulting her! Eddie was gone in a flash, leaving Aryon to try to avoid this conversation as much as possible. He deviated, looking over the books with feigned interest. “I see no reason to worry about such a thing right now. I have far too much work to be done, I worry I would neglect any wife I might take. It wouldn't be fair to her to be gone for days at a time for the sake of a project.”
She only sighed with obvious drama, leaning against the shelf in what might have been taken as an inviting gesture. “Such is the burden of a Telvanni bride, isn't it? Oh, I'm no stranger to friends and family spending days away from me while they work on whatever it is they do all day.”
When she advanced, he retreated, taking a book with him. He opened it, ready to actually read it if it would help. “We've barely just met! How can you say you would be willing to have such a life as this?”
“My cousin assured me that Tel Vos is the most prosperous Tel in the province and that it would be to my benefit to consider such an alliance. All I need to do is keep myself away from that Argonian of yours and I can manage.”
It was, of course, at that moment that Eddie returned with Laje-tal, earning a surprised shriek from the visitor. Laje-tal seemed to have left in a hurry, only wearing her Master robes and none of the accompanying decorations she wore as Arch-Magister. She winced as the woman yelled, waving away the noise. “Excuse me, please.”
The woman cringed farther away, back to the wall. “Ack! I didn't know there were two Argonians here! Get away from me! Shoo!”
Laje-tal gave her the widest grin she could, showing every one of her sharp teeth and narrowing her eyes. “You had better get used to me being around if you intend on staying here. I am known to come in at any given moment.”
To her credit the woman faced her fear head-on, pulling herself up in a haughty lift of her head. “Gods above, Master Aryon, do you let just anyone come in here unannounced?”
He merely nodded, as nonchalant as possible. “Not just anyone, of course, but Laje-tal here is quite welcome to come and go as she sees fit.”
Laje-tal passed them all, Eddie following after. “Right now I am going, but I will return once my Mouth's business is taken care of. Good day.” Neither stayed around to hear the yelling that ensued after they left, and she felt bad leaving Aryon to deal with the aftermath. Hopefully her appearance would do some good. She turned to Eddie as they left, brushing dust from his worn clothes. “What is that woman thinking, trying to get herself into Tel Vos? She's truly trying to court him?”
“Yes, and never mind his clear dismissals! She wouldn't budge him an inch, not in a hundred years. He doesn't have time for larking about with women.”
She chuckled. “He doesn't seem to mind larking about with me.”
“That woman wouldn't so much as lift a finger to help the Tel, much less do as much as you have done. All she'd do is complain until she got her way! We're almost to the shore, let's keep an eye out for guards. There's a patrol that comes fairly close here.”
The bright sun was nearly down, the afternoon quickly waning as they finally reached the boat. Tenvaril was waiting, turning their way as he heard their approach. When they neared, however, the slaves edged away to the far end of the boat, unsettled by the sight of a Telvanni, even one of their own kind. Laje-tal paused as soon as she noticed, keeping a respectful distance. “Pardon me, Tenvaril, but could I send you on first? I have a slave who was rescued from Tel Aruhn and I don't think I can let him be alone for long, though I did confine him to his temporary quarters.”
Tenvaril exited the boat with an agreeable smile, nodding to her briefly. “I can also prepare the way for the others. I'll keep an ear out for any mischief. Go ahead and set the rune and I'll head right over.”
She crouched down to the ground, tracing a large, temporary teleportation rune in the dirt with a claw. It was enough to move up to three at a time. When he held out his staff, she moved the end to the center of the circle, showing him where to step. As soon as he was in place she activated the rune, sending him on to Tel Uvirith. The slaves, however, weren't nearly as cooperative, and Eddie hovered over the edge of the boat, trying to coax them out. She tried to remain calm, but she knew the vampires of Galom Daeus would be out hunting after sunset and she wanted to be absolutely sure everyone was comfortable with being in a Telvanni tower by nightfall. “Eddie, it's nearly sunset.”
Startled, he looked up to see for himself that the sun had just reached the edge of the horizon, the light starting to wane. He urged the slaves on, grabbing at them if necessary. “Come now, all of you, you don't want to be out in the wilds at night!” Any reluctance they had faded away at the danger of staying in the Vvardenfell grazelands after dark, the group slowly filing in to be transferred on to Tel Uvirith. Last of all came Eddie, who issued a grateful sigh. “Thanks, Laje-tal. I'll try to get everything settled. They're probably having a fit now that they realize they're in a Telvanni tower, we'll try to keep them from running. No sense letting them run off to become someone's breakfast. Try to save Aryon from a gruesome fate at the hands of that dreadful woman, would you?”
She only sent him on with a chuckle. “Such a horrid fate is one I can't abide!”
Upon returning to Aryon's upper library, Laje-tal was surprised to see that the visiting woman was gone. The room was empty, not even Aryon in sight. She went further into his chambers, then finally down below, at last finding him down in his bedroom. He was already laying down, arm over his eyes, clearly fighting off a very large headache. Her hand grazed his chest as she sat by his side, his muscles tensing until he realized it was her. He groaned in pain. “I did something stupid.”
Laje-tal leaned close, moving his arm out of the way to look at him. “What did you do?”
“I told her I was spoken for. I really shouldn't have gone on, but she kept prying at me until I was so damned mad I lost control. I ended up telling her I was with you, and that you are the Arch-Magister. It worked, anyway. I'll admit it was satisfying to watch her run out of the Tel, utterly horrified and red-faced!” He managed a wan smile. “Are you mad?”
She leaned further to kiss him briefly, not a trace of regret present. There would indeed be trouble from this, but there was no going back, and no point in fretting over it. What was done was done. “No. It was only a matter of time before others found out. What can she do? I already have the Dark Brotherhood after me, the agents of the Sixth House, Dreamers and assassins. She might even think you were joking about the whole thing. If she comes back to find out, Smokeskin and I will chase her off.” Her teeth bared in a grin. “It's Eddie's opinion that you don't have time to be involved with women anyway.”
“Not for the sort who only get in the way.” His hand ran over the ridged scales of her cheek, the pounding ache in his head fading at the simple gesture. He had worried a little that his indiscretion would cause problems, but she had a point. Aside from a few snide remarks from other Telvanni, there wasn't much more they had to worry about. Everything was already out to get her. Oh, but why did she have to wear that particular robe? She was as thoroughly covered as a Temple priest, but the fond memories associated with it were more enticing than even the most provocative Dunmer woman. On the occasions she had taken it out most recently, it had been hard to resist not going beyond an embrace. This was only compounded when she sat on his lap, a leg on each side.
“I only intend to get in the way when you need me to.” Her sentiment was accepted as he pulled her forward into a kiss, the stays of her robe threatening to come loose. In her haste to leave she hadn't tied them as tight as she should have. It didn't help that Eddie had called her away when she had been in the middle of bathing, and she'd only time to put on just the robe as it was. The risk of it all falling away made her heart race with a vengeance, the slight touch of his hand now unbearably sensual. It was momentarily terrifying, but she fought the fear back even as her old reflexes tensed against him.
Aryon didn't let loose, resting his brow on hers. “Please don't go.”
Despite the insistent pounding of her heart and the painful surge of desire rousing from her core, she managed to pull back enough to look him in the eye, fueled by the sudden desperation she felt. “I won't.” With shaking hands she took one of his, pressing it to her chest. “I am with you, now and always. I'm not afraid.” What little fear was left slowly eased away when his hand ran down her neck to loosen the already straining stays at the collar, her arms lifting herself enough to give full access to the rest. The robe was quickly undone, his hands delving underneath to pull her close again.
“I'm not either,” he said, his admission somewhat surprising to them both. He had only recently confronted the fact that he was also a little afraid of how close they had become. Years of watching his back for treachery and deceit in the house had been hard to overcome, the worry that she was also trying to use him only fading when she had become his equal. She seemed to understand his unspoken thoughts, the eyes he had once found so unnerving now narrowed in a content smile. His own robe came undone by her still nervous hands, quickly divesting him of it. He gave in gratefully to her unassuming touch, shivering at the texture of her scales. All else faded to nothing, lost in the haze of a fervent kiss.
Chapter 13
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hot, steaming magma churned within the great cone of Red Mountain, a tornado of air in the center whipping ash and steam into the atmosphere. Laje-tal, standing at the brim of the cone with Aryon, pointed down to a door within the mountain, barely seen through the ash and fire. He nodded acknowledgment, words lost too quickly in the wind. Below, the other remnants of the Dwemer city were intermittently visible, tall towers and broken bridges all dead husks perched over the pit. They had both left behind their long, cumbersome mage robes in favor of rough but close-fitting common clothes suitable for scaling mountains. A quick levitation spell helped, easing them down to the ledge with the recessed door. Aryon found the nearby control crank, turning the ancient mechanism until the door cover started to turn. They entered the inner facility, pausing to regroup.
“Here,” Laje-tal said, handing him several small objects of clothing and jewelry. It was unwise to make them both fully invisible as they might accidentally hit each other if they became surrounded, but the enhancing spells would still make them hard for others to detect. Choosing their battles carefully would be important, lest they waste too much energy. Across her back she carried the Dwemer tools Sunder and Keening, already wearing Wraithguard. She took a deep breath. “I can't believe I'm doing this.”
He grinned. “I can't believe I came with you!”
“Someone has to make sure I'm not lost to the Hist,” she replied with a levity she didn't quite feel. The call still hadn't stopped, never letting up. Only in the moments where she was too engrossed in something else did she not feel the constant pressure in her blood.
“Are you going to be alright?”
The question took her out of her thoughts suddenly, and she took a moment to respond. “It hasn't worsened, anyway. I will be able to focus well enough in battle, and I can still resist it. Let's just be cautious and take our time. Not like Dagoth Ur is going anywhere.”
Aryon agreed with a confident nod, putting on the enchanted accessories with her. The chameleon spell made them a little more than halfway invisible, enough for them to see each other if they stayed close. Steam hissed and distant machines still churned with life, the lights dim and pulsing. They crept around the sides of the halls, watching for creatures at every turn. In a flash of spell and sword they took out foes one by one, exploring the facility. In one area, Laje-tal paused, taking a long, intricate staff from a fallen warrior in glass armor.
“Look at this, it's the crosier of St. Lothis! I'd better take it back and return it to the Temple.”
“What?” Aryon looked back at her, pausing in his search for treasure. “Why?”
“If I make a show of returning these things to the Temple, they will be more likely to listen to me when I tell them about the moonlet. I have already gathered a few of them. I might even be nice enough to give the robe of St. Roris to Yakin if he ever stops yelling at me.”
He chuckled. “He'll never stop yelling.”
Deeper into the facility they went, encountering a powerful ash vampire, the last one still guarding the path onward. He could not withstand their combined efforts, and they pressed onward. Every so often, as they progressed deeper, they could hear Dagoth Ur's voice echoing through the facility. At first, it was unsettling. Now, after several instances of it happening, Laje-tal gritted her teeth in annoyance. “Gods above I wish he would shut up! I'm anxious to get in there just to silence him!”
Aryon agreed with a groan. “And here I thought Gothren could pontificate to no end.”
She appreciated Aryon trying to lighten the mood that seemed to reek from the very walls of the facility, worsened by the stench of rotting flesh and sulfur. As they neared, Dagoth Ur called out yet again, his booming voice echoing through the empty halls.
“Is this how you honor the Sixth House, and the tribe unmourned? Come to me openly, and not through stealth.”
Her tail flicked in annoyance. She removed the extra enchanted accessories, replacing them with others. Now, with all of the other hostile beings dispatched, there was no point in stealth anyway. Instead they wore items of fortification and shielding, knowing they would have to take every precaution. “Alright, let's get this done.”
Laje-tal recognized Dagoth Ur right away. He was the same one who had been plaguing her dreams for the past year and some months, his overly decorous golden mask emotionless and waiting as he regarded Aryon intently. She faltered, a strange sensation overcoming her. It passed, but the recognition that came from within was one she knew didn't come from her own soul. Nerevar was here somehow. “Welcome, moon and star, to the place where destiny is made.”
Again the presence overcame her, and she found herself saying words that weren't hers. “I am so very sorry, Voryn. I should have listened to your counsel. I should have destroyed the tools right when you suggested it. I never should have listened to them.”
Dagoth Ur looked at her with a start, clearly not expecting her to be the one to speak. His long, thin, onyx clawed hands curled in reflex. “An odd choice for a vessel, my old friend. No matter. It began here, it will end here. Have you any parting words, or would you prefer to skip the speeches and get to our business? You are the challenger here, after all, and so to you goes the courtesy of the first blow.”
Laje-tal looked on as if seeing him through two sets of eyes, part of her wanting to reach out, part wanting to act, to simply attack him and be done with it. Nerevar stopped her still, letting her have no quarter. “I grieve that our brotherhood must end this way, just as I grieve for the horrible mistake made against Dumac. If only I had known then what I know now.”
Next to her, Aryon was at a loss for what was happening, stunned by what seemed to be Nerevar himself speaking through her. At first he watched on, waiting, but now he saw her tail twitch in a rigid, crooked arc. She was fighting against the control being asserted on her, the struggle barely noticeable. At one point he caught her eye, and gave a nearly imperceptible nod. “Such is the nature of hindsight. You'd best let us fight this battle, Nerevar.”
She chuckled in a manner that was clearly not her. “I have waited thousands of years to speak, considering what I might say, wondering if I would be heard. Well, I have said what I needed to say, and the words fell on deaf ears. You may have her back for now.” In an instant she staggered, shaking her head to clear it. She hissed in discomfort. “I am not your plaything, Nerevar. If you wanted to say something, the least you could have done was ask.” Now she faced Dagoth Ur with uncertainty, aware that the pressure previously upon her from the Hist had lightened to only a whisper. Had Nerevar done more than just speak through her? Had he taken over so fully that even the Hist had trouble reaching her? When would he come back? “I have no questions for you. If you have nothing to ask of me, I will proceed.”
Dagoth Ur's tainted skin seemed to creak as he leaned just a bit closer, his ragged breath almost a growl. “What will you do with the Heart, Nerevar Incarnate?”
The gravity of his question, how he asked it just above a whisper, sent a shiver down her spine. Her eyes narrowed as she felt the presence of Nerevar on the edge of her mind, waiting for her to finish. “You will see soon enough what I will do. I'm sure if I strike you down here and now, it won't be over yet.”
“Perceptive,” he said after a tense pause. “The first blow belongs to you.”
Nerevar took over again so fast she couldn't even react, struggling to take her sword from her right scabbard to hold it in her right hand instead of her dominant left. Her tail went limp, Nerevar unsure how to use it. Everything about her was so foreign, from her long horns to her ungainly three-toed feet. Her hand held the sword awkwardly, that arm more accustomed to wielding spells than blade. Aryon looked over with a scowl. “Let her go, Nerevar, she needs to fight as she's accustomed to doing. You'll get her killed!”
“No,” he replied through her, “this is the fight I should have won so long ago. I can't let him continue to make others suffer.”
“Have you not been with Laje-tal all this time? Don't you know why we're here? Let her go! You can't keep controlling her like a slave!”
His words seemed to trigger something within, the shock at his statement quickly fading into a regretful frown. He had been with Laje-tal since the very beginning and had seen from within the depths of her consciousness what she had gone through as a slave. What he was doing was no better. “Very well. I had my chance at this and I failed. Please succeed where I could not.” Immediately Laje-tal was released, staggering as his forceful grip on her vanished. She stood normally now, her tail held behind her and sword in her correct hand. In the same moment she charged forth, an ice spell ready in her off hand and sword slashing forth to block Dagoth Ur's clawed swipe.
Aryon summoned a storm atronach, ready with a lightning spell. They had both decided that a one on one match was insensible, as their goal was to destroy the Heart of Lorkhan and end Dagoth Ur's control. Insisting on some sort of glory match would be unnecessary, and unlike her fight with Gothren, nobody was here to witness otherwise. Dagoth Ur was also exceptionally strong, and Aryon knew as he blocked a swipe with his own sword that even with both of them, they would be hard pressed to succeed. He regained his distance, blasting lightning from across the room.
Up close, Laje-tal pressed the attack, warding off incoming spells and striking out with her clawed feet and tail. Between her close ranged attacks and Aryon's long ranged support, they slowly gained the upper hand. When Dagoth Ur was finally defeated, the nearby door enclosure opening, she didn't let up her guard. It wasn't over yet. She turned to Aryon, panting. “Akulakhan is in there, in the heart chamber. Once we find the heart, could you hold a shield long enough for me to destroy the damn thing? We need to hold off Dagoth Ur's attacks if he comes at us rather than waste energy fighting him. If we destroy the heart, his power will be gone.”
“Right. Can you link magicka with me? With your reserves I'm sure I can hold him off.”
They hadn't tried an actual link before, but she knew he would do better at it than the mage from the caravan long ago. “I believe we can make it work. Let's go.” Within the next cavern, the massive room took them by surprise. The immense space was filled with an equally enormous Dwemer mechanism, the skeletal interior showing under the gaps in its metallic skin. Thick clouds of steam rose from the magma down below it, a narrow bridge leading from the lowest level to a sort of device holding a glowing object. It was the Heart of Lorkhan, pulsing furiously into the machine.
Dagoth Ur appeared in a flash on the overlooking ledge they stood upon, high above the bridge. He seemed so very confident and poised, relishing in his small victory. “What a fool you are. I'm a God. How can you kill a God?”
Laje-tal shoved right past him and jumped off the ledge, taking advantage of his need to gloat to reach the actual goal. The ground approached rapidly, the wind whipping all around her as she fell, casting a spell of slowfall just as she neared the floor. She ran across the bridge to the hulking mass of Akulakhan, focused on reaching the heart as fast as possible. Aryon was soon behind her, ready with a magical shield. Her tail clung to his leg, opening the link for him to access her magic as she readied Sunder and Keening, striking the Heart of Lorkhan first with Sunder.
A loud, discordant noise came from the heart as it was struck, shaking their concentration. Aryon drew upon her magic and strengthened his shield, pushing back on their link to keep her overwhelming magicka at a manageable level. Between the surge of magicka barely held at bay and the intense blows being thrown at him by Dagoth Ur, it was all he could do to simply hold the shield. Laje-tal struck the heart with Keening, the pitch of the noise altering. She struck again four more times, the thrum of the heart unraveling to its very core. The heart vanished within itself, gone in a surge of unknown forces, Dagoth Ur howling in pain as his godlike powers were stripped from him instantly.
Thundering shakes rocked the cavern as Akulakhan was removed from the power holding it together, breaking to pieces all around them. Laje-tal stabbed Dagoth Ur mercilessly as he struggled to regain his bearings, casting him down into the lava below. Her haste was quickly warranted as even more pieces of the mechanism just barely missed the bridge. She and Aryon ran to take shelter under the overhang ahead, crossing the bridge before it, too, was destroyed. Up the circling ledge they pressed on, making it out of the cavern as the last piece fell into the lava. As soon as they entered the smaller cavern, Aryon collapsed onto the ground, his hand gripping at a gaping wound in his left side.
Laje-tal dropped to her knees, moving away his hand and shirt to inspect the damage. Three heavy claw gashes carved through his side, bleeding profusely. It was hard to tell how deep the cuts went. She rummaged through both of their packs for potions, only one left after their excursion. Aryon took it, but it did little good to mend such a deep wound. “Blast, that's the last potion. I'll try and wrap this as tight as I can. Can you move at all?”
“No,” Aryon replied with a harsh groan, his hands starting to shake. “It's deep, I think he cut into my organs. I can't focus on restoration magic.”
“Let's find a way to get you to Tel Vos. Yakin might yell at me but that ingrate is the best we have.” She moved him just the slightest bit, pausing when he jerked in pain. Every possible way to lift him seemed to only make things worse, and she finally left him as he was, considering every possible option she had. She couldn't teleport him without a strong rune in a place like this, and he couldn't be moved. There was no choice. “If I link my magic with you, can you guide the restoration enough to mend it?”
He took her hand, moving it over the raw and bleeding flesh. “I can try. Keep your magic low, though, and focus on keeping it light. Remember what we did with the fire and ice. Think of the smallest plants you have grown, the tiniest of seeds.”
His guidance was taken to heart as it always was, the link between them open just the slightest bit. She thought all the way back to the small white seed she had grown for Calcelmo so many years ago now, the Imperial white lily. Her magic leaked out slowly, melding with his as he started the spell, trying to not let her worry and fear cloud her focus. Little by little, she could feel the gaps under her hand close, the bleeding reduced to nothing. So focused on her task, she didn't realize that halfway through the healing, Aryon had removed his hands and stopped the spell, letting her continue as they started. When he was sufficiently healed she opened her eyes back up, startled to see what happened. “Aryon, did I...?”
“I knew you could do it.” He eased himself back up to sit, grinning at the look on her face. “Look!” Sure enough, he had completely healed over, though the area still looked very tender and he was still weakened. “There was no pressure, no risk, in practicing healing on the dead. You needed a living subject.” Laje-tal only paused in shock for a moment before she took out the salve she used for magicka burns, rubbing it gently onto the sore skin.
“I can't believe it! After all these years...!”
A faint rumble from the innermost chamber shook the small room, prompting them to rise to their feet. “Better get out of here.”
Laje-tal moved to leave, knowing they could discuss the details later. No sense staying in this unstable cavern. As they neared the door, however, a strange Dunmer woman in a blue gown appeared out of nowhere, hovering before them. Just as suddenly, she was brought into an all-encompassing vision, her senses overcome by the very presence of Azura herself. She had succeeded, and was no longer bound by the Nerevarine prophecy. The blight would no longer plague the land, only whatever remnants of the corprus creatures and ash spawn left to contend with. When it was all over, Azura vanished, only leaving behind an enchanted ring. Laje-tal picked it up, looking it over before pocketing it. In her pocket she also remembered she had slipped the worn out old coin of the mysterious Legion veteran, and she removed it briefly to inspect it. “I suppose I did have some luck after all. Let's see how long it lasts.”
“Who's Drevis Telvanni?” Laje-tal was sorting through the letters just brought in to her stronghold, a few from the Altmer that Tenvaril had recruited and now this strange, extra one. “Is he someone you know, Aryon?”
Aryon was laying down nearby on a cushioned bench, still recovering from his injury. He frowned. “I know who that is, but I can't imagine why anyone would think he was here. He disappeared ages ago. He's Lymdrenn's nephew, on his sister's side. Who's it from?”
“No idea, there's nothing on the outside. I'd hate to pry into someone's mail. He disappeared?”
“Yes, he ran off to Bergama in Hammerfell, last I heard. He was only about twenty or so. Some think he's dead, but rumors of someone seeing him do pop up now and then. It happened a few years before the Arnesian war, the news was all over the House until the war took up everyone's minds. I guess his family sent you the letter hoping that maybe the Arch-Magister, at least, might know something.”
“I suppose. Well, I'll ask around. Bergama, was it? That's where Tenvaril was raised, by the most devout Redguard woman I've ever heard of. Don't mention Tu'whacca around Eddie, he's sick to death of that woman's stories! I don't think he'll ever go anywhere near that province again!”
He chuckled, wincing in pain as the movement jarred his ribs. “He was in Hammerfell too?”
“A few years, yes.” She started opening the letters for herself, browsing through the applications. “The old woman took him in too, though in men's reckoning he was a grown man, and he stayed on until they both moved to Morrowind to work with the Twin Lamps. They nearly got involved in the Arnesian war since they were in the area the slave revolt broke out at during the time, and narrowly escaped the conflict.” In the middle of opening a seal on one of the envelopes, she paused. “It can't be...”
“What is it?”
“You say this Drevis went to Bergama? Are you sure?”
Slowly he rose to sit, taking a nearby cup of water left on a low table and drinking it down. “That's what the reports said, anyway. Why do you- oh.” At last his pain-addled mind caught up. “The time does line up, doesn't it? By the time you two met, he would have been nearly forgotten after that war. He'd have been older, too, and looked different. I only met him a couple times on the mainland, no wonder I didn't quite recognize him. That also explains why he was able to disappear again the moment anyone heard any rumors of him being around. The Twin Lamps are good at covering up their agents.”
“Yes, and he's very fond of using temporary spells of mass blindness to get away. Not like it bothers Tenvaril. I'll bet you anything Tenvaril has been helping him escape. Why, though?” She filed away the other letters with a sigh, joining him at the bench. “Why didn't he tell me?”
Aryon took her hand in a light grasp, the reason all too clear to him. “There are many members of House Telvanni, but only a scant few are descended from the original bloodline. Lymdrenn, his sister, and Drevis are the only ones left now. Lymdrenn's wife has been trying, but you know how slow it is for my kind. With Drevis' preferences being as they are, he would have been unwilling to continue the bloodline. Whether that's why he ran off is anyone's guess. Escaping a Telvanni is no simple matter, as you know. Anyone who knew who and where he was would have been a risk, even someone as loyal as yourself. Knowing would have also made you subject to any number of interesting interrogation techniques, especially considering you are an Argonian. He was trying to keep you safe.”
“And Tenvaril is so closed-lipped that not a soul can get anything out of him if he doesn't want them to. I understand, then, why Eddie was taken out so quickly from trying to get back into the house. I bet Gothren remembered him and knew about him running away from his family. Considering he's a bloodline Telvanni, that would be almost unforgivable.” She rose, looking over the letter for Drevis. “He should be back soon, I think. They took the slaves down to the shore to meet up with a mage who could take them on to Lenassa in Tear, so they should be able to recall back once everyone is settled.”
He slowly made it to his feet, looking at the other letters set aside. “So will a lot of others, I see. This place will soon be too full to have a moment's peace.”
Laje-tal took the hint, closing the distance. Their kiss, however, was soon interrupted by a rather startled Argonian man carrying in a few boxes.
“Hah, Eddie told me I'd see some strange things if I stayed here, but I didn't think I'd see that!”
They broke apart, Laje-tal looking him over with confusion. “Han-kur, what are you still doing here?”
He set down his burden, a crate of planting supplies. “You know, it's funny, I asked myself the same question. Could you look this over and see if I got everything?” A list of items was handed over, and he peered into the box carefully. “I think we're missing a couple root starters.”
Aryon took the list, going through the items while Laje-tal spoke. “You aren't going home?”
“Home? No, I can't. Those damned dark elves- ah, pardon me, Master Aryon, I know it wasn't your type. Well, they torched the whole place to the ground. I couldn't go back to that, not as it is now. Do you truly need as much help as he said you do? Could I stay on?”
She grinned. “Stay here? With an Argonian Telvanni Arch-Magister who consorts with elves, especially this one? Are you sure?”
“I think so.” Han-kur still seemed uncertain, crossing his arms close to his body. “Tenvaril said that while we might not be able to stop the hate in others, we can at least stop it within ourselves. The cycle of hate will only end if someone ends it. Those two have made a real difference in the marsh, I almost believe things can change. You're changing Tel Aruhn, a center for slave trade for over a thousand years. I'd like to stay here and see what happens.”
“Consider yourself hired on, then,” she replied confidently, gripping his shoulder for a moment in support. “If you can tolerate our bickering, I'm sure you'll get by. There will be things I do that you won't be able to be part of, and I expect you'll stay out of them if I ask you to. I might have a few projects for you, actually, if you are willing. I also ought to warn you that there will soon be quite a few folks in here you might find a bit unsettling.”
“I was warned.” He managed a small smile. “They made sure I knew everything that was going to happen.” All three looked up as Eddie and Tenvaril entered, both looking worn and hungry. Laje-tal met them both with a smile.
“Tenvaril, I'm sure you're exhausted but would you inspect Aryon's injury? He helped me along into using restoration on him, but he's still in quite a bit of pain. I'll be glad to make up whatever you'd like to eat.”
Tenvaril, completely taken aback, tilted his head in surprise. “You used restoration on him? Yes, I had better make sure to look him over. What were you thinking?”
“I had no choice. We were down to the last potion and Dagoth Ur clawed him nearly to the bone. No teleportation spells could work there, and he couldn't be moved. I linked my magic with his and he started the spell for me.”
“You linked magic, too?” He ushered Aryon to lay down again, inspecting the injury with magic intently. “Blast it all... Laje-tal, what were you doing, linking magic and using restoration? I'll admit you did alright, but you could have killed him! Your magic is enough to overwhelm even an adept! You've torn to bits every cadaver you've practiced on!”
Unnerved, Laje-tal rounded on him with a frown. “I'm not about to let the man I love bleed out in Dagoth Ur's facility! I trusted Aryon when he said he could guide my spell. We have worked together closely for well over a year, and we know what we can and can't do.”
Aryon calmed Tenvaril down with a light hand on his shoulder. “I understood the risk I was taking, but I knew she could do it. I have overseen all of her magical training in Tel Vos and knew what needed to happen for it to work. She's right, I couldn't have been moved from that place, and I couldn't manage to heal myself with just my own power, not with that wound.”
At last Tenvaril relented, sighing. “Yes, I suppose not. Ah, it seems only a short time ago that I met you as a child, Laje-tal, sometimes I forget you are well and truly grown. You did a fine job of healing Master Aryon, I only had to repair the finer nerves and other difficult connections. I'm sorry, I just remember all those times...”
“It's fine,” Laje-tal replied. “I wouldn't have risked it if there had been another way. Oh, I almost forgot.” She still had the letter for Eddie, and she shot Han-kur a significant look. “Pardon me, Han-kur, could you go out to the storage area outside and see if we have any fish left for dinner?”
He took her hint with a wide grin, taking up on her implication. “Well now, I don't know if we have any, it might take me a while to find it.”
“I'm not worried about the time. Please do a thorough search.” As soon as he left, she held out the letter to Eddie. “This came in for you. Here.”
“For me?” He took the letter, frowning over the name on it. Suddenly he was guarded, closed off. “What makes you think this is for me?”
She only gestured back at Aryon, her eyes searching his. “We both seemed to think it was.”
“You compared notes, I see. Damn it, Laje-tal, you weren't supposed to know about this. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you.”
“It's alright,” she reassured him. “I understand why you did it. The fewer who knew, the harder it would be to be found. You tried to protect me from having knowledge others would badly want, and they would have no qualms about beating an Argonian to death for it. This doesn't change anything, whether you are Eddie or Drevis. You are still family.”
Tenvaril approached, clearly distraught over the revelation. “A letter came for Drevis? Why now? Who is it from?”
With slightly shaking hands, Eddie removed the seal and took out the letter, his lips pursing as he read it over. Slowly he withdrew in on himself, his arm crossed over his midsection and shoulders hunched. “Mother's dead. This is from my uncle. I knew she wasn't well, but I didn't know it was this serious. I shouldn't have left her there alone. I should have been there for her. I know we never got along, but...”
Laje-tal gestured to Aryon, indicating the far door. “We'd better help Han-kur find that fish.”
Once they exited, Tenvaril took the letter from Eddie's hand, setting it aside. “You couldn't have stayed there, not with what they were doing. You could never stand by and watch as they lashed and tormented their slaves. Your mother had a very different idea about what life meant, and nothing would have changed if you had stayed, other than you would have been forced to wed some woman you didn't love and produce children to continue where your family left off. I'm certain you wouldn't have forgiven yourself if you had given in and kept the cycle going. Perhaps you could have given her some comfort as she passed into Aetherius, but would it have done any good? Would she have allowed it?”
Eddie pulled him close, tears threatening to form at the corners of his eyes. “No. She wouldn't have. I would have been no comfort to her.” His grip on the clothes in front of him only tightened, his thoughts going back to the old plantation on the mainland years ago. The slaves had always been miserable, working vast fields of saltrice and whickwheat from dawn til dusk. His heart ached every time he looked at them, seeing the sorrow and despair in their eyes. Once in a while he could slip someone out, setting them free into the wilds, but whenever someone left, another was always brought in. Slaves were replaceable, and his mother never let him forget that if one died from the strain. One day, she had found out about what he had been doing. Combined with his confession that he cared nothing for the women consistently thrown at him to make a match, he had been unwelcome in the home he had grown up in.
“You did what you felt was right,” Tenvaril said quietly. “Those slaves are why we are where we are now, why we joined the Twin Lamps. You have done so very much since then. Remember how we freed fifty slaves that one week on the Dres lands? When we defended Stormhold from raiders? Things would have turned out very different if we hadn't been there. I, too, owe you my gratitude. I never would have had this life if you hadn't run off and come to Bergama. I had no future, no direction. I was prepared to beg on the street all my days like any other blind man until I met my end. You were bound by invisible chains, love, but chains all the same. All you did was set yourself free just like so many others.”
“Yes, yes you're right.” Momentarily settled, he took the letter back up again, reading over what he had missed. “I suppose someone will have to settle the estate. I can't let my uncle have it, he'll just keep everything as it is. Would you come with me?”
“I will.” Once more he took the letter from Eddie's hands, setting it aside for another time. “For now, though, I think we had better make sure those three really do find some fish. I'm famished.”
Laje-tal had another dream, one very different from the ones she'd had so far. There was no masked Dagoth Ur, no Tribunal and thankfully no Nerevar. The setting was very familiar, and she was looking upon the docks of Tel Vos. Moored to the dock was a boat much larger than the sort Aryon generally received, its appearance that of a Nord ship. Such a thing was unheard of this far in Morrowind, but she recalled the stories Nords had told around the campfire and she was able to identify the design. This boat, she felt, was not yet made but needed to be made, and for some reason she felt it belonged to the Tel.
Behind her someone screamed, and she looked back to see Red Mountain in the distance beyond the Tel, its cone splitting violently as searing lava and ash blasted from its core. The lava shot high into the sky, the ground thundering as the shocks from the massive eruption shot through the province. Such an eruption hadn't been recorded since the upheaval after the war of the first council, when the sun was blocked by ash clouds for an entire year. The words of the stranger Wulf echoed in her mind. Change is often messy. Messy, and deadly.
People ran to the boat, some she recognized, some she did not. She saw Tenvaril, Eddie and Smokeskin on the edge of the crowd, doing what they could to keep everyone from trampling their neighbors. Drelan was at the base of the tower, quickly loading boxes onto a cart pulled by a guar. She had the impression that most of the important items had already been taken care of, but some necessities had stayed til the end. Why was she not concerned about Tel Uvirith? Why were her Dwemer constructs here in Tel Vos? What was Han-kur doing here? Who was the Ashlander child next to Aryon?
Her dream was abruptly ended when Aryon lightly shook her awake, whispering to her when she stirred. “There's someone here in your Tel.”
Laje-tal tensed, listening. She didn't hear anything, but she could smell the magical items on someone who was indeed in the Tel. Eddie and Tenvaril were gone, and Han-kur had been tasked with spending a few days in Vivec city, on a mission to linger in areas of the city and listen to the current happenings discreetly. There should be nobody else on the grounds. Slowly she slid out of bed, dropping to the ground to grab a sword from under the crack in the frame. She cast a spell to muffle her steps, her long claws not making so much as a scrape. Aryon crept low as well, stopping near the edge of the door, listening to the sound only he seemed to hear.
“It sounds like you when you walk. Another Argonian?”
“Good thing I lock and trap all of my important things out of habit.” A small thud echoed from the storage room, the skittering of scribs heard as one of the traps fired. She grinned. “Storage room.” He nodded acknowledgment and they split up, heading to the storage room from different angles. Laje-tal neared, giving Aryon the signal to stay down while she confronted the visitor. If they were new to the area, they wouldn't know to expect Aryon. Her eyes widened in recognition, however, when she realized just who was trying to get into her things. She rose at once, hissing in anger. “You again! I thought Barenziah took care of you!”
Aryon looked too to see a man who was like Laje-tal in nearly every way, though his eyes flashed green instead of gold. His dark brown scales, the shape of his feet and tail, even the number of horns on his head were all just like her. He wore the armor of the Dark Brotherhood, three long scars running down the left side of his face. Once the stranger came out into the main area, Aryon rose, startling the man with his presence. “A friend of yours?”
“Indeed,” she replied with another hiss. “What are you doing here?”
Hides-His-Shadow came into the light, revealing his form. No longer was he the simple but skilled thief, but a blatant Dark Brotherhood assassin. His teeth bared in a sneer. “Oh, Barenziah took care of me alright. Five years, she sentenced me! Five years in that damnable prison, all because of you! You made a fool of me! I was never able to live that down! Well no more, this ends now!” He gestured at his armor sharply. “After I got out, I found some new friends, a new family, and they will be very much gratified by your demise!”
From behind, Aryon lifted his hand to begin a blast of fire. “You'll have to contend with me, too.”
“Yes, my informant told me I might have to take care of a dark elf mage too.” He grinned at Laje-tal. “Your mate, if I'm not mistaken. I always used to say you were in bed with the dark elves, but I never thought it would be literal. You were always a disgrace to your kind, aiding the elves everywhere you went, and now this! The Hist will purge you when you cycle back!”
“The Hist can damned well leave me alone,” she grumbled, backing away slowly. “You're a fool to come unprepared.”
He drew out his Daedric dagger, poised to strike. “I am quite prepared, marsh traitor!” His charge forward was halted when Laje-tal let out a pulse of magic, triggering a nearby trap. Several small Dwemer spiders left over from her rescue of Arobar's daughter crawled out from a large chest, batting at him and sending out small shocks through their front legs. They harried him into a corner where Laje-tal kicked him into a box Tenvaril had trapped, a powerful paralyzation spell striking him flat. Aryon pulled out a rope from the storage room with a telekinesis spell, entangling the errant Argonian. He followed up with Silence, keeping the man from using any spell that might unravel his bonds.
Laje-tal reached onto the top shelf of a nearby bookshelf, taking down the slave bracers Han-kur had arrived in. She locked them on Hides-His-Shadow, rendering him without magic for as long as they may need. “With only three magically enchanted items, at that. You made a real mess of the storage room, what were you looking for?”
The man only hissed at her, irked at being foiled by her traps yet again. “You will never make me talk!”
“Fine, I'll just look through what you sorted through the most and figure it out. You can think things over in the dungeon.”
“There is no amount of torture I will submit to!”
She grinned. “No, but maybe I will let Tenvaril have a moment with you when he gets back. He gets very testy when someone rearranges things. Now, let's see what you brought along.” Through his lengthy and profane protests, she emptied his pockets and checked his boots and gloves, several lockpicks and probes collected into a neat pile. Along with that came a couple spare daggers, some potions, and the three enchanted items she had smelled. Two were unremarkable, just items to restore health and stamina, and the third item was an amulet of Almsivi Intervention. She held it up in front of him. “Ah, a friend of the Temple, I see?”
Aryon shot her an amused look. “I should remind you that you also use Almsivi Intervention from time to time.”
“Hmph, yes, well. I suppose everyone does.” Out came spare food, a few darts, a handful of nightshade flowers and a note. “Aha, now we're on to something!” She browsed over the note briefly. “I have a pretty good guess of who V.K. is, is he really still sore over all of this? Doesn't say what item he wants, but he does indeed want me dead.”
“Him again?” Aryon muttered. “Honestly, what's gotten into his head? What's wrong with you being a Telvanni?”
“A Telvanni, the Arch-Magister, the Nerevarine, and,” she added, poking his chest, “your mate, as he put it. A few too many things to accept by the highly traditional. When we were in the Corprusarium, Vistha-Kai gave me that Redoran salute, too. What do you suppose he's up to?”
“A good question. Vistha-Kai never seemed to be up to much of anything. Not to sound insulting, but he has always been a rather simple man with simple needs, from what I recall. Then again, he might just be acting and doing a very fine job of it. Well, it can wait until morning.”
“Agreed.” She hoisted Hides-His-Shadow to her shoulder, ignoring whatever the man said as she ventured down into the dungeon and deposited him in the corner. Again he was ignored as she simply went back upstairs, anything she wanted to say to him disappearing in her annoyance. He had interrupted what felt like a very important dream, a dream of a possible future. If the things in those dreams were to happen, they needed to be prepared. As soon as she returned to her chambers and laid down, she told Aryon about the dream in every detail she could remember, including the odd boat.
“A boat,” Aryon said, puzzled. “That's strange, I was considering commissioning a boat of that size to haul larger quantities of items and people. Tel Vos has grown to the point where I'll need it. You said it was of Nord make, and everyone was evacuating the Tel while the mountain erupted. An explosion of the magnitude you described would certainly affect the entire isle and then some. Perhaps everyone was fleeing to Skyrim.”
“It's probable. A boat of Nord design would likely get past the border waters without incident. I'm bothered, though, that my Tel didn't come to mind in the dream. It was as if it didn't matter anymore.”
“Maybe it didn't.” He nodded solemnly at her startled look. “Perhaps, for some reason or other, you decided to abandon the Tel and consolidate with Tel Vos. I am by the sea, with an easier escape route, and further away from the mountain. You said your Dwemer constructs were in Tel Vos, which seems to fit that theory too.”
“Oh, Aryon, this is terrible. How much time will we have, I wonder? How long will I have before I must leave my home? Maybe this is connected with the calamity the Hist showed me. Maybe Daedra will come in the night and destroy this place. Just when I was starting to feel at home!”
Aryon slid his arm around her waist with a light sigh. “I know. It seems that my own Tel will need to be evacuated too if things go as they do in that dream. You will have a place in Tel Vos as long as I am there,” he reassured. “I hate the thought as much as you do, Tel Vos has been my home for many years, and a home to everyone there. If and when it comes, our duties will be to our people, and we may have to make sacrifices to see to that.”
“That's very true,” she agreed, grateful as always for his enduring way of putting things as they were without embellishment. “Things can be replaced. People cannot. I know my duty, and I will do whatever I must to uphold it. At least this way, we can be somewhat prepared for it.”
“We won't be prepared for much of anything if we don't get some sleep. I might have to stay away from here for the next week or so with all that's going on. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.”
She eased him down with a hand on his chest, giving him a warm kiss. “Rest, then, and be better off for it. I am here if you need me.”
Aryon relaxed under her touch, thankful that she didn't cling or complain. As he finally drifted off again, he thought about the boat, with its shielded sides, tall masts, and a dragon-shaped figure in the tip of its bow. What was that damned thing going to cost?
When Han-kur returned from Vivec, the news he delivered was mixed. On one side of things, everyone was elated that Dagoth Ur was gone and the blight no longer plagued the isle. While people were troubled by the fact that an Argonian had been the one, their relief outweighed their apprehension. What had been disturbing and even frightening was the fact that Vivec himself had disappeared. One day he was in his chamber as always, and the next day he had vanished without a trace. Everyone was scared out of their wits, he said, with only Almalexia still fully accounted for.
What concerned Laje-tal now was the fact that when the protective magics on Baar Dau wore off, it would crash to the cantons without any way of stopping it. An unrestrained collision would do an immeasurable amount of damage to the area, possibly the areas surrounding the city as well. Even the combined magics of all the mages she knew would cooperate would only be able to buffer the fall. From what she could tell, there was no helping it. Gaining trust with people in the city and warning them to escape was the only thing that could effectively be done. Besides, she had to settle the score with a certain Hlaalu councilor.
Laje-tal scowled as she tilled the land in front of her with a hoe, scraping out rows for ash yams and saltrice. The Altmer that Tenvaril had recommended finally arrived, and they needed to be fed. While she could easily have them do the work or do it with magic, she wanted to work off her frustration on the ground. That damned man! Every formal challenge had gone unanswered. Even the Hlaalu nobles were talking about how he kept refusing the summons, calling him a coward behind his back and a fool to his face. One simply did not ignore a Telvanni, but she also didn't want to commit outright murder. She tucked away the thought for later.
Two weeks had passed, now, since Hides-His-Shadow had been captured, and what little she had learned wasn't much to go on. She had ignored him for the first week, only sending down food as uneventfully as possible, depriving him of any interactions beyond occasional visits to the privy, supervised by a silent guard. He had broken somewhat from the utter boredom, the constant hum of the magical crystals in the dungeon driving him to distraction. All he had told her was that he was looking for information on her past. What information that was, she could only guess. Assuming Vistha-Kai had hired him, he could be looking for just about anything incriminating.
She finished the row, standing back up to think. Yes, she had better check in on him, after another week of silence. Maybe he would be ready to say more. Working out a crick in her neck, she walked back into the Tel, leaving the tools in the outer lean-to. Down in the pits of the inner dungeon, the large blue crystals shining and humming their incessant hum, Hides-His-Shadow looked up with a mixture of relief and irritation to see her coming down. Laje-tal crossed her arms as soon as she approached, leveling him a glare. “Well, did you remember anything more in the past week?”
Hides-His-Shadow struggled, just as he always did, his bonds holding tight. “Fine! I was sent to find information on where you came from! Can you make these damned crystals stop with the humming?”
“No, but I might relocate you to an empty housepod if you behave. Why would Vistha-Kai need to know where I came from?”
“He doesn't, he just wants you dead! Neloth wanted the information. He thinks he knows where you came from but he wanted to be sure! Now get me out of here!”
Laje-tal considered him for a moment, not seeing any deception. “Very well, I am a woman of my word.” As promised, she escorted him from the Tel, passing a few of her workers on the way. The lone housepod on the fringe awaited, as magically secured as everything else. She deposited him inside, a magical light the only thing in the pod. “Now, what does Neloth know about where I supposedly came from? You know I'll just leave you here for another week if you don't comply.”
The man writhed, giving up the struggle when he realized there was nothing in the room to aid him. “He was there, at the outpost on the fringe. He said there was a woman who had been killed who looked exactly like you, and that he had found an Argonian egg in the seized outpost. Didn't think much of it at the time but you look like her, and you were born at the right time.”
She focused her curiosity, not letting him pick up on it. “A reasonable assumption, I suppose. There are Argonians who look like me, though, as your very appearance proves. What would make him think that was me, specifically?”
“The rumor was that the two dead mages could smell magical signs, finding traps and avoiding spells by knowing they were there. It's a rare ability.”
“Again, another plausible reason,” she said, as calm as she could be. As unexpected as this was, it did indeed seem like she would be finding out more about her mysterious family. The prospect was frightening and exciting all at once. “Did he mention their names? If I am not the Argonian he's thinking of, I might be able to help.”
“He said they were Listha-Kei and Kanelm-Mul from Blackrose. Mercenaries. That's all I know!”
Laje-tal narrowed her eyes, leaning over his prone form. “Is it? You know, it will be very dark in here once I extinguish this light. Very quiet, too, if you can ignore the sound of the Dwemer constructs outside.”
He squirmed again, a slight panic coming to his eyes. “No, no, I swear it! That is all I know! I can't stand the steaming, the wheezing of those machines! Get me out of here!”
It seemed there was indeed no more she could gain from him. He had probably been given limited information to go on, just told to search for whatever he could find that would tell more about her past. Too many details given to him would obviously have been a great risk. “Not to worry, I will indeed get you out of here. Out of Tel Uvirith, and out of Vvardenfell if I can help it. I know a man who would be glad to sneak you into the Imperial City dungeons. He mentioned there is a rather caustic man named Valen Dreth there who would keep you company. I'll arrange to have you sent there.”
“W-wait! I thought you were going to let me go!”
She turned back with a grin. “I'm letting you go to Cyrodiil. Be thankful I'm doing this for you, considering what Neloth and Vistha-Kai would do to you if they found out you talked. If anything, I am sending you to the safest place you could be now. You're welcome.” Again she ignored his protests as she put out the light, intent on getting him removed as quickly as possible. As soon as she was back in the Tel, she yelled for the agent who volunteered to take him. “Orinarion! Would you get that Dark Brotherhood idiot out of here?”
A very mangled but still somehow whole Altmer man appeared from a far room, a smile on his heavily scarred lips. He looked like he had been through so much that a trip to Oblivion was probably a vacation, and he was the best she had for removing nuisances. No matter where it was or how secure, he could get in and out without a hitch. “You've got it, Arch-Magister. How far can you port us?”
That was, indeed, a good question. She hadn't stretched her magic that far in ages. “Cheydinhal, maybe, if that. I'm not sure I can manage even that far without a connecting rune, and I don't dare send you straight into the University. I might just be able to reach Cheydinhal, though, if I can connect to their Mages Guild energies. Is that alright?”
“No trouble,” he agreed affably. “I'll get him there in a nip and a pinch, just you see. I know a very interesting way to get into that prison. Guards won't have a clue where he came from, and they wouldn't believe he was sent there by some Telvanni all the way out here. They'll think he was put in there because he's mad! I can leave a forged note for the guards and everything.”
She rubbed her hands together, excited. “Ah, I love the way you think! Yes, please do that! You'll have one hell of a bonus to look forward to when you get back.”
With a nod, he went off to retrieve his irritating cargo. “Lookin' forward to it!”
Laje-tal barely paused to think as soon as she sent them both away to Cheydinhal later, too concerned over what she had just learned. If Hides-His-Shadow was right and she was indeed the Argonian Neloth thought she was, she knew who her parents were and where they hailed from. Now, she needed to confirm it. With a groan and a sigh, she knew what she had to do. She was going to have to visit Neloth.
Notes:
If Hides-His-Shadow seems very clumsy, I assure you, he is. He is my character in the Oblivion game, one who I made fall into just about every trap there was. Poor guy.
Chapter Text
A thick snowfall obscured the view of the town of Vos, but Laje-tal could still see the changes that had occurred down below. Unlike Tel Uvirith, which was so close to the lava and Red Mountain to have no seasons, winter had set completely here in Tel Vos. Everywhere she looked was a sea of white and gray, the horizon barely visible through the haze. Aryon was finally finished with the additions to the town to the point where he actually had some spare time, and he insisted she come down to see what had transpired.
The town had a few new houses, and the docks were extended to moor larger vessels, reaching out into the deeper waters. The small chapel had grown, a small wing added to the side. When she arrived earlier she had presented the robe of St. Roris to Yakin on her way up to the Tel, and she grinned now, remembering how he had looked at her as if she had completely lost her mind. It was worth relinquishing the artifact just for that, though her amusement faded in the face of what she would have to tell Aryon now. What would he say when he found out?
A slight scuff sounded as Aryon came to the terrace, leaning on the rail with her. “Glad I got it done before the snows came,” he said, exhausted from the effort. “Took a lot of magic, though. I think I used up nearly all of that salve you made me getting it all done!”
She took his hand, inspecting the slight red tinge on his palm. “In only a couple weeks, even. I'll make you some more.”
“You said in your message you went to talk to Neloth? And you're still in one piece?”
“Bodily, anyway,” she replied with a chuckle. “I never expected to get answers from an Argonian assassin and someone like Neloth. It must be true, though, there's no other explanation. He knew every single detail, down to the last bit of what I knew.” She hesitated, still uncertain about the whole thing. What she had learned had been enough to keep her away for a few days longer than necessary as it was.
Aryon edged closer, feeling the chill. “You have the whole story, then? What happened?”
“Neloth was the one who sold my egg to the woman at the orphanage. He told her it was a rare harpy egg, can you believe that? She kept the jar around since it was rather nice to look at, and he described it perfectly. He had cleared the outpost where I was stored, he had been the one to find my parents but also...” She stepped back abruptly, arms crossed. “Aryon, I don't know how to say this.”
He moved back to face her, troubled by her reticence. “It's alright, I know you can sometimes be a bit too direct.”
“It's not that.” After a moment she composed herself, looking away. “That same outpost was where your parents were killed. Killed by mine.”
Startled, he withdrew, just as visibly shaken as she was. “You're sure?”
“Neloth was quite happy to go on at length about the grisly scene he came upon. He knows I'm the Argonian he thinks I am, and he insisted I tell you this when he figured it out. He was delighted when he realized how our pasts were intertwined in such a horrible way.”
Aryon stood still, absorbing everything she had just said. It brought up all of the old emotions he was so accustomed to feeling. Anger, pain, sadness, helplessness. Over the years, though, his anger had calmed, tempered by patience and understanding. He had slowly accepted the deaths of his parents, knowing that the Argonians who had killed and been killed were only another part of the war, fighting for whatever cause they had. It didn't matter which Argonians killed them, they were dead all the same. That they had been Laje-tal's parents was only a more tragic point of fact. Silently he closed the distance again, arms about her waist. He didn't know what to say, only pausing for a long moment until she relaxed in his grasp. “If there had been any change in either of our pasts, we would not be who we are now. Nothing we learn about those times will be able to undo anything. It's a fact, and there's nothing we need to do about it.”
Laje-tal knew he was right. It was just as she had always felt about everything else that had been in her past. All of what had happened, good and bad, made her who she was now. “I know,” she said quietly, returning the embrace. “I suppose I couldn't help but feel a little responsible, even though I naturally had nothing to do with it. It's a hard feeling to shake.”
“I understand. I used to think that there was something I neglected to do that could have kept them out of that war, out of that outpost, but there wasn't. They went, and they died.” He pulled back enough to look her in the eye, relieved to see her steady and calm. “I still love you. I don't, however, love this damnable cold. Let's go inside before we freeze.”
She followed after him, his plain words easing her worries. She had worried so hard and long over what he might do or say, all unnecessary in the end. With a renewed smile, she joined him inside on the long padded couch, Aryon leaning back onto her chest as soon as she sat. Her hand combed through his short hair briefly. “I'll bet you're exhausted from all of the work on the town. I hope you didn't have to deal with any visitors.”
Aryon groaned at the memory of what had indeed happened the previous day. “Don't you ever become like that barbed thorn, please! Oh, she came around, but I let Smokeskin take care of her. We both made it known that she wasn't welcome here if all she would do was be underfoot, especially under mine! I hope you fared better with your nuisance than I did with mine.”
“Hardly,” she replied in a grumble. “He won't take my challenge. Even the other Telvanni are looking at him askance for his refusals. If I act now they will know I did it. Damn, but I wish there was a way. The Morag Tong won't deal with me since I'm currently a Dark Brotherhood target. That damned coward won't even let me defend my own honor!”
“Perhaps you should confront him face to face,” he suggested, already having an idea of what he was going to do. “Yes, perhaps this Loredas, around noon.”
She gave him a look. “That's quite specific.”
“I, too, must remind the Hlaalu that one does not ignore a Telvanni. I don't want our appointments conflicting.”
Laje-tal only chuckled, kissing his neck. “Whatever you say.”
The woman in the main hall of the Hlaalu canton in Vivec seemed very nervous, Laje-tal thought. Fidgety, perhaps even a little afraid. Afraid of what? “I'm sorry, but Councilor Curio can't be seen at this time. He is indisposed.”
Laje-tal was patient, but her patience with the man was nearly gone. She was done waiting! “Indisposed or not, I'm sure you all know why I am here. He has yet to respond to my challenge and I am getting very weary of these games. You know I don't need you to cooperate.”
“Yes, yes of course, Arch-Magister, but I assure you he will be unable to respond to your challenge.”
“Unless he's dead, I won't be taking no for an answer. Pardon me.” When she entered his chambers, though, she saw that he was indeed well and truly dead. Very, very much dead. It was a clear Morag Tong mark, but it was far messier a scene than the group generally left. The agent had even emblazoned the symbol of House Telvanni on the wall in the man's blood, they were so detailed. She had to admit, if only to herself, that it was a glorious sight. Every tiny detail in the presentation was thoroughly satisfying. On the outside, though, she only turned to the woman who followed after her. “Indisposed, indeed. Well this is most unexpected. I wonder who ordered this mark.”
“I don't know,” she said, clearly stressed over the horrendous scene. “All they left was a note, there.”
Laje-tal stooped to pluck the note from atop the body, opening it. All it said was Please accept this gift as a token of my affection. She knew quite well who did this, and looked again over the scene, feeling a grin creep up in spite of her control. Gods but she loved that man. “Clearly someone who wanted to leave a particular message. Well, so be it. He's taken care of. I won't trouble you any further.”
“Wait!” It was too late. The Arch-Magister had already disappeared in a blast of magic, leaving her bereft. How was she going to explain this to the rest of the council?
Laje-tal returned to Tel Vos right away, intent on leaving the Hlaalu with no inclination that she was involved and also wanting to let Aryon know how very thoughtful his gift was. She didn't think she would step in on a near disaster in the form of an unbound Daedra Kynval wreaking havoc on Aryon's quarters. The daedra was barely contained, lashing out against the bonds Aryon was desperately trying to maintain. She reacted quickly, adding her own binding magic to the daedra. Aryon glanced over in surprise, sweat running down his brow.
“Glad you're here, this one is a bit more than I usually take on!”
She staggered as the daedra fought, the creature yelling in defiance. “What will you do with it?”
“Sigil stone, for Baar Dau.”
Her magic increased, entrapping the daedra further. The idea seemed rather sound. Once the daedra was bound, it would do whatever it was bidden to do, up to and including obtaining a powerful sigil stone from the planes of Oblivion. Such a stone would have tremendous power, enough to buy some time in dealing with the moonlet. It could power a strong spell of levitation, holding even that large stone for a few years. “You were going to take on this one by yourself?”
“No, he got caught in the plane I aimed at! I didn't mean to pull this particular one. Better, though, for getting that sigil stone. Blast!” He ducked as a surge of fire shot their way, a yell of dismay following when he realized a hole had been carved straight through the wall of his Tel, right by the desk. They doubled their efforts, forcing the daedra into submission. The daedra relented, crouching down under the power of their influence.
“What is your bidding?” The daedra grumbled with a hissing slur, his armor glinting as he fell to his knees.
“Go find us a sigil stone,” Aryon stated. “The strongest one you can find in the planes of Oblivion. Bring it back here and give it to me once you find it.” The daedra gave a brief growl in assent, disappearing in a flash out to whatever plane it hailed from. Aryon wiped the sweat from his brow, panting. “May I never have to do that again. Thank you for the help.”
Laje-tal approached, slipping him the note pulled from Crassius Curio's body. “No, thank you.” Her warm smile complemented her touch as she reached for his arm, briefly explaining the details of what she had witnessed in Vivec City. “It was exactly what I wanted to see and I didn't even know it until it was there before me. It was quite a sight. Usually the Morag Tong doesn't go to so much trouble.”
“Hm, they will if you pay them enough and tell them exactly what you want,” he said with a sly grin. Just then the daedra returned, presenting them with the sigil stone. The stone was easily the size of a melon, glowing brightly from its center. Aryon accepted it with a grateful nod, allowing the daedra to return to Oblivion. He set the stone on a nearby stand, metal prongs keeping the thing in place. “It's big, that's for sure. I'll need to craft up a conduit and a few other things but that's simple enough. Why, I bet we can at least buy a couple years of time if we do this right. What do you think?”
“I think we need to address the hole in the wall!”
He did indeed look at the hole the daedra had carved into his Tel, grimacing at the damage. It stretched high and wide, almost perfectly circular. Had it not been so terribly cold out, he would have attempted the binding outside. Now, all he'd done was bring the cold air in. “Damn it all, it will take ages to grow it over.”
Aryon had been about to start the spell to begin the growth, but Laje-tal kept him back. “Wait, look! You can see the whole town from here.” Vos lay down in the near distance, most of the nearby houses and much of the sea visible even in the pervasive snow that fell. The dim, overcast light reflected off the sea, just enough to see distant ships. “Why not put a window here instead?”
He moved to her side to look out beyond the burnt walls, taking in the incredible sight of the Tel grounds and the village beyond. Only the view from the top of the guard towers was as advantageous as this. “Hah, I'll have to thank that damned daedra for this renovation. Yes, it would be a shame to grow it back in.” Backing away from the cold wind heaving through the hole, he shivered. “Better get it boarded up for now. I'll send down for a repair crew.”
“You're welcome to stay with me until it's done,” she offered, edging away from the impromptu window. “It's damned cold out there.”
Aryon nodded, moving back into the library area and heading straight for the warm magical fire. He sighed when she came up from behind, her arms around his waist. “I really hope this works. We'll need to find some strong souls to augment the sigil stone, but it should work for a while.”
“It's something, at least,” she agreed. “It will give time to evacuate the city. Han-kur said that everyone there is troubled, even frightened of Vivec's disappearance. We'll have to be careful not to incite too much of a panic, but enough to get everyone out. We'd better send correspondence to Ebonheart, too, since they may also be in the impact range. Where will they go, though? There are so many people in that city, some who barely have the means to get by.”
“I don't know,” he muttered, hand to his brow in frustration. “Hopefully by the time it becomes a problem, we'll have thought of something.”
She turned him about to look him in the eye, airing as much confidence as she could muster. “I know we can think of something. When we put our minds together, we always come up with a solution, even if it's a very unconventional one. We can do this.”
Aryon loosened just a little, her plain reassurance being just what he needed to hear. After so many years of everything going wrong, helping each other had been enough to make things right for both of them. Her words and actions had been enough to make him believe in something, someone, again. “I hope you're right.”
“Even if we fail,” she said firmly, giving him a shake, “I will be there with you. Whatever may change, that fact will not.”
He didn't resist one bit when she pulled him into a kiss, but it was in that very compromising situation that Drelan interrupted them, the guard bursting through the door. “Sir, are you-” Startled and panting, he stood there, wide-eyed and unsure. To his credit he quickly recovered, covering his shock with a polite cough. “Pardon me, sir. Everyone heard the blast from the tower. Good to see you're alright. Shall I call for a team to board the gap?”
Aryon didn't bother to back away, only nodding at the suggestion. “Go ahead. Send for a window while you're at it to fit the hole. I'll be at Tel Uvirith for the night if I'm needed.” Drelan took the orders with a salute, making a hasty exit. As soon as he was gone, Aryon turned back to Laje-tal with a sigh. “Now everyone will know about us. That man is an insufferable gossip.”
She scoffed. “Through that, too, I will be here.”
Remembering her similar statement after she had defeated Gothren, he managed a smile. “Now and always, as I recall.”
“That's right,” she emphatically assured him.
He found himself taking her hand, her dedication stirring up a question he had been unable to ask the past few days. It lingered, for all that he tried to stuff it down into the corner of his mind. It just wasn't possible, not in the world they lived in. Instead he gave her hand a squeeze, accepting her words as his look softened. “I'll hold you to that.”
At last, it was time to go to Mournhold to acquire details about the latest happenings in the city. Little could be done in Tel Vos while winter held the port town captive in snow drifts, especially with the needed repairs to the Tel likely to take some time, so Aryon reasoned he could justify being away for more than a few days. Eddie had returned to Tel Uvirith looking worn and bothered, but he insisted he could manage Tel Uvirith now that it actually had people around to help. He seemed eager to have something to take his mind off of whatever it was he had done on his mother's estate. Thus it was with relative peace of mind that they both teleported to the main palace of Mournhold.
Upon arrival, Laje-tal immediately pulled out her papers regarding the release of her exile, handing them over to the nearest guard. Oddly enough, the Queen herself had requested that Laje-tal come see her when she arrived, and she didn't hesitate to heed the summons. She showed Aryon the way through the palace, watching him take in the sights that she knew so very well. He commented on the design of the walls, the vibrant decorative plants, and the intricate tapestries. Most of the guards greeted her as she passed, allowing her into Barenziah's reception room. Once inside, Aryon couldn't help but laugh. “You know everyone here, don't you?”
“I did see a couple new faces, but yes. It's rather hard to not know the only Argonian in Barenziah's guards.”
Just then Barenziah herself entered, looking at her old friend with a smile. “It seems you have done well for yourself, Laje-tal. I heard you joined the Telvanni. Ah...” She looked at Aryon, not recognizing him. “I didn't expect you to bring a guest. Pardon me, I'm afraid you have the advantage.”
Aryon approached, giving her a polite bow. “Master Aryon, also of the Telvanni, my Queen. I can leave if you wish.”
“It's quite alright, I just didn't expect it. Our friend here is not in the habit of letting others tag along. Please, sit, clearly there is a great deal to discuss.”
They all sat on nearby chairs at a table instead of down on the cushions, the angled nature of Laje-tal's legs making kneeling uncomfortable for long periods. Laje-tal rested her arms on the table, tapping a finger on the surface in thought. “Hm, yes, not the least of which is Almalexia.” When Barenziah looked up in shock, her eyes darting to Aryon, she waved off her concerns. “It's alright, he knows everything. The Nerevarine trials, the Dark Brotherhood, all of it. We can speak plainly.”
The queen relaxed somewhat, but she still looked troubled. She served up hot herbal tea into fine Imperial china cups, her stance wary. “Very well then. I have heard of your fulfillment of the Nerevarine prophecies, and how you defeated Dagoth Ur. Even in spite of Vivec's disappearance, this has raised morale for most. Tell me, though, how have you fared in your exile? Your letters were a bit brief.”
“I'm now the Arch-Magister of House Telvanni on Vvardenfell.” At Barenziah's look of disbelief, she laughed. “It's true, though, hard to explain as it is. Aryon and I worked quite hard to make it happen. Getting my stronghold in place and helping with his has kept us very busy.” She spared Aryon a significant glance. “All things considered, my exile has been very pleasant.”
Her brow arched delicately, puzzled over the wording of that statement. “You are... together, then?”
Aryon chuckled. “Also hard to explain, and also true.”
She managed to cover her surprise over a judicious sip of tea, deciding to go back to what initially had been the reason for this meeting. “Almalexia has grown quite unstable in recent years. Even more so now that Dagoth Ur has been defeated. She has gone all but silent, locking herself away in her chambers and not meeting with any but her most trusted priests and guards. Her avoidance has been noticed, and some seem to think this is a sign of the end, or that she is well and truly mad. You proved to be Nerevar Incarnate, and I hate to ask more of you, but maybe you can talk through this with her. Maybe you can shed some light on whatever is troubling her.”
Laje-tal nodded, having thought as much already. “Yes, that's my intent. I was also hoping I might ask for your help on another matter of great importance.”
“Oh?” Attentive, she leaned forward slightly. “What might that be?”
“As you know, Vivec has disappeared. The moonlet that hangs over Vivec City, Baar Dau or the Ministry of Truth, stays in its static position due to Vivec's influence. With him gone, it is most certainly going to fall. I don't know when, but on my last visit, I could smell that the magic holding it in place was already starting to thin. We have a construct we're designing that we think will keep the moonlet in place, but only for a time. Baar Dau will fall, and we believe most or all of the city will be destroyed. Few would listen to an Argonian, even a high ranking Telvanni wizard, and those people will need to evacuate. We're estimating the current construct we're working on may last for two or three years, maybe a bit longer.”
“That's terrible news,” she agreed. “So, you think I might be able to publicly support this claim. If other mages, perhaps other Telvanni, agree that the moonlet will fall, I will consider it. Until then, I shouldn't.”
“I understand,” Laje-tal readily replied. “At this point I only wanted to mention it. We should have time to observe the situation before any real action is taken. For now, our priority is Almalexia and the matter with the Dark Brotherhood. Is Helseth behind the marks, as I suspected?”
Barenziah sighed. “Yes, he is. He didn't remember you, I think, or at least he didn't seem to associate the you that went to Vvardenfell with the Argonian guard he knew from before. You did look very different in your armor, after all.”
“Hm, yes. Well I'm glad to have that matter resolved... and I do hope it is resolved?”
She traded a knowing grin with her old friend. “It is. You can go about Mournhold without worry of that, though if you pursue the agents into their den you do so at your own risk. Please, feel free to stay in the palace while you're in Mournhold, Laje-tal. There's plenty of room.”
“Gladly. I will see to the matters at hand, then, if I may.” At the Queen's dismissive nod, she excused herself and Aryon, heading down into the main courtyard. Amid the fragrant flowers and chiseled stone, Aryon spoke quietly.
“We'd best listen around town. Know a good place to begin?” He smiled, already knowing what she would say about that.
“If you want to know anything about anything, the Winged Guar in Godsreach is the place to start!”
While Aryon had expected a small crowd in the bustling bar, he hadn't expected them to run into so many of Laje-tal's old friends. A whole group of mixed Nords, a few Dunmer mages, and a lone Bosmer man apparently still gathered in the bar on their time off. They were still in the Queen's guards from the look of their armor, and all greeted her eagerly as she approached. Even the Dunmer mages greeted her with a familiar smile.
“Well look who's crawled back to Mournhold,” said the Bosmer man. “We heard about the exile, unfair as anything I ever heard! You went to Vvardenfell, right?”
Laje-tal joined the table, pulling up two extra chairs. “That's right, Endrin.”
“It's just awful. That idiot woman got nothing more than a talking to for what she did! It's not right that you got sent to that blight-infested island!”
She chuckled. “Well, Aryon and I live on that blight-infested island, and with Dagoth Ur dead there won't even be the blight anymore.”
“Yeah, heard about that too, heard the Nerevarine was a real thing! Can you believe it? Well your term is up, think you'll be coming back to Mournhold for good?”
“No,” she said firmly, easing her refusal with a smile. “I'm the Arch-Magister of House Telvanni there, I couldn't possibly stay in Mournhold now.”
A brief moment of confused silence circled the big table, the Nords unsure and the mages looking to each other, trying to gauge if she was joking. Endrin finally let out a nervous chuckle. “Hah, that's Laje-tal for you, always a joker.”
She was about to reply that no, she wasn't joking at all, when one of the Dunmer mages leaned forward, pointing at Aryon. “Wait I know you! Master Aryon, right? From Tel Vos?”
Aryon sat back just the slightest bit, startled at being recognized all the way out here, even considering that his Telvanni robes were unmistakable. “Yes, that's right.”
The man rested on his arms, looking around at the others. “Look, we've all known Laje-tal for at least ten years. She's not the sort to make up stories. Why would another Telvanni mage be so far from their Tel with an Argonian if they didn't know her?”
Another more skeptical mage piped in. “Why didn't we hear about something as crazy as that?”
“I suspect,” Aryon replied with a chuckle, “that the other Telvanni don't want anyone on the mainland knowing about this. I'll bet every mainland Telvanni who does know is keeping very quiet. I assure you, though, that it's quite true. There were many witnesses in Tel Aruhn when she challenged the former Arch-Magister to a duel for his title and won. She's the Arch-Magister, and has her own Tel on the island.”
“I need another drink,” one of the Nords said wearily, the sentiment echoed by two of his nearby comrades. Laje-tal took the pause, bringing the conversation back around to what brought her here.
“Anyway, I've heard rumors that there are unusual things going on here in Mournhold and I'm wondering if any of you know anything about it.”
A Nord woman with a strong accent nodded briskly, gesturing outside. “Aye, there's things beneath the city, they're sayin'. Goblins and sorts like that. I saw it myself or I'd not believe 'em. Ye remember the monsters we found in the caves of Narsis? Well, they be here with the goblins! Couple of crazy high elves are training the things, though what for we only be guessin'. Been quiet though these past couple years. Really quiet from the Temple, too.”
“Yes, so I've heard. Almalexia has gone all but silent, there's rumors of conspiracy against Helseth, and now there's some sort of goblin army down under the city? Anything new happen on the border?” A few mutters and shaking heads around the table told her all she needed to know. Nothing new on the border. The skirmishes had more or less stayed the same, or at least hadn't become severe. After a moment, others spoke of happenings in the city and the nearby lands, summarizing all of what had happened since she left, taking the better half of an hour. She sat back once they seemed finished, ready to leave. “Well, I've interrupted long enough. Thank you for the information, but I'll let you all get back to your chat.”
Endrin gestured her back, grinning. “Hey now, you've told us hardly a thing and it sounds like you've had an exciting time out there. Come on, tell us what you've been up to!”
She returned with a slightly hesitant sigh, knowing they were all in for quite a few surprises. “Well alright, but you won't believe even half of what I've done!”
“You made quite an impression, didn't you?” Aryon asked, amused as Laje-tal addressed yet another merchant in town by name. He looked around the marketplace in the Great Bazaar, craftsmen at every bend displaying their wares. Everything imaginable was on display from arcane implements to simple pottery. “From the look of the folks around here, some want to make an impression of your body on the ground. You're alright with wearing those?”
Laje-tal smoothed her Master robes over her form, holding her head high. “I'm a Telvanni, and not one of the Queen's guards. I want that understood.” They went through each of the shops one by one, listening for any clues about the happenings in the city. Everyone was talking about the strange goblin sightings, rumors of the Dark Brotherhood, and their recent experiences at the Temple. When they stopped by the trader's door, though, Laje-tal hesitated. “Aryon, Sunel has been very upset over the death of his wife. He's very sore about the subject, but he's the best around here for information. I think he'll talk more if you don't come along.”
“I don't mind taking a look around,” he replied readily enough, already looking down the plaza.
She glanced around the court, spotting the open-air playhouse at the end. “It looks like they're hosting a play, maybe you'd like to see it. Meryn is probably showing The Horror of Castle Xyr again, it's one of his favorites.”
“One of mine, too. I'll see you there.”
Laje-tal headed into the shop as soon as Aryon departed, instantly spotting Sunel Hlas. The man looked as morose as ever, mechanically writing numbers and logs into his merchant records. When she entered, though, he looked up with interest. “Well I'll be,” he said with the barest smile, waving her in. “Haven't seen you in a couple years.” Just as quickly, his smile faded into a dark frown. “Heard they sent you to Vvardenfell.”
She hesitated, knowing exactly why he reacted as he did. His poor deceased wife was one of many victims of the blight, too weak to last long enough to find a potion or a priest. He blamed himself to this day for taking his wife on that benighted excursion. “Yes, they did,” she replied solemnly, lowering her head in a brief nod. “I have some good news, at least. Dagoth Ur is taken care of, and the blight has ended.”
Sunel tossed his pen aside, grimacing at his book. “It's too damn many years too late for that.” He recovered quickly, looking back at her with a helpless glance. “Sorry, I know you're just trying to make me feel better. Don't bother, it's all pointless. Nothing can undo what happened.”
“I know. Nothing can change the past. Aryon reminded of that recently. The past has happened, all we can do is try to move on.”
He scoffed a dry sort of laugh, his eyes weary but amused. “Is that so? Who's Aryon?”
“Someone who's decided to put up with me,” she said with a smile, hoping he wouldn't slip further down into his morose apathy. He surprised her, though, when he pointed a finger at her, his mouth tilting in a resolute frown.
“You'd better bring him by sometime. Gotta make sure he's good enough for you.”
“I will,” she promised, warmed by his oddly parental concern. “You're a good man, Sunel. Don't beat yourself up forever. She wouldn't have wanted this for you.”
He seemed to calm down somewhat, running his fingers through his dark hair nervously. “Yeah, maybe. We'll see. Now, are you here to buy, or are you here to talk?”
“Both,” she said definitively, setting down a sack of coins. “You already know most of what I need. What I also need, though, is information. I want to know everything you can tell me about what's been going on at the Temple!”
Minutes later, Laje-tal left the trader with more information than she could have ever hoped for. Sunel always had an eye and ear out for anything and everything going on in Mournhold, and he never failed to impress with his plethora of details. When Laje-tal found Aryon, though, he was on Meryn's stage, acting out Tarvus's part. What was Tarvus doing absent from his favorite role? Amused, she stood at the back of the seats, watching the play advance. Aryon caught sight of her and smiled, waiting for the actress to deliver her next lines.
“Please, Serjo, go wherever you want. We have nothing to hide. We are loyal Imperial subjects.”
“As, I hear, are all Telvanni,” Aryon replied, barely holding back a reaction. Laje-tal laughed with the crowd, the line delivered with just the right touch of irony. The moment didn't last as a strange Dunmer man charged from the audience, short sword poised to strike. Aryon reacted quickly, disabling the man with a blast of lightning and striking with his own dagger. In the end, the man was revealed to have been there to assassinate Tarvus. Meryn had recruited Aryon, since he looked enough like Tarvus and knew the play like the back of his hand.
Laje-tal followed him away from the theater, still intrigued by the incident. “I wonder why anyone would try to kill Tarvus! Everyone loves him, or so I thought. That assassin must be new to the area, you don't look like Tarvus.”
“I don't? Meryn said I did.”
She took a closer look, assessing him. No, there were definite differences, but at a distance he was passable enough for Tarvus. Aryon's face was more angled, his nose just a bit crooked from an incident with an atronach. His ears were pierced with three rings in one ear, his brow more pronounced and his jaw just a bit too narrow. In Dunmer reckoning, he wasn't particularly handsome. Tarvus was infamous for his dashing good looks. “Maybe a little,” she agreed. “I'm sure Tarvus will be very grateful you helped him out, unknowing as you were. All of his fans will no doubt find him to comfort him!” She laughed. “He'll be surrounded by women for days!”
Aryon scoffed playfully. “And me without a jot of recognition!”
In the unnoticed corner they had chosen, she gave him a brief kiss. “There you have it, then.”
Late that night, when they had gone over all of the details about what they had found around town, it was clear that the investigation would take quite some time, perhaps even longer than the winter season. They would need to find a way to get in Almalexia's good graces, and that would likely mean doing several tasks within the Temple. Aryon leaned onto the table they shared in their small borrowed room, folding up his notes into a small book. “That Temple steward was looking for someone to find out more about those goblins under the city,” he suggested. “We were going to look into that anyway.”
“That would certainly take care of both at once.” Laje-tal seemed strained, though, tapping a finger on the wood of the table nervously. Finally she looked up at him, the corners of her eyes drawn in concern. “Aryon, there is one other thing I need to do while we're on the mainland, preferably before we get too involved in things going on here in Mournhold.”
Puzzled, he regarded her curiously, wondering why she was offering him to ask about it instead of just saying it. “And what might that be?”
Her reticence was clear when she replied, taking his hand in a tight grip. “I want to go down by Tear and find that damned orphanage, and put that horrid woman out of business. I found that guard of yours one day and got the location from him, and I've already sent a message to the real Lenassa. She's agreed to meet us there if we decide to go. I know we originally intended to be in Mournhold for a few days, but I need to make sure she never sells another child. I can't be here on this side of the sea knowing that I could be there, helping them. I can't let those children suffer as I did.”
Aryon's gaze darkened, lips set in a grim line as he returned her touch. “Neither can I.”
Laje-tal pushed Aryon forward gently, directing him back onto the road. “Don't look for too long. It only makes it worse.”
The area surrounding Tear was filled with plantations and mines rife with dozens of slaves, all toiling under the brutal sun. In this area so far south, winter meant little, the season of growth and work never ending. Aryon had stood, horrified, watching the slave masters lash their charges into submission, frequently drawing blood and eliciting howls of agony. “How can you look past this?”
“It was my life for six years.” She frowned, urging him on. Out here, she had insisted on using her illusory self Lenassa, knowing that any Argonian freedom fighters would see a lone Telvanni with a supposed Argonian slave as an instant target otherwise. As it was, they needed to move on. “Go through like you have seen this every day of your life.”
It had been easy, he mused, to go about his life in his Tel and pretend these sorts of things didn't happen. Out there, it could be ignored, put aside. It was something that happened in a different place, a place he didn't have to go. Faced with the reality, he was frozen where he stood. “How can I do that? How can I pass by knowing that every person down there is getting beaten to death?”
“Not to death,” she insisted, moving on ahead. “A dead slave is a slave who can't work. They will try to not kill those slaves if they can help it. I know it's horrible, but we need to go. This place is well known with the you-know-who, I guarantee they're trying everything to take this area out. All we can do is have faith in that knowledge. Come on!”
They finally pressed on ahead, down the long and winding dirt road into seemingly nowhere. Plantations turned into open grasslands filled with herded guar, then into nearly barren scrub and scoured flats. Laje-tal became tense and quiet as they progressed, the area all too familiar to her. When they rounded the curve, seeing a moderately sized wooden house surrounded by a tall, tough wrought iron fence, she paused. Her hands curled into fists at her sides reflexively. “Time to wait for Lenassa.”
The real Lenassa soon made herself known, detaching herself from the shadow of a boulder and tree, urging them over to crouch in her corner. Her dark leather clothing hid most of her, but Aryon took a good look at her face, noticing the amused look she gave Laje-tal's illusion. For the most part, the two looked about the same, one a mage, one an agent. Lenassa's hair was longer, lighter in color, and she looked like she had had more smiles than frowns. “Telvanni, hm? Good disguise. I look damned awful in that robe, though!”
Aryon grinned, looking over at Laje-tal. “As I thought she would.”
Laje-tal rolled her eyes at him, dismissing her illusion. “Yes, yes, I know. I couldn't go running through Tear as I was!”
Across from her Lenassa offered up a small pack. “If you want to change out of those things, I have some spare leather gear.”
“What?” She waved off the suggestion. “Oh, no, these are mine. I'll explain later. Aryon, might I have the honor of burning this place to the ground?” He only glanced her way, giving a brief nod. Clearly he was as bothered by this excursion as she was, vain attempts at humor aside. “Ah, almost forgot.” In a flash she cast a different illusion on herself, appearing now in her more intricate Arch-Magister robes, a grim frown on her face. “Might as well make this official.” She couldn't bear waiting any longer and rose to head to the door, her robes never feeling so very heavy before. A small scream came from the house, but she resisted reacting, only drawing herself up tall as she knocked on the door, Aryon poised and ready by her side.
“What do you want?” an all too familiar voice asked from behind the door. Paranoid as always. This time, it would prove to be for good reason, and also futile.
Aryon announced themselves in his best mainland accent. “Pardon our unannounced arrival, but it is my greatest pleasure to inform you that House Telvanni has a vested interest in your... inventory. Might we come inspect what you may have for sale?”
Sliding metal on metal sounded from the other side, every lock moved aside. The woman was exactly as Laje-tal remembered her. Drawn face, pinched mouth, hair gray all too early, eyes as cold as Atmora. Those eyes quickly became startled at the sight of an Argonian in full Telvanni regalia shoving her way into the house, quickly followed by another Telvanni, and she pulled away in fear. “What is this trickery? Who are you?”
Laje-tal took in the drab walls, the ancient paintings, the threadbare rugs. Hardly a thing had changed in this place. “I am the Arch-Magister of Vvardenfell, and I have it on good authority that you are selling these children into slavery, a clear violation of the armistice.”
The matron scowled. “Slavery is protected by the armistice.”
“Oh, I know that. I know that very well, Tivlane Felanor. You see, though, there are rules in the slave trade. Rules that you never saw fit to follow. A slave must be at least sixteen years of age before they can be legally sold. You have only been half as patient, selling orphaned children at the age of eight. All under the table, of course, never reported to the King's tax collectors, nor the legitimate traders. Who would question a small gift of fifty coin given to the orphanage in thanks for placing a child with someone who claims to adopt them? I understand now why the price was so low.”
“What are you talking about? How do you know who I am?”
Laje-tal had wandered to a nearby bookshelf, and took down the very jar she had been brought to this place in, the blue and white china vase. She inspected it thoughtfully, hands gently grazing its surface. “I know quite a few things. Now, where are the children?”
One child had already come near their group, just peeking barely around the frame of a door, a small Bosmer boy with frightened green eyes. The boy ran off as soon as Aryon noticed him, and he gestured down the hall with a nod. “Hiding from us, I suppose. I'll see if I can find them.”
“Alright. I'll take care of this one.” She also held up the vase. “I'm taking this, too.”
Nine children ended up being found in the home, and several piles of coin stashed away in nooks and crannies. Whether they had found it all was anyone's guess, and Tivlane wasn't the least cooperative. The woman also had a smug grin on her face when they stated they had only found nine children. Aryon couldn't think of why that was. “Ten beds, nine children. I searched everywhere,” he explained, “even outside.”
Laje-tal grimaced, having a notion of the one place he hadn't checked. Just thinking of it made her scales crawl. “I know one place you couldn't have looked.” With the others in the care of Lenassa, and Tivlane fully restrained, Aryon followed after her back into the house. The basement looked innocent enough, full of items in storage and a few gardening tools here and there. She opened the seemingly sealed side of one large crate, however, revealing a door into a small room.
“Gods, what is this place?” Aryon asked, his voice faltering with trepidation. Laje-tal didn't respond, hurrying to the corner where a small Argonian girl had been bound to a chair, tied even at the neck. The poor thing was already scared to be there, and now was even more terrified to see two Telvanni coming her way. Laje-tal removed the cloth from the girl's neck, reassuring the child with a gentle touch to her head.
“Relax, little one, we're here to help you.” She removed the rest of the bindings, caught off guard when the child clung to her as soon as she was free. “Easy now. Let's get you out of here. If you're anything like I was I bet you're starved half to death.” The girl was as thin as the rest, her pale green scales rough and tail limp from lack of nourishment. She didn't speak a word, only clinging tight to the leg in front of her.
“I don't think she's going to let you go,” Aryon said with the slightest smile. He was very clearly distressed by the condition of the children, the barren wastes they had to live in, and the curious tools scattered through the room. “Let's get out of this wretched place.”
“Agreed.” Since the child seemed entirely unwilling to let go, she picked the girl up, disturbed that the child still hadn't said a word. Had she been tormented to the point of being completely nonverbal? The look on Tivlane's face when they exited with the Argonian child turned into a vicious scowl, the woman struggling against her bonds and Lenassa's firm grip on her.
“How did you find that?” she spat. “How did you know exactly where to go?”
Laje-tal looked down at her, her glare so cold and callous that even Aryon looked worried for her. “It was the very same place you often put me, alone, in the dark, with only the rats fretting about my ankles. Well, no more.” In an instant she charged enough fire to her free hand to raze a village, her fury fueling the blaze. She had been strong enough to do moderately well in this terrible place. The trembling girl in her arms was not. Flames rose high, the dry, arid nature of the land only aiding the progress of the inferno. It did wonders to cure the twist in her guts.
Aryon put a hand on her shoulder, relieved when she turned to him with only a passive glance. “We'd better get out of here, love. A fire like that is bound to attract attention.”
“Fine, but I'm taking this one back to Tel Uvirith.” Her eyes blazed with challenge, almost wanting him to object for reasons she didn't understand. He didn't, though, and started heading back toward the group.
“Tenvaril can handle her better than another damned orphanage,” he agreed. Lenassa had already started drawing the large transportation rune in the sand, urging them to come close as a distant cloud of dust rose from a far road.
“Hurry and power the rune, Laje-tal, Aryon.”
As one, they both fed magic into a powerful soul gem laid down in the center, sending them all off toward the nearest base, only a few leagues away from the bustling city of Tear. A pair of armed men took Tivlane away, no doubt to question her about who had bought any children the woman previously sold. The small base was only a converted ancient Dunmer stronghold, but it was comfortable enough for the children to rest safely until they could be relocated to their final homes. Lenassa asked to come to Tel Uvirith for a time, anxious to see to it that the Argonian child was well and stable.
“A Telvanni tower might not be the best place for her right now,” she insisted. “I don't know a thing about where she's going, even if Tenvaril and Eddie are there. I need to be sure she's going somewhere safe!”
Laje-tal only extended her spell to include Lenassa, still not in possession of all of her usual words. As much as she wanted to put on a brave face for all of them, she couldn't help feeling drained and worn in the face of what had just been done. “Lenassa, I don't mind it, come right along. Please, just let me go home for a while. I can't stay here another moment.”
“I... right, I'm sorry,” Lenassa said with a sigh. “I understand how hard this was for you. I'm ready to leave when you are.”
They teleported on to Tel Uvirith, as silent as the child still clinging to Laje-tal's robes.
Chapter Text
Laje-tal braced herself as a sudden earthquake shook Tel Uvirith, bottles clattering, books shuddering to the edge of their shelves, and everyone in the Tel rushed to take cover. Small quakes had been rife in the area, multiple farmers and workers reporting shakes that ranged from barely noticed to ones like this, enough to displace objects and startle residents. It was also enough to scare off the Argonian girl, who had been watching Aryon work on the sigil stone conduit. Aryon struggled to catch the stone as it nearly rolled off the table, Laje-tal's tail barely catching the loop of the conduit before it fell.
Lenassa, too, had been nearby, and held on to a rail as the Tel shook. “Does this happen often here?”
As the quake subsided, Aryon set down the stone with a sigh. “The isle has always had a fair bit of activity from the mountain, but the shakes have increased in frequency lately. It's not entirely unusual, but we'd better get this conduit finished soon. If the magical properties on the moonlet also affect the mountain, we might be able to ward that off too.”
“Blast, if that poor child wasn't so attached to Orinarion, I'd suggest she go somewhere safer!”
Laje-tal brought the conduit up to the table with caution, mentally dismissing the notion. She and Aryon had spent the last two nights in Tel Uvirith, concerned as the rest of them about the silent Argonian child who remained so. The girl would make noise if she was frightened or managed to hurt herself, but otherwise she was as quiet as a falling feather. That she had started watching and following Orinarion as he worked in his own quiet manner was a mystery in itself. “I think Aryon has a point. It's been shown that magical disturbances have an effect on the mountain. I'd rather not ship that girl off to who knows how many homes before she finds one that will take her for good. The others seemed willing to adjust to change, but this one... Honestly, is anywhere truly safe?”
From around the corner, Tenvaril approached, followed by a confused Orinarion trying to calm the child clutching his hand. Tenvaril began scanning the nearby bookshelves with his hands, trying to find if anything had moved significantly. “You've made an agreement with the local vampires, the other Telvanni wouldn't bother coming out all this way to harass you, and I wouldn't suggest going to Cyrodiil right now. They have started refusing new slaves coming into the province, especially down near Leyawiin. I had to send many recent ones into the marsh who didn't want to return, and some all the way to Hammerfell and High Rock. Ceykynd is well enough here.”
She glanced down at the child, realizing they had named her. “Ceykynd?”
“Yes, shadow child. That's what everyone's been calling her, anyway.” He chuckled. “She's Orinarion's shadow, following him wherever he goes!”
Orinarion seemed just as baffled, but the glance he turned down at the child was a kind one. “I don't know why, either. If she wants to watch me make armor and do leather work, though, it's fine by me. Might even learn something.” He looked down again, the solemn eyes of the girl not changing in the least, yet he seemed to know what she needed. “Hah, girl's hungry again. Come on now, let's get you something to eat. Pretty sure Red Mountain is done talking to us for now.”
The two left, and Tenvaril addressed their small group again. “I wouldn't worry too much, Lenassa. She'll be fine enough with so many of my kin to watch over her. She has acquired quite a large family in all of us.”
“Your kin?” Laje-tal asked. “Are you really all related?”
“Maybe,” he said with a smile. “Our family lines are so turned in on themselves I very well could be.”
She suppressed a shudder. It wasn't his fault that Altmer on the isles had no qualms about wedding their first cousins or worse, never mind that that sort of liaison often led to their children being born with deformities. “Well, kin or not, you're right. If Cyrodiil is refusing newly freed slaves and even the marsh is a place my kind don't want to return to, it's not fair to the child to shuffle her all over the place. I'm sure if the Tel became unsafe, everyone here would have the sense to get her out.”
“Everyone I suggested to work here has a good head on their shoulders, even if they're missing other parts. Pardon me, I'd better find out what else has moved from its place.”
Tenvaril departed, feeling over every shelf and table as he passed, out of sight when he moved on to the lower level. Aryon looked over the conduit for any damage, finding nothing out of place. When Lenassa's hand suddenly gripped his arm, he looked at her with a start. “Master Aryon,” she began, “might I speak with you? Alone?”
He hesitated, but Laje-tal waved him on. “I'm sure she wants to ask you questions she doesn't want me to hear. Don't look at me like that, Lenassa, you know I know how you are. I'll just get these runes set.”
Aryon followed Lenassa into a nearby work room, away from all of the very sharp ears in the Tel. What could she need to talk to him about? He wasn't even a member of their organization, and shouldn't have known about them in the first place. Maybe that was the problem. “If this is about the Twin Lamps, I don't intend to interfere.”
“I figured not,” Lenassa agreed, taking a nearby chair while holding back a wince as her knee pinched again. Damn but she was getting too old for this. “It's not about that. I'm concerned about Laje-tal. I'm probably just being silly, but she's the Telvanni Arch-Magister! I'm worried that she is becoming too much like us. Now, for some reason, she's with you and... how did that even happen?”
“I know what you mean,” he replied with a laugh. “I never intended to start something with an Argonian, believe me. I don't know,” he grumbled, gesturing helplessly. “It sounds crazy, but we understand each other.”
“At least someone understands her,” she muttered. Despite years of working together, she still didn't fully understand Laje-tal. Only Eddie had come close to that. “She never did fit in with other Argonians, we've tried. I'm glad she is getting on with Han-kur and the girl, but I still sense she doesn't quite know what to do with them. Sometimes I worry she'll lose sight of her heritage entirely. I don't even know if that would be a good or a bad thing. Can't you-”
“Good or bad, we can't force anything,” he interrupted, already knowing what she was going to ask of him. “Smokeskin has been a good friend to both of us in Tel Vos, but I already erred in bringing him in in the first place.” When she glanced up at him, unsure, he shook his head. “She told me about the mine, and the things that happened there. I had brought in Smokeskin before I knew about that, thinking I could help her meet others of her kind. It turned out well, and my intentions were good, but I know how much it bothered her. If she doesn't want to be around any more Argonians than she has around her now, I will respect that. She makes her own decisions, and I trust her to take everything into consideration before making them.”
Lenassa sat back, feeling the weariness creep up in her bones. He had been told about the mine? From the sound of it, he had also been told about Mular-da, which was even more startling. “She must trust you quite a bit to tell you about what happened in that mine. Then she brought you to that orphanage... I just don't understand it, but I suppose if she's well and happy, I shouldn't interfere either.”
“Are you alright?”
Aryon's question came as a surprise. She hadn't expected him to see through her careful mask. “Oh, I'm alright, just feeling all these years of running and hiding finally catch up with me. Would you believe I'm over five-hundred years old? People tell me I'm aging well,” she added with a wry smile.
Neither the tone of her hair or the lines on her face suggested she was as old as she claimed, and he didn't have to feign his surprise. Now it made more sense why she was so worried about Laje-tal. She had undoubtedly seen many Argonians and others have trouble making their ways in life for so very many years. He smiled, hoping to ease her worries. “I don't suppose you know anything about sigil stone conduits?”
Tenvaril lay awake, sleep eluding him as it often did. In his world of unending darkness, only nightly sounds, routine, and ritual told his body whether it was day or night. Many times even that didn't work, and he would often find something to do until he was exhausted. Right now all he could think of was the chain of events going on all around him, the clues leading to a place he didn't want to consider. Laje-tal and Aryon were being very quiet when the future of Tel Uvirith was discussed. Baar Dau was going to fall, and only the conduit had any hope of fending it off for a few extra years. Red Mountain had been shaking more than it had in the last two hundred years, and a vision of a portal with Daedra coming from it had struck all Argonians, compelling them to guard the Hist. Something terrible was coming.
“You look as exhausted as I do, and just as likely to sleep.” Eddie's voice cut through the silence, his presence felt as he moved into the room.
“I have many things on my mind.”
The edge of the bed sloped as Eddie sat, his mutter of frustration keenly felt. “I know, me too. I don't know how, but we've gotten ourselves involved in more prophecy and portents than we know what to do with. Never a dull day for us, is there?”
Tenvaril smiled, easing back onto the soft pillow. “I would never complain of boredom. Ah, but I'm so tired. Laje-tal wore me out with that spar she insisted on. I suppose she thought it might help me sleep.”
He snorted. “And a lot of good that did? Hope you didn't get any dust in your eyes.”
“You're welcome to check.”
Eddie did just that, moving Tenvaril's thick blindfold enough to look. The damage to the man's eyes was extensive, leading to loss of sensation in the eyes themselves. Unless his eyes started watering on reflex, there was no telling if anything got into them. That, with the fact that he had little control over the motion of his eyes or eyelids, was the reason he walked around with the blindfold on at all times. Eddie inspected the heavy white cataracts in Tenvaril's eyes, irises flicking back and forth uncontrollably. “They're wandering again, but you're alright.” He replaced the blindfold with care, easing down Tenvaril's eyelids before the cloth made contact.
Tenvaril gasped slightly when warm lips met his own, the contact something he didn't know he had been needing until it happened. He pulled the head above him closer by the neck, returning the kiss as urgently as he dared. As soon as it ended, he knew one thing was true. “Now I really won't get any sleep. Is this why you've come here?”
“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “I had a feeling you were thinking what I've been thinking. It's an Oblivion gate, isn't it? From the old stories?”
“It seems to be the only explanation for what Laje-tal described in the vision. Han-kur had a similar vision, but his was of a different part of the marsh near Gideon, while he stated hers was near Stormhold. I questioned the Argonians we set free on your mother's plantation, and they too had visions of different cities in the marsh, nowhere on the outskirts. This is a calculated attack on the part of the daedra, meant to reduce the cities. Why, though? I thought the gates were gone long ago.”
“No idea.”
“At least we know the Argonians will give those daedra far more than they bargained for.” He moved aside, leaving room for both of them. Eddie took the invitation, slipping quietly to his side. “Do you remember the story Sayerva used to tell, about the red diamond?”
He hummed assent, remembering the old Redguard woman fondly. “The one about the amulet of kings? You think it's linked to the dreams?”
“Right. The story goes that if the people should lose their faith in the nine divines, or if none are able to renew the dragonfires, the path may be opened for the realm of Oblivion to be more readily accessible. It almost seems ridiculous that this could come to pass, but so did the prophecy of the Nerevarine. Oh, I don't know, I'm exhausted.” When heated lips met his neck, he quivered reflexively. “You're sure in a fine mood.”
Eddie pinned him down even more, all but laying on top of him. “That damned plantation is finally sold off to the fighters guild, and those slaves free and gone. Why shouldn't I be in a good mood?”
“I'm hardly complaining.” The warm pressure of the lithe, strong body against his own was secondary to the assurance that came with it. There was no trace of the cold, harsh feelings that had permeated every interaction they had after Mournhold. All that was left now were the memories of years spent in close companionship. “Do you remember when we used to go up on the roof of the sentry tower in Bergama to look up at the stars?”
“Yes, I remember. I'd look, and try to explain to you what they looked like. Try and fail,” he said with a huff.
Tenvaril's hands tentatively reached for the face in front of him, memorizing every dent and curve. “Just listening to you tell me about them was enough. Do the stars look the same out here?”
“Somewhat,” Eddie said, leaning into the touch. He was always at Tenvaril's mercy when those hands so intently searched his face, feeling so exposed yet unwilling to back away. “Sometimes an ash storm comes through and blurs them out, only the brightest ones twinkling in the haze. When the lava flows down from the mountain, the sky will glow a flaming red.” A thumb brushed his lips, and he tensed at the reflexive reaction in his lower region. “If you keep doing that, there might not be much more talking.”
“So that's why you were always so bothered when I did this.” Unlike all of those other times, though, he didn't stop. “Am I still bothering you?”
“No, it's fine.” He did his best to ignore the shiver that threatened to overcome him. For such a long time, he had repressed everything, shoving the problematic desires aside. Finally being able to let it all out, to feel something again, both excited and scared him.
“You always were such a puzzle. I never could figure you out.” Tenvaril recalled a desperate, angry teen anxious to prove any number of things to anyone he came across – except him. Eddie used to gladly pick fights in bars and challenge guards, but the morose, blind Altmer boy could always calm him with only a touch. “I couldn't understand why you would waste your time talking to a hulkynd.” When Eddie started to protest, he shook his head. “I know, I don't think that way anymore, but that was how I felt. I never told you, but I was always happiest when you would come and read or talk to me. I felt like I meant something to someone.”
Eddie sighed, wondering how he could have ever been so stupid. Tenvaril had always meant the world to him. How could he have never noticed that the love ran both ways? “I'm so sorry, Ten. I should have-” He was silenced as he was pulled close again, kissed with a fervor that left no room for misunderstanding.
“Never mind that.” Their mutual interest in the situation was making itself very well known, and he doubted he could bear the suspense much longer. “I think I'm about as tired of talking as you are.”
His hands delved under Tenvaril's shirt, fully in agreement with that sentiment. “Say no more.”
Laje-tal faced Almalexia, every ounce of her nerves on edge at the feel of the false deity's abnormal magic. The woman recognized her; that much was clear. Something had changed, though. Almalexia watched her with a certain icy regard, scanning her as if calculating her next move. Just as well, since Laje-tal was doing the very same thing. Deep down within herself, she could feel Nerevar's anguish, just on the very fringe of her consciousness. At least he hadn't tried anything again.
“I should have kept a closer eye on you in Mournhold,” Almalexia finally said, hand to her chin in thought. “Still, who would have thought you, of all people, would be Nerevar Incarnate? I should have known he would choose someone who would slip under my notice. Who better than an unimportant Argonian battlemage?”
Laje-tal held back her scowl. Barely. “Perhaps.” She held out the ring she had been tasked to find, the fabled mazed band that the mage Barilzar had made. That, in and of itself, had made her suspicious. Few remembered Barilzar. The only reason she knew about him at all was because Master Calcelmo had been a fan of his work and mentioned it on occasion during her training. Barilzar had been a faithful study of the third member of the Tribunal, Sotha Sil, and made any number of fascinating objects. It was rumored the band had teleportation abilities, which made her even more suspicious. “Tell me, what do you intend to do with this?”
The ring was snatched with a speed that defied any mortal, Almalexia's eyes narrowing. “I will do as I have always done, and serve the Temple and Morrowind. To that end, I will always strive.”
“I see. Is there anything further you require of me?”
“Go,” she replied, waving her off. “You will know when I require you again.”
At a loss, Laje-tal left the audience chamber, meeting Aryon outside the door. He looked as pensive as she felt, and she spoke her mind once they were free of any listeners. “I'll bet you anything she intends to do something serious with that ring. The magic in it is powerful, if inactive, and it smells as wrong as her magic. If only I could remember what Master Calcelmo said about it! Wait! Damn it, why... why go to Clockwork City? Why bother? What could Sotha Sil do about anything? He has no interest in any of this.”
“Clockwork City?” Aryon paused on the pathway as they reached the middle of the court. “Can anyone even get there anymore?”
“Barilzar could. He was one of the many founders of magical transportation, and one of the few who came and went as he pleased to the city. I haven't thought of this in quite some time, nor had Master Calcelmo when I asked him so long ago now. That's all I remember.”
“So the band may well transport any person who uses it to the city. The lich Barilzar was made into stated that he was cursed after making the band, and that it never should have been made. Cursed by whom, I wonder?” He glanced around, making certain they were not being overheard. A High Ordinator, one of Almalexia's favored guards, lingered near the path. Too close. “We'd better get out of here.”
“This way.” Avoiding the watchful eyes of the Ordinator with tense, quick steps, she led the way on toward the bazaar. She knew exactly who would want to know more about this, and hoped he might help clear a few things up. They dodged the merchants trying to get their attention, the residents clogging the paths, and entered the trader's building as discreetly as they could manage. Sunel Hlas gave her a look as soon as she entered, seeming to know what she had been up to.
“I take it the lady didn't like to see you, huh,” he said with a wry grunt. “So what now? Nerevar got any bright ideas?”
She shot him a slight grin. “No, but I thought you might want to know what's going on.” Leaning onto the counter, she explained all of what just happened, recounting the details of the goblin army under Mournhold, cleansing the Shrine of the Dead under the Temple, and the task to retrieve the mazed band. “So, we think Almalexia might be plotting something having to do with Sotha Sil.”
“Makes sense,” he mused. “With Vivec off to wherever he's gone, she might think to pay a visit, especially since he was the one to figure out how their powers worked. Might be desperate to get that power back. Can't say I know much about it. I'm no mage or anything.”
“That's precisely why I came to get your ideas. Sometimes a mage can be too interested in the details to see the bigger picture. I think you're right.” She turned to Aryon. “Almalexia is probably looking for answers, explanations, something only he would know.”
Aryon only grumbled at the idea. Too many possibilities came to mind. “Replicating the tools, maybe, or finding a new power source. For all we know it could be simple vengeance for abandoning the outer world for so long. We'll just have to wait and see.”
Across from them Sunel gave Aryon an appraising glance, looking him over thoroughly. “Sometimes you have to let the hunter hunt you, hm? I don't like this. Who knows what she could tamper with in a place like that, with her abilities! Might well destroy us.”
“Yes,” Laje-tal stated, “I truly believe that whatever she is doing, she feels it is necessary to safeguard Morrowind, whether her safeguards end up doing more harm than good. She could indeed destroy us in her efforts to save us. We'll keep a sharp eye out, but it's her move.”
Aryon bent to inspect the remains of one of the many rampaging fabricants that had burst from under the center of the plaza. There were two variants, each creature made of a strange metal and powered by internal mechanisms. It was similar to Dwemer technology, with even more sophisticated changes. This, apparently, was Sotha Sil's work, and it raised even more suspicion about Almalexia. What was she up to, sending these things out to wreak havoc?
“That's the last of them,” Laje-tal said, wiping the grease and oil from her longsword. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”
He nodded. “I am. Looks like the attack opened up something under the city.” Glancing up, he gave her a knowing grin. “You looked too, I'm sure?”
She returned the grin. “Of course I did. A whole Dwemer compound, all under this city! The Dwemer constructs were warding off the fabricants, too, and winning. For being so much more sophisticated, the fabricants were unusually weak.”
“If this is Almalexia's doing, she might not have known which fabricants to use, or maybe she even knew these would not be enough to overwhelm the usual contingent of guards. This may be more of a statement than a true show of force.”
“Hm, yes, that is something she would do.” She crouched down to peer at the silver fabricant, at its long legs, slender tail and long neck. As she was about to inspect it closer, an armored man came running up to her, clearly out of breath. It was Endrin, looking like he was running from death itself. “Endrin! What's wrong? Breathe, don't say a word til you have your breath back.”
The aggrieved Bosmer took a few ragged breaths, removing his helm to let out the body heat. “You're needed at the palace. Helseth's orders. Right now.”
Laje-tal scowled, annoyed. “I'm no pawn of Helseth.”
“It's about Barenziah.”
That statement changed everything. Laje-tal drew herself up at once, pausing only long enough to see Aryon's nod. He would catch up later. Her steps matched two of Endrin's, walking with haste to the central hub of Mournhold. A few she knew greeted her, and she passed them by with a brief nod. What could be going on? Barenziah was old, surely, but she was as healthy as could be. Something else, then. Disloyalty towards Helseth was certainly well known and documented, maybe it really did have something to do with him. Her questions were answered by Barenziah herself, pulling Laje-tal aside as she headed toward the audience chamber.
“There are rumors of an assassination attempt,” she explained, her red eyes glowing with interest. “Against me, even. I don't know who would send them after me, but so it is. I'll admit I've done a bit of digging, and while my son may not approve, I'm not about to sit around like the old woman I am and let them come!”
Laje-tal was encouraged by Barenziah's zeal, relaxing her stance with relief. “I'm glad to hear that. As I always have, I will guard you. Must I speak with Helseth?”
She waved off the need. “No, I have all the details we need. I know you two get along about as well as a flurry of cliff-racers. As long as you stop this attempt, he will be content enough, I think. You'd better wait in my chambers, alone and without any extra guard, and catch the assassins. We can't let anything be too out of the ordinary, and having company would also be too risky.”
“I understand. I'll leave Aryon out of this. He'll be quite busy studying the attacking fabricants as it is.” She leaned close, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening. “I have some rather interesting details on that matter as well.”
Barenziah's brow raised in interest. “I see. Another time, perhaps. After this. I have my own suspicions about this assassination attempt and I want to see if I'm right. I can't say much right now, but please be cautious. This may be more dangerous than it seems.”
Later on that night, her advice towards caution had been warranted. Three Dark Brotherhood assassins had been sent to Barenziah's chambers, an excessive number for such a task. Laje-tal wiped off her sword yet again that day, looking down at the assassins with Barenziah. “They knew I was coming, didn't they?”
“As I thought.” She tugged at her light sleeping shift as she knelt on the ground near the assassins, searching them for any clues. “Even now, someone is trying very hard to get rid of you. What better than a discreet death in the line of duty? Takes care of me, too. I wonder if Helseth ordered this.”
“He wouldn't-! Oh... yes, yes he would. Damn, you have a point. It sure would take care of both of us, wouldn't it? He always did hate that I associated with you, thought we were conspiring against him or something like that. Idiot never understood that I wanted nothing to do with him and his crown.” Laje-tal helped Barenziah stand back up, standing at attention as soon as the Queen was stable. “What would you ask of me, my queen? Shall I keep guard?”
Barenziah only waved her off with a smile. “You've done enough. You're not one of my guards anymore, and you certainly do not need to follow anyone's orders. I'm glad you were here to help, but you also need to get some rest. Please go, sleep. We have some long days ahead of us.”
“Thank you.” She nodded in a brief bow, excusing herself. Other guards soon entered to retrieve the assassins, and she let out a weary breath as she returned to her quarters. If Helseth was desperate enough to try to kill his own mother, things were worse than they seemed. This was especially so, considering the issue with the fabricants. Hopefully those, at least, would yield to some research. Helseth was about as lost a cause as could be.
As soon as she entered the small room they had borrowed, she saw Aryon at a table, parts of the fabricants spread out before him. While it was the middle of the night and he was clearly dressed for sleep, he seemed too intrigued in the mess to be torn away from it just yet. He was inspecting a few choice pieces surrounding a soul gem near the main core. “Glad to see they left you in one piece. Take a look at this! Have you ever seen anything like it before?”
She did take a look, the familiarity of the structure intriguing. The gem casing was attached to the propulsion system just like that spider long ago. “I have, actually, long ago. The one I saw was Dwemer make, and was used for both propulsion and a trap system. Disconnect those two couplings and you should disable the traps.”
Aryon removed the necessary couplings, the gem dimming in its radiant light. Something clicked, a tampering fail-safe, it seemed. “Ah, yes, I see it now. This is an old device, then? I have never seen this sort of use of a soul gem.”
“You wouldn't, not on Vvardenfell. These are more common in the southern mainland, in Dwemer spiders especially. Master Calcelmo found a few in the ruins we were studying and we found the mechanisms there to be quite different from other areas. It's fast, efficient, holds energy well and is easy to control. I used the same concept on the spiders I sent to Neloth's tower. Oh, but these have definitely been improved from the Dwemer build! It made those fabricants fast, quicker to strike and dodge.”
He scoffed, giving her a playful glare. “Will you ever stop having anecdotes about Master Calcelmo?”
“Eventually,” she replied with a smile as she leaned onto the desk. “When I was healing you, you told me to use my magic sparingly, to think of the smallest plant I had ever grown, I thought of the small seed of the Imperial white lily. You can guess who asked me to grow it. I'm glad I have so many stories to tell.” She leaned further toward him, her hand meeting the side of his face. “They're useful.”
His smile was small but reassuring as he laid his hand over hers. “Sure did me a world of good, hm? So, the queen is in one piece. Any thoughts on who ordered this?”
“Her first inclination was Helseth.” Aryon glanced up in surprise. “Yes, I know, but it makes sense. He is the sort who wouldn't shirk at having his mother taken out of the picture if it got him what he wanted. This is why my loyalty is to her personally, not to the crown, not to Morrowind.”
“To keep out of orders that might force you into a bad position, yes. Always devious, aren't you?”
“Not devious,” she replied quietly, giving him a light kiss. “Just very cautious.” The sight of all the parts left out on the table only made her more tired, and she pulled away from it to finally go to sleep. Gods, but had it been a long night! She laid down at once, not bothering to take off anything before enjoying the soft pillow under her chin. Aryon soon came to her side, sounding just as worn.
“You'll put wrinkles in that.” When her only response was an incoherent groan, he chuckled and started tugging at the neck of her robes. “At least take this off, you wouldn't want to run around Mournhold looking like you slept in your robes! Not that you would be the first Telvanni to do that, I'm sure.” Laje-tal didn't seem inclined to get up, but she did at least move to let him get it off.
“I haven't used that damned sword like that in years,” she groused. “My shoulder is all out of sorts. All of that metal! I'd better stop shirking my exercises.” Aryon sat beside her and his hands went directly to her left shoulder, prodding the muscles both physically and magically.
“You definitely pulled something.” He set about relieving the inflammation and strain in the tendons and muscles, much of the problem deep near the shoulder joint. “I'd like to join you the next time you want to do some practice. I need all the help I can get!” Another point under his fingers nearly released, but the dense tissue was tough and yielded slowly. “You're certainly more committed to the sword than I've ever been.”
“I've always believed in having non-magical ways of doing things if I need them,” she said with a sigh, the relief of the slowly releasing muscles taking effect. This was rather new, she thought. There had been times she needed healing, certainly, but she had always been touched as little as possible. “What are you doing?”
“A healer technique even older than Fyr,” he said with a chuckle. There were several knotted muscles to be found, all tense from the constant banging of her sword against the metal fabricants and armor. Much of her back was equally strung out, and in a huff he gave up on his current position and straddled her lower back, digging into the hard scales near her spine. “By Azura, you are more tense than a rogue Ashlander. It's a good thing we learned how to disable those fabricants by slicing their neck wires before you managed to shake your arm off!”
Laje-tal laughed, but she couldn't help feeling very trapped under him. Her logical side knew he was only taking the best position to reach the worst of her muscles, but it still brought about the insecurity of being out of control. She took a deep breath, trying to shove that thought out of mind. Aryon wouldn't take advantage of his position. Despite that, she remembered another time she had been pinned just like this, hot breath at her neck, hands pinning down hers. It had been a narrow escape. No, this was different! She wasn't in any danger, she told herself, and took another deep breath.
“A letter came from Tel Uvirith, by the way. It seems to be from Eddie, though I can't make any sense of it.”
“Probably using our code,” she replied, trying not to show how nervous she had become. The tactic failed, though, the moment he leaned to dig harder into a muscle, grabbing her arm to brace himself. Her tail thrashed, her breath coming in sudden gasps as she struggled under him. He released her immediately, getting off and moving aside.
Aryon groaned as soon as he realized what he had unintentionally been doing. “Are you alright?”
“I'm... fine. I only remembered something.” She lay back down on her back, taking his hand in hers. “I'm alright, really. It's just more of the same.”
He tentatively moved closer as he lay down as well, almost afraid to touch her again. The method he had been using was a very common, simple method known to almost any healer, but he suddenly realized that nobody Laje-tal knew would have done this for her. Even Tenvaril had likely kept detached, knowing how she would react. She didn't seem to need or want an apology, so he waited until she was ready to speak.
“There were times when I was nearly subdued, when he would get me down before I managed to squirm away. He almost succeeded once, but I managed to hit him with my tail in a place he couldn't ignore.” Thinking back on it, remembering the murderous look on Mular-da's face as he retreated, made her cringe. “The masters sometimes found it amusing to make an example of all of us. They would bear us down onto the ground and pin our hands while they stuck hot rods under our back scales. It wasn't always punishment for something we had done. Sometimes they did it for no reason at all.”
He couldn't help but envision the horrible scene she described, shuddering at the thought. She came close, though, embracing him as her tail twined around his legs. There was no shrinking away, no rising to pace, no hesitance in her touch. Instead she yielded when his hand met her lower back, pulling her in. As he occasionally did, he found himself wondering just as Lenassa had how this had happened. On the night they met in Sadrith Mora, he surely never thought it would come to this. “You know, when I first saw you in Sadrith Mora, I was terrified.”
Laje-tal pulled away in surprise. “Terrified? Of me?”
“I was! I'd heard those stories, you know, about all of the bizarre things you were supposedly doing out there. I had no idea who you were or why you were here, and certainly not why you'd joined the Telvanni. When I saw your dark coloration and sharp teeth, it took all I had to come any closer. Then you called out to me, as if we were mages on equal ground, and at that moment I couldn't be frightened by you anymore. You made me too angry for that!”
She recalled the stiff frown he had faced her with on that day, so petulant and annoyed that she'd had trouble holding in a laugh. Now she didn't hold back, laughing freely at the memory. “The look on your face was one I'll never forget!”
“Hmph, I'm sure,” he remarked dryly. “I heard you laugh at me as I left, by the way. Sharp ears, you know.”
His humor, she realized, had a purpose. It was a reminder that he, too, once felt afraid. Every province in Tamriel had something to fear from at least one other, and Morrowind was a fearful place indeed. Insular and suspicious, the Dunmer were wary of all outsiders. The people of Vvardenfell were tense when mainland Dunmer came to the isle, never mind anyone else. “Thank you for the reminder. I'm not the only one afraid in this place. I have company.” Aryon smiled into the lingering kiss that followed, very glad to offer that company.
The Dunmer man in white stood upon the raised platform outside The Winged Guar, immovable and determined. His words rang across the plaza, everyone near him giving the platform a wide berth. “There is a great terror coming, one of inexplicable proportions! The Daedra will come, pouring by the tens, hundreds, thousands from the great Oblivion gates! They will ravage what we have constructed! Our only hope is to warn our ancestors in the hereafter and beg for their protection and guidance!”
Laje-tal watched on with the rest of them, wondering at the change in Eno Romari. He had gone from a quiet, passive priest to a raving prophet declaring the end of the world was nigh. If only she didn't believe him. She approached the platform. “Eno, what in blazes are you doing?”
He glanced down as if just noticing her, gesturing to her emphatically. “Laje-tal! Surely you know what I mean! The Argonians saw it, granted to them in a vision! Daedra summoned from great gates into the depths of the marsh! It is coming! The Tribunal is losing their power, Vivec himself has disappeared in disgrace, and what then? The passing of the Tribunal will herald an age of destruction!”
Eno needed to be stopped, but how? Ordinators were already watching the scene with remarkable restraint, knowing Almalexia had insisted nobody make a martyr of him. He was, however, one of the people of Mournhold she knew the least. She wasn't sure what would get him to stop, but she had to try something. “The Ordinators will have your head if you carry on like that!”
“Let them!” he cried out. “I will go on to warn my ancestors of the insurgence! The time of the Tribunal is over! Their lies will fall on deaf ears! The Incarnate will free us from their influence!”
She turned to Aryon, at a loss. “I don't know what's gotten into him. He was never like this before.” Without warning the Hist suddenly called out to her harder than it had so far, sending her to her knees in agony as her head throbbed with its pressure. There was a sense of urgency, a need for preparation. A twinge of pain shot through her hands and she suddenly realized she had clenched her hands so hard that her sharp claws drew blood. She barely heard Eno's voice over the loud roar in her head.
“You see, even now we are given warnings of what is to come!”
Laje-tal struggled to her feet, the remnants of the surge causing her to waver. Her will overpowered the last of it, shoving it into the deepest corner of her mind. This wasn't the time for such nonsense! Aryon soon leaned close to whisper to her, his voice low and concerned. “We're only here to learn what he has to say. Will you be alright?”
“I think so,” she replied. Internally, she was very worried. Eno was right, she knew it. Everything he was saying was true, and there was nothing anyone could do about it except prepare - just as the Hist insisted on. Her skin quivered as another light shudder of energy passed through, and she moved to leave. “I need to take this information to Almalexia.”
Aryon huffed as he followed after her, knowing she wouldn't be swayed. Not when it came to Almalexia. “If you fall again I'm taking you back, whether you like it or not.”
She didn't doubt him, and headed on toward the Temple plaza cautiously. There was no time to waste, if the degree of the pull was anything to go by. She had to get this done before the Hist overcame her entirely. With solid conviction, she soon found herself facing Almalexia alone, giving a terse report of what she had learned about Eno Romari. “There seems to be little hope of stopping him without taking more direct measures.”
Almalexia seemed to look down at her, which was quite a feat since she was several inches shorter than the overgrown Argonian. Her presence and demeanor were overbearing, almost condescending, in a way that was really getting on Laje-tal's nerves. “Fear not, my faithful servant, I will take care of him. This cult has dared to question my power in my very city, and they will know I have heard their words when I respond in kind. I will need you to orchestrate a show of power to make it quite clear my power has not been lost!”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you talking about?”
“Yes, that Dwemer ruin you found will be most useful. There is a machine within those ruins that we can use, one which can change the very weather itself. You shall go down to the ruins and activate the machine, changing it until it sends ash storms all the way to Mournhold! Can you imagine how those fools will react to something like that? Only a God is capable of sending ash storms all the way out here!”
“You are forgetting one important thing,” Laje-tal replied with a dark frown. “You assume that I will be complicit in this thing you would have me do.”
“Oh, dear Nerevar,” she said coyly, flicking her dark lashes. “Of course I assume you would help me. You have always helped me in even the worst of times, my dear husband. I was thinking you might want to reforge your old sword, the one that was the twin of my own. Do you not remember? Come, these people must see that it is not yet over for us. Be my hands, my eyes. Stand by my side again as you once did. You may have this body, but I know you are still in there.”
Surprisingly, Nerevar could barely be felt, Laje-tal noticed. He was barely a prick of awareness lost in the depths, and what little she could feel was that he was ashamed. Almalexia stooping to using old Dwemer technology to fake her former powers was clearly grasping at straws to hold her fading control. “Nerevar is dead. He's been dead for thousands of years. I am not Nerevar! I am my own person, not your dead husband!” She glanced around at the few High Ordinators that stood in Almalexia's presence here in her chamber. What did they think of all of this? Suddenly she realized that one space was missing, and her blood ran cold. Her most faithful Hand was gone. “Where... Where is Salas Valor?”
Almalexia regarded the vacant spot almost without any thought for the missing man, eyeing it dispassionately as her voice darkened with a chill. “Oh, he will be taken care of. I will take care of everything.”
Without warning Nerevar's presence came to the forefront, sending one single, intense emotion. Fear! She took heed of the warning at once, fleeing out the side door into the hallway where Aryon awaited. He took one look at her panicked face and readied a spell to teleport them away. It was all for naught. Almalexia had caught up to them in a flash, her eyes blazing with hatred as she extended her hand. All they saw before they were transported away was the mazed band of Barilzar on her finger, glowing white hot with energy.
Chapter 16
Notes:
I am skipping the Bloodmoon stuff, but it still will have happened to/with the main character as it does in the canon timeline. I just won't go into a lot of detail about the whole thing. Sorry if you wanted that.
Chapter Text
Whirring, clicking, steam hissing, and a multitude of other noises filled the metallic chamber they had been transported within. It was clear where they had been taken to: the Clockwork City, Sotha Sil's domain. Laje-tal drew her sword when she smelled a strange magic approaching, one of the fabricants lingering in the outer hallway. A loud rumble sounded as something clanged open even further out, setting them both on edge. There was no exit, and upon trying, their magic couldn't teleport them out. They were trapped.
“Brilliant,” Aryon said, “trapping us here. If we die, not a soul will know about it.”
Laje-tal took in the hallway, the floor, the scent of magic everywhere. Already she was feeling claustrophobic. “She'll probably make up some story, some excuse to come here to kill us if nothing else does. Our best bet is to see if we can find Sotha Sil, if he's even here. He might not care much for mortal affairs, but he would undoubtedly want us to leave his city. Where, though?”
He chuckled. “No hints from Calcelmo?”
She was about to make a sarcastic remark when she did indeed recall something Calcelmo had said in passing one day. Something about the doors, the traps, laying in wait in this city. “Yes, actually, now that you mention it. There are a few sorts of traps here and the doors have to be opened a certain way.” Before them was a peculiar pull mechanism, and she twisted it, pulling at it until the geared door opened. “We must watch for spikes that come up from the ground, sparks that fly from above, swinging blades, and the puzzles in the domes.”
“Sounds delightful. What sorts of puzzles?”
“He didn't go into detail. Oh, here's a trap.” Above in the next hall, there was a swinging blade trap, one she could disable if she could get to the top. She cast a levitation spell, but it misfired.
“What is wrong with this place? We can't levitate, can't teleport out?”
“The mainland disabled the spell in the region entirely a few years ago but I never expected it to reach this far. Could you give me a lift? I can stop the trap if I can reach those wires.” Aryon boosted her up enough to clip the triggering wires, disarming the trap. All through the halls they rendered one trap after another useless, the sheer amount of them unsettling. When they reached a dome with a rolling pillar above, he was dismayed by how fast it was circling.
“Looks like there is a blade on the end of that pillar. It's going so fast I doubt anyone could run ahead of it.”
“No, not without the right potions, which I don't have. Although...” She fished through her pockets and pack, pulling out three scrolls she had carried around with her ever since she found them, waiting for the right time to use them. The unique, mysterious scrolls of the ill-fated Tarhiel. “I found these scrolls when a strange wizard fell from the sky right in front of me. They enhance one's jumping skill so significantly you can nearly touch the clouds... and die, if you don't stop the fall, like he did.”
“Sounds like there are more fabricants coming.” He charged a large lightning spell in his hands, turning around to face the hall they just came from. “I'll hold them off.”
As Aryon blasted lightning at the oncoming fabricants, Laje-tal hurried to the upper level. She watched as the rotating pillar circled the room quickly, keeping an eye on the small hall that contained the switch she spied that would hopefully deactivate the machine. The timing had to be just right. Just as the pillar made another circuit, she activated one of her scrolls, jumping from the floor to the ledge of the corridor. She dashed into the corridor, hitting the switch as fast as possible. The pillar stopped, and she joined the fight down below, blasting her own charge of lightning at the fabricants. “Done! Let's go before the thing turns back on!”
“Right.” He pulled out his dagger and cut the neck wires of the beast closest to him while she did the same with hers, moving on into the next dome. In the center of it was a large stone chamber, controlled by nearby switches that allowed it to rotate. They set about trying the set of switches controlling the room, fending off fabricants as they worked, finding yet another hall on the other side after the chamber opened. Another dome awaited them further on.
“This switch looks so thick and heavy it seems it would take two to move it. I think we can make it.” She motioned to a very rusty switch, cumbersome and stiff. They both pulled on it with all their combined might and managed to move it, unlocking the bridge that spanned the expanse of lava below. Steam hissed, the magma churning and flowing, gears turning loudly above as the bridge manifested. A different dome followed after the long halls leading upward, this one large and open. It was suspiciously quiet and still, the only sounds coming from outside. Ahead, two very large constructs stood by a door, one clearly broken.
Aryon neared the broken construct cautiously, observing it from a distance. “What is this thing? It's not like any of the fabricants or Dwemer machines.”
“These must be the imperfect centurions. The one on the right smells like it's still active.” As she said it, the construct on the right groaned to life, its eyes glowing, steam hissing from its extremities. It moved with a speed that its size shouldn't be able to reach, pounding its fists at the ground as they narrowly dodged. Aryon summoned a storm atronach while she drew her sword, blasting the construct with lightning. It didn't seem particularly effective, so she focused on hitting it up close with her silver longsword.
Aryon also quickly saw the trouble with magical hits, but he knew he would do better drawing away some of the attention from Laje-tal than closing in. She was already taking advantage of his tactic, coming up on the thing from behind and scaling up the side of it, clawing at the rusted pocked holes in its damaged side. He drew off another solid punch, his atronach taking the brunt of the strike. His blast of fire followed as he backed away, short bursts melting the front of the metal casing. Another punch was aimed his way but the machine stopped short, suddenly frozen.
Laje-tal emerged from the gaping hole in the construct's shoulder, a thick fistful of wires in her hands and a wide grin on her face. “Look at this! It connects to a soul gem in the head, would you believe that?”
He shook out his aching hands as she clambered down to the ground. “Too bad we can't take more time to study it. What's next?”
“I don't know. We'll find out.” Ever cautious, she approached the lone door, making way into another vast dome. This, however, held the most startling find of all. There were no fabricants, no traps, no gears or cogs. In here, only two panels and what little remained of Sotha Sil was present, his partially mechanized body connected by long wires from above, hanging lifelessly. He had clearly been connected to the machine for a very long time, dust gathering on the control consoles, his fingernails grown long and thin. It seemed, however, that he had met his death just recently.
“My dear Nerevar, won't you reconsider?” Almalexia's voice suddenly came from right beside her ear when the woman transported into the chamber, the slight puff of air sending shivers down her scales. Laje-tal did not respond, or turn to acknowledge her. There was no point; she had been expecting this. The makeshift goddess huffed. “A pity. This place was to be the end of you, you know. My greatest martyr yet, Nerevar the Incarnate! I did not intend to send this man with you to his death as well, but he left me little choice but to send him here too. Innocent bystanders do sometimes end up as unwilling casualties. Yet here you both are, alive and well. No matter. I will tell the world how you devoted yourself to me with your dying breath, proclaiming me to be the one and only god of this world. All those who disagree will fall before my wrath.” Even still, she received no response. “You mock me with your silence just as Sotha Sil did! No, I'm sure you will scream, mortal. I will make you pay!”
When Laje-tal finally regarded her, her golden eyes were cold and narrowed. “Try, then. I will do everything I can to stop you.”
Almalexia barely glanced over Aryon, irrelevant to her as he was. A sharp blue glow filled their corner as she drew her arced sword, her masked face lowering in rage. “If you oppose me, Nerevar, you die!” In a flash she charged, the deadly edge of her blade blocked by Laje-tal. The Argonian kept close, darting away only when an attack neared, ready for the sweep of the curved metal. Almalexia was too angered to focus, slashing out with wide, heavy swipes. Laje-tal jumped aside when she smelled a magical blast forming, just missing the enormous gout of fire that blazed past her. She raised a strong reflect spell for the next blast, turning the magic back.
Aryon watched the fight progress from the side of the room, loath to interfere. This, he felt, wasn't his fight. This was personal between Almalexia and Laje-tal. Back and forth the two slashed and dodged, blocked and parried. Almalexia, though, seemed slower than expected, and panted as she started to tire. Her stolen power was nearly gone, now being expended in small bursts of magic. Laje-tal countered a blow with a swipe of her tail, knocking Almalexia to the ground. She was forced back by the countering strike, blocking a few blows with her empty hand and feints with her horns. After what seemed like an eternity, Almalexia was downed for good. A blast of magic struck Almalexia as Laje-tal drove her blade home, straight through the heart. Almalexia vanished in a veil of smoke, leaving behind only her blade.
Stunned, Aryon neared the spot Almalexia disappeared from. “What happened? Where did she go?”
Laje-tal, panting and shaking, wearily pulled out an object from her robes. She pressed it into his hands, closing them around it. “Here... in here.”
When he saw what she gave him, he nearly dropped it in his astonishment. It was the soul gem she had mentioned, Azura's Star, and from it radiated the strongest soul he had ever witnessed. “You didn't...!”
“I did. With this, we can keep Baar Dau up for years.” When she faltered he steadied her, holding her still as he tucked away the gem. He tried not to think about the sheer amount of blasphemy they were about to commit, knowing this was the best they could hope for. Even he could almost smell the sheer amount of energy the gem blasted out. He noticed a ring left on the ground, confirming what they mostly knew. Almalexia had used Barilzar's band to send herself in. He picked it up, activating the teleportation spell etched into the band.
“Let's get out of here.”
Third Era, 430
Two years seemed to pass in only the blink of an eye. Laje-tal supposed it was because so very much had happened during that time. Between her excursions in Mournhold and Solstheim, it was a wonder anything else had gotten done. In Tel Vos, Aryon's boat was nearly finished. They had completed the soul gem conduit using Azura's Star as an enhancer, and the moonlet above Vivec City remained stable. Laje-tal had insisted Aryon take full credit for the conduit, and he showed the device's effects to anyone who was curious. Telvanni and Mages Guild both agreed that the conduit was necessary to keep the moonlet up, but that it was also only a temporary solution. The Temple was urged to quietly evacuate the city. Whether that would happen was now up to them.
Red Mountain, too, remained relatively quiet, only sending slight quakes through the area irregularly. Tel Aruhn improved more than anyone could have predicted with traders and workers drawn in by the prospects offered in the open land. Dratha's advice had been invaluable and Laje-tal took advantage of it whenever she could. Nobody wanted to admit it, but House Telvanni was prospering under her cautious care. Even Vistha-Kai had been slowly pressured into silence, and the assassins stopped coming.
The Argonians were still being beckoned back to the Hist. The call had only grown stronger as the days passed, and even Smokeskin had had trouble resisting. It had been a trial when it finally came time to remove the slaves from Dren Plantation, trying to placate a nearly mad Argonian and the rest fighting off headaches, the Khajiit tucking their ears back in fear. Now, though, the slaves were well and free, and House Hlaalu was starting to decline from the lost revenue. If only the Hist would be still already, things could almost seem right.
The only Argonian not affected was the girl, but they all reasoned she was too young to be needed by the Hist. Laje-tal considered the odd girl as she sat cleaning swords and a few metal implements. Ceykynd still hadn't said a word, and never seemed to object to the odd Altmer name she had been arbitrarily given. She only watched and waited, ate and slept. Light footsteps sounded as Orinarion and Ceykynd returned from outside, hauling in firewood and freshly tanned leather. Orinarion came to her corner, looking over all the metal she still had yet to clean and polish. “You have my blade done?”
“Right, I put yours ahead of the others.” She peered up from her work, noticing that both of them were dressed in close-fitting, black clothing - not just him. “You're taking her with you on a mission?”
“Just some practice. Figure if she can be this quiet, won't hurt any to show her a bit more. We'll be alright.”
Laje-tal managed a smile, a touch worried but knowing there was no reason to be. After all, by the time she herself had been that girl's age, she had gotten into far worse situations. She also trusted Orinarion to not get in over his head. “I'll hold you to that.”
He regarded Ceykynd with a smile. She seemed to remind him of something, if only through her lengthy stare and slight shift of her tail. “Oh, that's right. Master Aryon asked me to request your presence in Tel Vos this evening. It sounded like he had something he needed your help with.”
“Oh, does he need help with the magical shielding again? I swear that shield is getting harder and harder to re-establish.”
“He didn't say.”
Puzzled, she looked up again from her work. “That's odd. I had better go see what the trouble is, then. Please let someone know I've gone on your way out, would you? Nalcanil was needing her blade next, I think Nirion will be here to take over soon.” At his silent nod, she headed to the teleportation platform to send herself on to Tel Vos, her mind churning with questions. What could be going on that he wouldn't even tell Orinarion, a man who made a living by making trouble? Was it serious, or something so trivial he forgot to mention it? She shoved aside the questions for now, entering the Tel Vos library to find a rather frustrated Aryon fussing through his books.
Aryon looked up as soon as she entered. “Oh, good, Orinarion brought my message. I was hoping you might-”
“Master Aryon!” Without warning, Andil came charging into the Tel, clearly frightened out of his wits. “There's a whole group of necromancers down in the tunnels again! They-” He paused when he spotted Laje-tal, his eyes narrowing briefly at her. “They are moving through the outer dungeon paths.”
Laje-tal couldn't resist irritating Andil, and she motioned him to follow. “Well, come along, then, we'd better take care of them.”
As expected, the haughty Altmer man balked at her suggestion. “Me? I think not. I have potions to make. Yes. For when you return. They will be ready for you.”
She gave Aryon a look. Andil never bothered to make potions for either of them and everyone knew it. “I'm with you. Let's get it done.”
Aryon did what he could to not look put off by the interruption. Damn, why did this have to happen now? This was definitely not the way he had expected the evening to go! He grabbed his enchanted robes, suppressing a frown. “Alright, I'm ready.”
The dungeon area of Tel Vos was a mess of underground tunnels. During the construction of the Tel, those tunnels were unearthed, and they were often occupied by rogue daedra. Normally this was considered a good thing, since the daedra added an unplanned defense between the Tel and the adjoining egg mine. Adding necromancers to the mix made things much worse, though, and it was the fifth time that year that necromancers had been seen in or around the tunnels. A whole group of them was alarming.
Darkness filled the long tunnels. They cast small lights to their hands, the amber glow flickering eerily on the rocky walls. A flame atronach lingered in one small room, and they eliminated it quickly. Few noises could be heard, and for a moment it was hard to tell if anyone was around at all. Then, slowly, a few low voices could be heard, muttering near a corner. Laje-tal drew her sword as silently as possible, Aryon following suit. He had taken to the sword well enough in their spars, and now could hold his own in a close fight. If it came to it, he also had quite a punch; she knew that for a fact.
Both lights were extinguished as they crept closer to the voices, just barely glancing into the next large chamber. Several necromancers were gathered in a rounded cavern, tying up a few live captives in the center. A few miners from the egg mine, it seemed. No other necromancers wandered far from the area; all seemed to be in the main cavern, waiting for something. They had unknowingly trapped themselves. Laje-tal motioned to cut off the necromancers from the exit, and skirted around the rear to block the side tunnel with him. In one brief moment, chaos erupted.
Aryon blasted lightning into the chamber, striking one necromancer off guard. Two more turned and were hit by spears of ice from Laje-tal. He dispatched another with his sword as he neared the captives, Laje-tal blocking the only exit. As she blasted more magic at the oncoming necromancers, he cut away at the ropes the miners had been bound with, though they stayed down as he slashed at another oncoming enemy. A small break opened as another man fell, and he ushered the miners back into the tunnels. “Take the Tel path, it's clear!”
One by one the room emptied of the invasive necromancers, until all was still. Worn and annoyed, Laje-tal joined him out in the corridor. “There were so many of them! Looks like that's it.”
“Damn, what do they want with this place? The daedra? A good focal point?”
“And poor miners, apparently. Better check out the rest of the mine.”
Silence fell as they crept through the outer tunnels, listening for every tiny sound. Water dripping, a kwama rustling about, a faint rush of wind. A wide, oblong room seemed to have been carved out recently in the inner mine, a few beds moved in, a bookshelf, even a chest. They didn't have long to wonder about these developments, as a whole new band of necromancers charged into the room. There was only one exit, and they found themselves as trapped as the previous enemies. As they were circled, Laje-tal met Aryon in the center, her back to his.
As they had practiced several times before, Aryon readied a shield spell in one hand, his sword in another, ready for her signal. She tensed, and shot a barrage of scattered fireballs into the top of the cavern. Aryon cast his shield just in time to keep them both from being caught in the blaze. Wild shadows danced across the uneven walls as the fire consumed everything flammable, the necromancers hastening to raise their own shields.
The heat intensified, and they bore it as sword and spell descended upon them. Slash, dodge, burn, parry, slice, flashes of light bounced off metal, blue mingled with red in lightning and fire. As the fight wore on, it took its toll. Both of them were starting to tire after fighting two large groups of necromancers, and only a few of the new group had fallen so far. These, apparently, were the very skilled ones, gone outside for who knew what reason. Finally it was down to the last five, skilled mages all. Laje-tal knew she was near her limit, and also knew Aryon had exceeded his. In a desperate move, she subtly drew out a small trama root, ready to force magicka into it. Now to make sure Aryon would stay very still.
“You know, Aryon, I was just thinking something.”
He laughed a very worn, bemused laugh. “And what might that be?”
“If we make it out of this alive, do you suppose you'd marry me?”
“What?”
That one moment of shock was all she needed. Even the necromancers had paused to regard their prey with confusion. In an instant she drove as much magicka she could into the trama root, the long, thick tendrils spiraling out of control. Aryon quickly caught on and froze, roots all around him winding about, piercing the remaining necromancers from every angle. It was a risky move; she could very well have killed them all. It worked, however, and she stopped the flow as the last adversary fell, retracting the roots slowly. She fell to the ground in exhaustion, Aryon soon following. Leaning against his back, she took a look around the room. “I never want to see a necromancer again for as long as I live.”
Aryon could barely manage a mumble of pain. “Me neither.” With quivering hands he took out a few spare bits of food from his pack, taking a dense bar of compacted seeds and honey, placing the rest between them. It was all he could do to remain upright, once the pressure of battle was over. Now, they had to wait for the ongoing fire blocking the exit to burn itself out. “That was quite the distraction you pulled.”
She grabbed a bar as well, choking down the dry but nutritious mix. “I knew it would scare you stiff.”
“I'll admit it did.” He felt her move slightly, as if she were turning around to listen to him. “I wasn't sure if you were asking in earnest.”
The persistent crackling of the dying fire filled the silence as she turned in full, taking his hand to heal the bright red blisters forming on his palm. “No, I know it isn't possible.” She pulled out the last of this batch of salve, wondering how they went through this tin so quickly. “We would be denied even if we tried. Nobody in their right mind would allow it, Temple aside.”
“That's true enough. Yakin is leaving in a couple months, by the way. I suppose he's feeling uncomfortable, what with the situation at the Temple now. Everyone's lost their minds over the disappearance of the Tribunal. I think Rimintil is considering leaving, too. He's... a bit offended by my choices lately. Fine by me, Dratha doesn't like him, and I'm tired of her complaints too.”
“So am I. I can send one of my guards to you if you need a spare.” Aryon laughed, shaking his head, and she regarded him with a smile. “What's so funny?”
“We are. We've gone straight from discussing marriage to Tel staff transfers.”
For a brief moment, she considered what she had inadvertently brought up. Marriage was unthinkable, and she knew it. When a person married into a Dunmer family, the ancestors were charged with the protection of the new family member. Those ancestors accepting an Argonian would never happen, and he was already on bad terms with his ancestors as it was. He never spoke of his surname, nor did he ever summon an ancestral guardian to aid him in a fight. She suspected he couldn't. Keeping things the way they were now was well enough. Laje-tal turned back around, rising to her feet as the fire finally dimmed. “And why not? Keep speaking your mind, Aryon. I prefer it that way.”
“Good, I don't think I can change.” He staggered as he shakily rose, groaning as she barely caught him. “Damned necromancers, how many were there? I stopped counting halfway through.”
“At least ten in that first cavern, fifteen in the last. Here, lean on me, we'd better get back to the Tel as fast as we can. Sounds like it's nearly nightfall.”
By the time they reached the main Tel, it was indeed nightfall. Guards had been assigned to patrol the main exit of the egg mine first thing in the morning, as well as hold a presence near the dungeon cavern. A few scouts would also be sent out farther into the wilds to determine where the necromancers had come from, as well as investigate any other anomalies in the region. The sooner the cause was found, the better. Now, Aryon was leaning on the rail of the small platform that made a sort of porch outside, looking up at the sky and wondering where the time had gone. He glanced over at Laje-tal, who had joined him after a moment, both of them looking all the better for their trove of restorative potions in the Tel. “This day didn't go like I thought it would at all.”
Leaning her side against the rail, she regarded him with a tilt of her head. “I'll bet you wanted to spar on the ridge, didn't you?”
Aryon was about to answer when he noticed unusual movement down below in the Tel, and he gestured silently out to the moving figure. He blew out the nearby lamp, crouching low in the shadows as she quickly followed. The person below was barely discernible, but they had seen him enough to know who he was. What was Andil doing roaming about at night? It was rare to catch the man out past sundown. They moved down to the lower area quietly, their stealth honed by practice. Tenvaril's night training was now coming in quite handy. Andil was heading out toward the egg mine, looking this way and that to spot any sharp-eyed guards.
The stalk eventually led to right outside the mine, away in a copse of trees. At first the small corner looked just like any other, thick with grasses and shrub, but he moved aside a large rock to reveal a small chest underneath, hidden in the dirt. He fussed with the lock, the thing requiring two keys, and withdrew an item from it. Laje-tal gripped Aryon's arm, holding back her surprise and anger. From the look of it, the chest had several small, black soul gems in it. He was involved in necromancy! While such a thing was common and legal in Morrowind, she doubted he used the method to venerate his ancestors as the Dunmer did.
Andil had removed only one gem, leaving the rest behind. He tensed, looking around the clearing when he sensed all was not as it should be. When two figures emerged from the bushes, he was quite startled to see who it was. “You! You're-!”
“Alive, yes,” Laje-tal said. “It makes sense now why there was such a rash of necromancer incursions in the mine lately. I never thought you had the stomach for it, Andil.”
“You should not have been able to escape that many,” he replied with a scowl, crouching into a defensive stance. “Your souls should have been harvested!”
“For what, enchanted armor? Let me guess, Mannimarco has risen again? Forget it, you're coming with us.”
“How little you know,” he spat. “A new era is about to begin, and the Mythic Dawn will lead the way!You damned Argonians know too much, all because of those Hist trees of yours. Well, you'll see, we won't be stymied by your foreknowledge!”
Laje-tal didn't hesitate and blasted him with a spell of silence, rendering him incapable of magic – and incapable of escaping. In the same motion she struck him with a punch to his jaw, knocking him off balance enough for Aryon to wrestle him to the ground and subdue him. They bound Andil enough to return him to the Tel for interrogation, troubled by the information they had gained. Who were these Mythic Dawn members, and what did they have to do with the visions from the Hist? Did the other Argonians know something more about this?
After reporting the black soul gems and the incident, their harrowing day seemed to be over. The moons had advanced to nearly halfway through their path in the sky by the time everything was sorted for the next day. For once, Laje-tal had hardly any magicka left. She readily joined Aryon when he went to bed, though once she lay down, she couldn't sleep. There were still so many questions to be answered, and her restless mind wanted to pore over each one.
“What do you suppose this group has to do with your visions?” Aryon mused, voicing her own thoughts. “He was clearly involved in necromancy, with those black soul gems. There were daedra in the visions, and that gate. He made it sound like the Argonians knew about the Mythic Dawn, but I don't recall anything like that in your descriptions. Maybe the necromancy had nothing to do with it.”
“I was wondering the same thing. You know, I think I've heard of that group once recently. Someone in Sadrith Mora was talking about them, saying they were starting to recruit members. A new faction, from the sound of it, or maybe the revival of a very old one. I know an Argonian woman at the Arcane University, I'll see if I can write her about this group, she might have heard of them.”
“Oh, the one we sold the star chart to? You kept writing her back?”
She shifted position again, cursing her inability to sleep. “Yes, I thought I might as well. Everyone says she is an expert on Daedric cults and necromancy, and her knowledge is extensive. She doesn't seem to mind corresponding with a Telvanni, especially with the information I've sent her in return.”
Silently he was glad she found another Argonian she enjoyed communicating with. He wondered if Skink in Sadrith Mora had ever come around, but he wouldn't ask. “Did she have anything to say about the Hist? Is it worsening as it has here?”
“No, apparently Argonians in Cyrodiil are doing well most of the time. Only a few left.”
Aryon faced her, his hand tracing her side. When she managed a smile, still remaining hopeful in spite of everything, he found that he, too, was more at ease. He wondered just when her mood had started affecting his own, and wondered if it worked in reverse. “I'm glad you're here.”
“Before I forget again, what were you wanting to do today that had you so preoccupied?”
“Oh, the boat is finally finished. They were going to sail it out just across the water to Tel Mora and back to test it out, maybe further to do a bit of fishing. It wasn't all that important, but the men wanted us to have the first venture.” He avoided the fact that he had also been conflicted about the direction their relationship had been heading, and had hoped to talk to her about it today. Despite their casual discussion earlier, he had no idea how to approach it again.
After working together so closely, Laje-tal knew when he was thinking hard. “What's wrong?” When Aryon pulled her in, gripping tightly as his nose dug into her neck, she held him in silent support. She knew he would say what he wanted when he was ready.
For a time he was still, allowing the silence and warmth to sink in. The past few years had been a challenge; he helped oust the former Arch-Magister, aided in killing two demigods, and had gone from hating Argonians to falling for one. He wasn't sure which of those things had been the most confusing, but he knew he didn't regret any of it. They understood one another, a feat in and of itself, and the last couple years had been unexpectedly ideal. Where things went from here, however, he couldn't even envision. “What are we going to do about us?”
Laje-tal paused, considering her response carefully. “Nothing needs to be done. I am here. If that's all that can be, then so be it. I will stay until you tire of me.”
He accepted her simple answer with a smile, hidden in the darkness. “I doubt I will.”
In a brief moment that shocked Laje-tal into nearly dropping a full cup of mazte, Ceykynd spoke. The girl had returned with Orinarion after a few days of scouting, foraging for wild herbs and tubers, and counting the strangely dwindling cliff-racer population. The numbers had been going down, and there had even been reports of some rogue crusader going around the isle and killing them off. Ceykynd had been sent to find Laje-tal, who was searching through a row of books, mazte in hand. She tugged on the mage's robes, speaking softly.
“Laje-tal?” Ceykynd instantly recoiled in shock just as the much larger, scarier Argonian did the same, and she ducked her head, expecting to be struck. The blow never came, though, only a gentle hand laying on her shoulder. She looked up, shaking from head to tail, wondering what would happen next.
“You gave me quite a fright there,” Laje-tal said with a smile, hoping to calm the poor girl down. Ceykynd looked terrified, and she didn't know what to do. Despite spending the last couple years around the girl, little had happened besides her being occasionally underfoot. She'd never had much occasion to deal with children, other than the few that visited the Imperial manor long ago. She did remember, however, being a child herself in the orphanage, waiting out the years with dreading anxiety until she was sold. Slowly she sat down on a nearby chair, looking her in the eye. “You can talk whenever you like, Ceykynd. Nobody here will hurt you, I promise.” The girl seemed suspicious, which was understandable. She had probably been hit every time she said even the quietest word.
Just then Tenvaril appeared, out of breath, Eddie quick on his heels. Eddie gestured behind him hastily, his words coming ragged and panicked. “Close the teleporter! Quickly!”
Laje-tal didn't pause, darting past them to the teleporter and disabling the rune with a spell. Lingering smells of a magic she didn't recognize wafted through the connection. It smelled of fear, blood, and something that stirred anger within her. She struggled to fight off her reaction, shaking it off as she turned back to look at the two men, puzzled. “What's going on here?”
Tenvaril looked grim, and shook his head. “The border is utter chaos. Argonians have been patrolling the fringe like mad wolves, we can't get anyone in or out. I don't know how to say this but... Lenassa has been killed.”
“What?” Again she had to take a chair, sitting down in disbelief. How could this be? Lenassa was one of the most experienced agents, beloved by the many slaves she had helped free over the years. “I don't understand. Argonians killed her? How could they have forgotten her? How did this happen?”
Now Eddie continued, taking a seat as well. “I don't know, they didn't recognize us, either. Gods, we ran into a group we set free a few years back and they greeted us with poisoned spears and arrows! They were painted up like the wild tribes near the center of the marsh, hissing at anyone who came close. It was like they weren't even looking at us, couldn't see who we were. Lenassa ran, but she tripped and fell. She didn't want to tell anyone, but she'd been having trouble with that knee of hers for a while, it must have caught up with her. We couldn't do anything for her. She was down before I could even react with a blinding spell. Blast... Damn it, it was a simple scouting mission, one we'd done a hundred times before! I had to lay an emergency rune just to get us across, and that wasn't easy.”
“I see, that's why you had me close the teleporter. I can't believe this.” Her head rested on her palm in dismay, shocked and horrified by the news. If the Argonians were attacking even the Twin Lamps members, there was no hope for anyone out there. Lenassa, a bloodline Hlaalu and their friend for many years, was dead. The marsh would be completely out of the question to even come close to, much less send any additional freed slaves into. “I suppose we had better send her family the message. Eddie, if it's not too much trouble, would you report what else you saw at the border?” Belatedly she noticed Ceykynd had disappeared. “Where did the girl run off to?”
Eddie gestured to a far-off room, leaning forth onto his knees. “Probably saw how scared to death we were and ran off. I don't know how to even begin to relate what we saw there. It's like the wars all over again. Border towns are all gone, every last one. Everyone fled, or worse. There isn't so much as a shack left, every building has been burned to the ground or otherwise destroyed beyond repair. They're tearing everything apart without a thought, even their own former homes! I'll bet anything they're being manipulated, there's no sense to this otherwise.”
“You had better go lay down for a while, Eddie,” she urged, his haggard expression reflecting the horrors he had witnessed during the scouting tour. There had undoubtedly been a number of innocent casualties besides Lenassa, all in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just the thought of it was making her sick.
“I'm fine.” He knew he wasn't, though, and Laje-tal was having none of it. She waved him off and he took the hint, leaving Tenvaril standing by the wall, resting on his staff. The man heaved a sigh, head down.
“I'm sorry, Laje-tal, but I must impose on you longer than expected. I can't go back to the south now, with these troubles going on. I feel I have overstayed my welcome as it is.”
“Don't be silly,” she immediately replied. “You are quite welcome here. I wouldn't even think of asking you to leave, especially not like this. I can keep your room open as long as you need it.”
“That won't be necessary.” He hesitated, his hands running over the wood of his staff nervously. “I am sorry for not mentioning it before now, but I have been staying elsewhere lately.”
“You better not have been staying outside again.”
“Oh, no, no, I know that makes our very patient vampire quite nervous. Esther has caught me at it one too many times,” he said with a chuckle. He still seemed nervous, though, and it wasn't clear why.
Slowly she grinned, though, guessing that the whispers around the Tel were true. At least there was something to be happy about in all of this. “Tenvaril, everyone in the Tel knows who you're with and where you've been, you don't have to keep it from us.”
Always so very prim, he composed himself and straightened, ignoring the comment entirely. “Lenassa's son lives in Narsis, and there is one sister in Blacklight. You may want to send a message to be forwarded on by the duke here, we aren't sure where either resides at this time, only their names.”
She accepted his diversion, already heading to a shelf to find the most formal papers she used, trying to ignore the morose sadness at her friend's death creeping up on her. She had a job to do. When she found the paper, though, her hand was shaking, thoughts racing wildly. What if this happened to her, to Smokeskin or Han-kur? Would they be forced to kill the people they loved in an effort to join the vicious tribes in the marsh? She placed the paper back again, terrified at the thought. A hand reached out for her, and she turned to her friend solemnly. “I need you to promise me something.”
Tenvaril hesitated with a slight frown. “What?”
“If this happens to me, I want you to do whatever it takes to keep everyone else safe. I mean it, even if you have to...” Her words caught in her throat, knowing what could very well happen. “I want to know someone will stop me.”
He pulled her closer, holding her in a light embrace. “I won't harm you if I can avoid it, you know that, but I will put the safety of the others above all else if I must.”
“I know you will. I hate to ask this of you, but I worry the others will take too many risks.”
“What of Master Aryon?”
Now she pulled away, pacing briefly. “I don't know. If I am too far gone, maybe you can teleport me with you away into the wilderness, set a mark ahead just in case. You know how to disable my magic and ward off physical attacks, it should buy some time. I'll talk it over with Smokeskin and Han-kur, they might have some insight on this. There has to be something we can do.”
“I'm sure of it.” He smiled, hoping his smile expressed the calm comfort he couldn't quite feel, already uneasy with what was roiling through his mind. There may indeed come a time where he may be forced to make a terrible choice, but he would do all he could to keep that from happening. “There is no telling, now. We'd best get the notice off to the Duke while we're able. I'll report as much as I can.”
Esther Dimonte, Tel Uvirith's resident vampire, perked to attention as an unexpected visitor came up the path. It was an hour before sunrise, the end of her long night shift, though the sun didn't bother her as much as some of her brethren. Being an ancient of an even older blood than the three clans here had its advantages. Her glowing red eyes narrowed, sizing the man up. Then, suddenly, she recognized him. What was Smokeskin doing out here, and using the roads nonetheless? Ah, yes, she reminded herself. The teleportation rune had been down for the last few days as a precaution, and nobody could enter or leave. Master Aryon had likely sent him on when he noticed the irregularity.
With lithe grace, she descended from her perch on a ledge, landing with hardly a sound. Mentally she prepared herself for yet another of their confounding conversations. Smokeskin, the eternal flirt, never gave up on anyone that intrigued him and for some reason, he loved to toy with even her. Telling the man that flirting with her was flirting with danger would only get a reply that he very much loved flirting with danger. She sighed, tucking back her blond hair in a somewhat aggravated motion. Well, at least he was witty. Silently she paced down the path, meeting him halfway. “I suspect you are here to inquire about the teleporter?”
Smokeskin offered her a polite bow, tilting away his readied spear. “It's a wonder anyone thinks to mention anything to you, when you already know what they will say! Yes, I am here to confirm all is well, but there are also other matters of great importance I must attend to.”
She resisted rolling her eyes at his overly formal speech, knowing it only encouraged him if she did. “There will be time for all things to be taken care of. Get yourself into the Tel before I forget I'm not to feast on you.”
To her amusement he only looked more intrigued, his lips curling in an enticed smile. “Really now? I had better get in before I take you up on that offer. Pardon me, I have a room to borrow.” As much as he wanted to continue their ongoing banter, he did indeed have important business here. He held back a frown at the thought. The idea might not even work, but he had to make sure he tried everything to keep his fellow Argonians sane. Every day the headaches continued, the problematic mood swings, the ever present need to go outside and spar until it hurt. It was getting out of control.
Smokeskin passed Esther by without further comment, not noticing that she looked almost put out by his strange loath to linger. He made his way to one of the several inner rooms, finding the one Han-kur stayed in. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he let himself in, knowing the door was generally kept unlocked. Han-kur was a light sleeper, and it only took a couple shakes to wake him. Smokeskin motioned him to stay silent.
“Come with me.” He led a very confused Han-kur down to the lower dungeon, empty of any occupants. In the corner he at last explained himself, keeping his voice hushed. “I'm sorry for waking you like that, but this is important. I found out a few things about what other Argonians in the provinces have been doing to stay where they are, and it might work for us too. I think if we can commune with the Hist somewhere, we might be able to get it to loosen its hold on us. The Argonians in Cyrodiil have been communing as much as they can, and I think it's why they've had an easier time than the rest of us. I don't know, but I'll try anything to get rid of these headaches.”
Han-kur looked hopeful, but he gestured further back into the Tel briefly. “What about Laje-tal?”
He grimaced, knowing they couldn't involve her. It was too bad. “No, you saw her, she's too warped by the Hist. It would make things worse than they already are. I'm sure you've seen what happens to the warped ones in the brothels when they try to commune even without all of this going on.”
His wince was immediate, and he knew just what Smokeskin meant. Yes, he had seen the results of such an event. Granted, there had been some very satisfied customers afterward, but Laje-tal was not the type to welcome such a drive. “Ah... right. It's intense enough for the rest of us as it is. These damned headaches have been laying me up for hours at a time, I'm ready to try whatever works. Do you have Hist sap?”
“Naturally.” From an inner pocket in his armor, he pulled out a moderately sized dark bottle. He had some misgivings, though, about leaving out Laje-tal. “We should at least tell her about this. If it works, it might be worth the risk.”
“Maybe. We don't know how much she took before. Should I go get her?”
A light female voice came from above in the dungeon. “So that's what you two are up to.”
Smokeskin nearly jolted in surprise, looking up to see Esther looking down on them curiously. He managed an amiable grin. “Aha, you caught us. You understand, I'm sure, why this must be kept quiet.”
“Of course I do.” She crossed her arms, leaning back against the door frame. “I know all about your veneration of the Hist, and why I shouldn't. I have witnessed all sorts of things that would melt your mind, mortal.”
He didn't miss a beat and countered with a playful leer. “If I should ever want a truly mind-melting experience, I will be sure to keep you in mind, Esther.”
Her head only tilted with amused interest, and she stepped away slowly. “I'll go get her.”
As soon as Esther was gone, Han-kur looked at Smokeskin like he had just decided to jump in the lava-filled foyada. “Why do you antagonize her like that? She's going to get you for it someday!”
Smokeskin only grinned wider, chuckling at the thought. “Oh, it's all in good fun, she knows that. It's just part of the game.”
“If you end up dead, I'm going to say I told you so over your grave.”
Anything else they may have said was put aside when Laje-tal paced down into the dungeon, still half asleep. She spied the bottle of Hist sap, though, and perked to attention. “Esther mentioned you were up to something down here.”
Smokeskin nodded, his look growing serious. “Yes, we suspect that communing with the Hist frequently like the Argonians in Cyrodiil have been could help us as well. Ah, Master Aryon also sent me here a while after your teleporter stopped accepting transfers.”
“Oh, yes, that.” Still aggrieved over the loss of her friend and the multitude of small villages on the border, she couldn't bear to sound positive. “There were several incidents near the border and Eddie had to lay a rune to get out. I'll open it again soon. What's this business about the Hist? You think we can commune with it, ask it to let us stay?”
“Well... not you, no,” he replied with as much grace as he could muster. “It wouldn't be wise. How much Hist sap were you given as a child?”
She glanced down at the bottle again, recognizing the size and color. “It was about a bottle of that size.”
Han-kur looked up at her, horrified. “The whole thing?” When she nodded sheepishly, his horror only multiplied. He did his best to compose himself; every question he'd had about her was suddenly answered. “You had better not join us. It's risky as it is for a-” He closed his mouth before he could stick his foot in it, knowing well enough now that she hadn't become this way by choice.
“I know what I am,” she responded plainly, easing his concern. “I suppose I will have to make do unless there's no other choice. Do you suppose it would be safe enough to watch the process?”
A nervous frown crossed Smokeskin's face, and he shook his head. “It's hard to say. Even those who are not Argonians can be affected by the magic involved. With the way you absorb magicka, I'm not sure even being in a different room would leave you unaffected.”
“I... I see.” Laje-tal tried to accept the logic of his denial, knowing they both knew far more about Argonian magic than she likely ever could. In some small part of her mind, however, it hurt to be unable to take part in what was a commonplace ritual in the history of her race, one she had rarely even heard about. The hurt must have shown in her eyes, since Smokeskin was quick to reassure her.
“Not to worry, there isn't much to it to miss. I can tell you about it sometime if you want to know.”
“No, it's fine.” Outwardly, she seemed unperturbed, even uninterested in the whole thing, but inside she was conflicted. She hadn't wondered much about these things before, when she had been so ignorant of what went on in the world. The more she found out, however, the more she wanted to know. She had alienated so many of her kind by being a Telvanni, compounded by the fact that she was the Nerevarine. Smokeskin and Han-kur were the only ones now who were willing to tell her anything, the only ones who knew her as more than a traitor. They had been her link to what little she knew. She knew they weren't denying her the opportunity for unkind reasons, but she felt the absence all the same. “I had better reopen the teleporter now that Eddie's rune will have worn off. Excuse me.”
Laje-tal left without looking back, brusquely heading up into the Tel proper and through to the teleportation rune. She left a brief note and opened the rune, sending herself on to Tel Vos. It was, however, still quite early in the morning, the sun just peeking over the horizon. Silently she made her way to the large window Aryon had installed after the accident with the daedra binding, looking out at the port through the glass. A few cushions had been left on the wide ledge, and she sat on the soft padding, tail drooped over the side. It sounded like Aryon had risen and was looking through his drawers, so she simply waited until he came up from his bedroom, noticing her at the sill.
Aryon took one look at her bitter frown, her crossed arms, as she watched the boats in the harbor pass out of port, knowing he was there but not ready to acknowledge him. He approached slowly and quietly, seating himself at the other end of the ledge. Whatever had happened had clearly shaken her.
“Lenassa's dead,” she finally said, still avoiding looking at him. She was just too upset to see the look on his face. “She was scouting the border with Eddie and Tenvaril, but they were found. I had no idea things had spread so far, so fast. I know where they usually scout, that area was usually one of the safest places to go through. The whole population of the border is gone or dead, everything is destroyed. That's why I had to close down the rune, those two barely made it back. Those Argonians don't even recognize the Twin Lamps anymore, they're all just rampaging animals!” Her tail slammed against the wood of the window frame, her anger finally coming out. “How could this have happened?”
The news was startling. For the Argonians to not even recognize the people who were infamous for setting slaves free, something far greater must be going on than a simple frenzy. “The Hist might be controlling everyone who made it back into the marsh and took part in their rituals. Maybe it reinforced whatever was there already, who knows. I don't know a thing about it.”
“Neither do I.” She glanced over at him, trying to reign in her reaction. The memory of the tainted magic leaking through the rune, the slow, burning anger it instilled with only the slightest whiff, made more sense now. “That does stand to reason, though, I think. Smokeskin and Han-kur are going to try to commune with the Hist somewhere and see if it helps them. Others have been doing the same.”
He didn't miss the implication that she was not invited. “Not you, though?”
“No. Argonians like me are too intensely affected by the rituals.”
It was plain that she was upset about her necessary exclusion, despite her attempts to remain outwardly neutral. She had always been very matter-of-fact about what had happened to her body, knowing it was nobody's fault, but it was just one more thing that separated her from things that should have been part of her life. “It can't be helped, I suppose.”
“Not from the sound of it. I can't spectate, or even be nearby, since I would absorb the magicka. Sometimes I wish I wasn't like this,” she admitted. “When that happens, though, I remember that despite all the healers who offered to try, Tenvaril never had anyone attempt to restore his sight. He didn't want anyone making things worse. It doesn't make sense for me to make things worse either. Smokeskin said he would at least tell me what it was like.”
He hazarded a small smile. “He's been an excellent friend. What of Lenassa? She's a bloodline Hlaalu, right? Is there any hope of recovering her body?”
“Considering the Argonians burned down so much, she's probably already been committed to the fire in a roundabout way. No, I don't think anyone will go out there until things are fully settled. We know who her immediate family members are and I sent a message to the Duke to find them. I heard there is a different sort of rite for one whose body can't be returned, but I was never involved.”
Encouraged, his look brightened just a little. “Well, I can guarantee that what we do for our rites won't have an effect on you in the slightest. I'd be glad to show you.”
A slight weight seemed to lift off her shoulders at the suggestion. There was something she could do to honor her old friend, a way to pay her last respects. It was enough to make her smile, and she rose to give him a brief kiss. “I'd love that, thank you. Now, let's make you some of your favorite tea. You can be a real grouch in the morning without it.”
He was about to retort that no, he was most certainly not, but that would have proven her point. She was also right. With a huff he merely followed after her as she rose, glad that all was as back to normal as it could be.
Chapter Text
“I'm not letting that Argonian in here!” Yakin Bael, still unfortunately in charge of the Vos chapel, all but barred Laje-tal and Aryon from entry into the building. He was practically seething, offended she would even try to come near what he still considered a holy place. “I don't care what rank you are, I won't allow a foreign heretic to defile our shrines!”
Laje-tal had been very, very patient with the man, and she wondered how long she could keep it up. “I'm not going to defile anything. I only want to honor a fallen Dunmer comrade in the manner of your traditions.”
“Absolutely not! If you must have anything done for this supposed comrade you had, you can submit a request for a clergyman to do it for you!”
While Laje-tal had some patience left, Aryon did not. Had the man not been unparalleled in his restoration knowledge, he would have been gone long ago. “Yakin, I respect what you have done for the people of this town, but I have every right to visit my family's shrine. You can't deny me.”
“Oh I'm not denying you, certainly not,” he acceded, “but I can't allow her in. It isn't proper to allow an outsider into one's family tomb and shrine, you know that.”
“That's true,” Aryon agreed affably. “But anyone, even an outsider, is allowed to visit the shared shrine if I accompany them. Excuse us.” He pushed aside the stunned priest, getting them both into the building while he could. A pair of other minor priests had been watching the exchange with mixed expressions, unsure whether they should help or leave well enough alone. They seemed to decide on the latter as they returned to their duties.
Down in the lowest level of the building, much in the manner of all Dunmer tombs, there was a central ash pit against the far wall surrounded on the outer walls by other, smaller ones, all with a collection of bones in the ash. Laje-tal had been to dozens of such tombs in her lifetime, albeit often uninvited, and was unfazed by the skulls and rib cages left clearly visible in the pits. What was surprising, however, was that there were very few offerings left on the sides, and no familial tapestries except for one in the center, nearly burned beyond recognition. She observed the state of the tapestry, slowly moving to his side. “Gods, what happened here?”
Nervous just to be down here again, Aryon struggled to meet her glance. “I'm the last one in my family, so there isn't much left.” He stopped, gesturing aside to one of the smaller pits, a thin, blank stone pillar lodged in the center. “Here, this is the place.” From his robes he withdrew a pair of ash yams, handing her one as he made to kneel on one of the pads left around the edge.
Laje-tal sat as neatly as possible on the cushion, taking the offering. She was distracted, though, by the burnt tapestry – and Aryon's avoidance of the subject. For now, she let it go, focusing her efforts on the pit in front of her. “What now?”
“Now, we offer these up to the souls of the departed, praying they will find their way home despite being lost in other lands. When we die, we become the ash, which the ash yams grow in, hence we leave these as a sign of birth from death. This pillar is blank to represent the unnamed, the unknown, and the ones we can't find. If someone in or near Vos dies and has no family or a tomb, I can allow their remains to rest here. It's happened a few times.” He pointed out a small stone left at the rim. “Some like to light incense, meditate, leave notes, anything else that leaves them closure. It's all personal preference from there.”
“That's all?”
He smiled, though it was still very clear he was uncomfortable being there. “That's all. I know you don't care for incense so I didn't think to bring any.”
“She didn't like it either. I'll leave a note, then.” Beside her, Aryon seemed tense, trying too hard to stay still. “If you need to leave, I think I can take it from here.”
“I can't,” he said almost sharply, eyes to the ground. “You'd be attacked for sure if I left you alone. I'd like to keep the visit as short as possible, though.”
Silently she observed his stance, his nervousness palpable. She took a slip of paper from her pocket, writing a brief note with a graphite stick. While most was in regards to Lenassa, she included a few other names of friends who had been lost in battle in the past, even those who weren't Dunmer. As almost an afterthought, she added mention of the battle and the possibility of other unnamed people lost to the raids, placing the note and ash yam on the offering plate. “I think we're being watched. I smell some odd magic.”
He, too, could sense the watching eyes, knowing just as anyone in the province did that every tomb was rife with the ghosts of ancestors past. Every time he came here, he was reminded of the incident that led to the charred tapestry. While his ancestors wouldn't attack him, the guilt was always enough to drive him from the tomb early. “We ought to leave now.”
“It's unnerving, I'm sure, but nobody gets harmed in their own family tomb.” Her eyes wandered to the tapestry, though, inspecting the curious char marks. The burn had a striated blast marking, inconsistent with a normal fire coming from below or the sides. Someone had launched a magical fireball just shy of it. “Aryon... you didn't set fire to the place that tapestry was hung?”
“It wasn't me. It was that damned woman.” He paused, a little surprised that he had been able to mention it again, even to her. Laje-tal only waited for him to continue, and he felt comforted by her patience. “You know how I told you that the third one I was with made me swear off women for good?”
She reached for his hand, trying to ignore the curious spirits still watching on. “Right.”
“Everything was fine at first. I had money, property, prestige, everything you could imagine. I was maybe a little unpopular with the remainder of my family for having somewhat radical ideas, but it was tolerated as youthful folly. Then, slowly, things started to happen. Small things, like something going wrong or things missing. I didn't know it was the higher Telvanni trying to very slowly and discreetly cut my strings and keep me from getting any higher in the house. She started getting angry, yelling and acting out. I didn't have the resources to give her what she wanted anymore. Then, one day when we were at my uncle's house, we had the worst fight I'd ever had with anyone in all my days. It seemed to have cooled down by night, when we all went to bed, but... Well, you know how I sometimes wake in the night for no reason. I woke, and everything was on fire. I saw her blast at the tapestry before we both escaped, and she didn't see me or I'm sure she would have attacked. I still don't know how I made it out alive, much less with hardly any burns, but I barely did. I found out much later that she had been in proximity to two other high-profile fires in the past, but she was never a suspect as there were no witnesses that lived. I alone lived in that house, and I testified against her. Nobody will have to worry about her anymore.”
For a moment she didn't say anything, only sitting on the rim to pull him closer, resting his head on her chest. “Don't blame yourself,” she said quietly. “How could you have known back then that she would do such a horrid thing? You had a fight just like any other pair would, albeit a very nasty one. I know the Dunmer can often get irrationally angry, but... Aryon, it was murder, that's all there is to it. You didn't see it coming, and it happened. Lenassa knew she had a bad knee, but she couldn't foresee the Argonians she liberated killing her as she fell. It happened, and she died.”
He pulled her close, sighing when she ran her fingers through his hair. Her words were rational and honest, telling him what he already knew in his head yet couldn't reconcile in his heart. “We were supposed to be here to honor Lenassa, not talk about my past.”
“Don't worry about Lenassa. She was like a second mother to everyone in the Lamps, and there will be many people honoring her throughout the coming days. Your family's tomb should be a place of comfort and healing, and you shouldn't have to feel like you shouldn't be here. Pray and ask for forgiveness, if you think anything must be forgiven. The spirits are here, willing to listen. I suspect it's about time you said something.”
He knew she was right. He needed to finally accept what had happened, and resolve whatever role he had had in that incident. From his seat he rose, moving to the central cairn and kneeling there, torn over what he was going to say. What could be said, after all this time? Maybe writing a note would help with composing his thoughts. He left his own ash yam at the offering stone, looking aside in surprise when Laje-tal sat next to him. “You shouldn't be here at the central cairn if you're not my betrothed.”
She didn't budge, though, giving a firm nod. “I am with you. That's good enough for me. If it's not good enough for the spirits, they can make do this once, I'm sure.”
“I hope so, for your sake.” As he started his note, though, the spirits did little more than linger, curious but not angered. They seemed little more than interested, and he relaxed his tense nerves. He focused instead on his note, which remained agonizingly blank.
“Just tell them the truth,” she suggested. “If they passed suddenly enough, they may not even know who set the fire. This is just as much closure for them as it is for you.”
With a grim frown he wrote on the paper, describing everything he knew about the whole scenario. Once he got started, it all flowed easily, to the point where he needed two slips of paper to contain it all. With each word, a piece of the years of guilt slowly chipped away, bringing a relief he had never expected to feel. He placed the note on the stone, leaning on Laje-tal's shoulder. “I should have done this long ago.”
“You just needed a little time,” she said with a smile, rising to leave. “You still might. I can go, if you need some time here without me. Dratha does need those extra Dwemer constructs done as soon as possible.”
Dratha didn't need the constructs any time soon, and they both knew it. “So she does. I'll be up in a little while to help you.” He didn't care who was watching, he rose to give her a brief kiss before she left. Once she was gone, he sat back down again, knowing he had one less traumatic yet still daunting thing to explain to his ancestors. He definitely owed them an explanation about Laje-tal.
Laje-tal was pulled out of focus from a very enthralling book by a small hand tugging on her robes. A very pained, whimpering voice accompanied the tug, and she knew Ceykynd had managed to hurt herself. When she turned to look, though, she saw that the girl's horns were starting to break her skin, four small points surfacing on her head. It seemed very early for the girl to start growing her horns so, confused, Laje-tal rushed to bring her to Han-Kur. The man took one look and put down the boxes he was toting, stooping to glance closer. Laje-tal tried to remain calm. “Gods, do you think she's alright? I didn't come into my horns until I was sixteen.”
“Hah, must be all that good food, huh?” He rose back up and smiled, holding the girl's hand when she reached for him. “Some come into their horns early, some late, some don't have horns at all. It's alright, we just need to give her a dose of Hist sap as soon as we can. Sure is bleeding a lot.”
She was quick to find a clean rag she soaked with warm water, wiping the blood from around the points just as her old master had done with her. “How much do we need to give her?”
Han-Kur was already looking for the bottle, high on a shelf in a locked case. “A small spoonful, and not a drop more! Ah here it is.” He found the case and unlocked it, taking out the bottle. In the kitchens, they found a spoon of the right size, and he measured it out carefully.
“Do we do this every so often?”
He shot her a smile. “No, no, just once. Come now, girl, I need you to take this.” Getting Ceykynd to actually take it was another story, though, the girl still dubious of everyone and everything around her. Thankfully getting Orinarion to come around and help had been a much easier debacle. When the two left, Laje-tal regarded Han-Kur with a huff.
“Blast, what is with that girl and Orinarion? You'd think the man was her long-lost father!”
He only gestured after them, just as perplexed. “Well, you're not that far off. She's been talking to him a bit about where she was before the orphanage. That girl somehow got here all the way from Alinor! No wonder she likes the gold-skins so much!”
“Alinor? You've got to be kidding me! How did that happen?”
“She remembered the spires of Alinor, anyway, and that a man who looked like Orinarion took care of her when she was hatched. Then, when she was still very small, a strange man in a dark robe stole her and took her on a long, scary boat ride. That's all she had to say. I don't know, our sort aren't appreciated out there much more than here. It could have been anyone, for any reason. She's a rare color, someone probably wanted to... well, you know.”
Inside, she cringed. Yes, she knew what he meant. Some members of the Dres clan were twisted enough to make clothing articles out of what was definitely not guar hide, and always paid a very high price for the right hides. “Gods, don't remind me. She's a rare color?”
“Yes, and she seems to be getting paler every day. Usually only the cave-dwelling tribes get so colorless, with pink eyes and sensitivity to light. Smokeskin thinks she was probably taken from Alinor very young, already a pale color, and kept from the light ever since. I'm thinking that woman in the orphanage knew what sort of high price Ceykynd would fetch, and was keeping her in that dark room until she was big enough to... ah, have more skin.”
“Disgusting,” she said with vehemence, a surge of anger threatening to rise again. She pushed it away as forcefully as she dared, along with whatever part of that surge came from the Hist. “No wonder she can hardly talk.” Orinarion then returned, looking thoughtful.
“I think I know who took care of her in Alinor,” he said. “Only man I know who's more mangled than I am. Good sort, a bit strange. He wouldn't have let just anyone take her, I'm sure she was stolen. I'm doing what I can, showing her how to get by in the wilds, but we might not be enough. She might have to go to a specialist in the Lamps.”
“Right after she just got used to being here?” She felt another surge of anger well up, and again she fought it. As long as she could, she would fight it. “You do have a point, but perhaps one could come here, rather than her leaving. Besides, we don't know how long we have here. I'd like to give all of us as many stable years as we can get. I also need both of you taking note of the cliff racer population. I haven't seen any in weeks.”
He shook his head, gesturing outside. “There aren't any more. Not on Vvardenfell. Didn't you hear? A man has been going around for the past few years killing off every one he sees, and exterminating the nests and favored grounds. Hailed as a saint, if you believe it. Sure makes it a lot harder to make levitation potions, but the wretches are gone. Haven't sighted a single one in the past couple months.”
“Gone?” It was hard to believe. Cliff racers had been menaces and a plague, occasionally clouding the sky with their numbers until the sun was blocked, hostile to everyone and everything. Even someone carried off alive had a terrible fate, fed to newly hatched racers still kicking and screaming. A single warrior had trouble enough with just a few, but all of them? “So be it, I suppose. I'm sure they're still thriving on the mainland. Well, why don't you see if we can find a good source of coda flowers? We certainly have enough trama root out here. About as plentiful as that damned lava.” She paused, taking another deep breath to ward off her surging emotions. As quickly, she waved him off. “Orinarion, you'd better go. I'm not feeling like myself.”
He knew quite well what she meant, and excused himself with a polite nod. Han-kur lingered, worried by the frequency of the surges. He felt terrible that she couldn't be included in communing with the Hist. So far it had helped both himself and Smokeskin, enough to feel almost normal again, but Laje-tal was worsening, slowly but surely. She recovered somewhat with a spar or a good distraction, but he could see how very problematic this was getting. “Maybe you should go to Tel Vos for a while,” he suggested. While he knew he should not approve of her relationship with Aryon in the least, he knew how beneficial it had been for both of them. Many Argonians had reported that being with their mates and family had eased the tension. If her family was all made of elves, that's just the way it would have to be. “From here on, we need to include Ceykynd in the rituals, and it should be done today if possible.”
She held back her aggravated sigh, knowing he was right. A raging Argonian girl wasn't something they needed in the Tel, and she did have a lot of work to get done in Tel Vos. “Yes, I suppose. I need to send off a few resources on necromancy to Cyrodiil anyway. I heard the Arch-Mage is making necromancy illegal in the Guild, and was even considering restricting traditional ancestor worship!” Such a thing would never pass, and she shook her head. “I'm going to send a message out there to explain how it works and that it is with the consent of the one being summoned. Just because Andil went off the deep end doesn't mean all mages will.” Just a few months ago, Andil had been found dead in his cell, only a strange magical ring suspicious enough to have been the cause. He had spoken at length to the interrogators about how paradise was awaiting him. Too bad he had been incoherent about anything else.
Han-kur wasn't a mage, but he knew enough to agree with her. “From what I understand, ancestor worship does not involve that sort of necromancy.”
“It often doesn't involve much necromancy at all,” she added. “Aside from the spirits being bound to their remains, and their descendants being able to summon them, there is little magic involved. Why, I haven't had to use any at all when I've gone down to Aryon's family tomb.”
“You what?” Nearly shocked beyond reason, he tried to temper his reaction. She didn't know any better, or at least that's what he told himself. “Laje-tal, you shouldn't be down there!”
Without warning she snapped at him, eyes narrowed as she hissed. “What should I be doing? I can't commune with the Hist, I can't honor my friends who have died in battle at a shrine? Should I look to the divines? Make offerings to Malacath? What do you expect of me?”
Her slip brought him back on his toes. She couldn't do things as he did, and he had no real alternative to provide her. “I... right, I know. I'm sorry, I'm still getting used to all of this.”
“I know.” She pointed out the door of the room, though, and gave him a look. “You'd better go too. I don't trust my patience to hold.”
Without a word, he left. He didn't need to be told twice.
On the vast, hot sunny fields held by the Dres clan in southern Morrowind, Eddie and Tenvaril waited under the cover of a dilapidated old shed, scouting out the land. It had been said in more than a few conversations that the Dres in this area had lost nearly every Argonian slave to the Hist, and several Khajiit had made a run for it in the confusion. Eddie spotted only a few very unfortunate Khajiit and one Argonian working the fields below, and a few fields seemed to have been abandoned entirely to weeds. Aside, in another field, several Dunmer and other mixed workers tended their own set of crops.
“Looks like they've hired a few, or maybe those people already work for the house,” Eddie mused.
“Maybe. The air feels unusually dry, and the grass is brittle. There doesn't seem to be a bit of wind. It looks like a drought is in the works. I don't hear many animals, and the waters have flowed slowly.”
“Sure would put them out to have a drought on top of all of this.” He spied out all of the guards, townsfolk, workers, and any others, trying to spot if any were missing from the ones he saw last time. A few homes seemed abandoned, doors left open and items gone. Nearby some guar grazed the stiff grasses, no longer penned and allowed to roam freely. “There are guar running about. I'm guessing some tenders left for good. I'm thinking merchants will be next, going back into the cities or larger towns.”
Tenvaril tensed, stilling Eddie with a hand on the shoulder. Slight sounds of boots in the grass had been barely audible over the activity below, and slowly approached their position. Yet again, he was grateful for his sharp ears. It had been the only thing that saved them during the fateful Argonian attack. He cast an invisibility spell while Eddie crouched back down on what was left of the old hay beneath them, both listening to the two sets of footsteps stop just outside the blind spot of the shed. One of the men suddenly turned to his comrade, uttering a grunt of disgust.
“What's that damned Argonian up to again down there?” Below in the fields, the one Argonian left was on guard against one of the Khajiit, hissing and holding up his hoe defensively. From how it looked, the Khajiit had done nothing more than come a little too close, but it was enough to anger the already tense Argonian.
“What in Oblivion's wrong with these blasted lizards? Any more running off from the other fields and there will be nothin' left but the cats.”
“They nearly tore this place to pieces,” the first groaned with an audible scowl. “I don't know how they're keeping the ones in Tear from gettin' out.”
“Hah, they've got one of their trees hostage, that's what. You got any water?”
There was rustling of fabric as packs were checked. “The last of it's gone. Better get back into town, both wells are dried up in this damned place now.”
As one, the footsteps retreated, the sound of dry gravel and crisp dead grass in their wake. Tenvaril let out the breath he was holding, concerned over what they had learned. “They have a Hist tree.”
Next to him Eddie was already plotting, looking through his supplies. “I'd like to go get it out, or at worst destroy it. I'd hate to have to kill a Hist tree, but it would be better than it staying in the wrong hands.”
“That may be too dangerous, considering how well-armed the Dres are. They've been hit hard, but they are still a very prominent clan with hundreds of soldiers. If I were them, wanting to keep a Hist tree as leverage, I would have it well within the center of my most defensible structure. You know what that means.”
He shuddered. “Right, they'd have it in the central tower. Gods, may I never have to go to that horrid place again. No, we came too close the last time we were there, we're not enough to pull off an operation like that. Alright, let's get together as much information as we can and send it on to the Lamps. We'll have to go about this carefully, if at all. Might have to let it be.”
“That is a possibility.” Tenvaril reached for his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “We might be able to do nothing for them at all. The Dres have been slaving for thousands of years. They might be too much for any of us. Still, we will do what little we can. Let's listen around town and see what we may find.”
After hours in the hot landscape, creeping into any pockets of shade they could find, the outlook seemed somewhat mixed. Dres was indeed worried of a probable drought, and the lack of water would only cause the Argonians to be more irritable. Other types of slaves had been newly brought in, consisting of a few Nords and several Redguards. A few Imperials, and even some Bretons had been added, which was puzzling until they considered magic. It was possible the Bretons were there to be forced to make water with fire and ice magic. That was a risky move, since Bretons were well known to have exceptional magical ability and could do serious harm to the Dres. All of this showed the level of desperation that had been reached.
They stopped at the end of the day, well away from Dres lands, making a quick, secure camp in a small cave. Tenvaril had been mentally going over all he had heard, down to every last detail, and he mentioned his findings quietly. “I haven't heard much coin being passed in the markets, more complaints about the freshness of the foods and fish on display, and people are walking with heavier steps. I smelled rot and mold, dust and fetidness. The waters, what little there are, have grown stagnant and filled with algae, killing many of the fish from the stench of it. Did you find anything else?”
Eddie had been starting a small fire, coaxing the flame into a steady burn. “A bit, yes. Everyone looks a bit worse for wear. Even some of the guards have mismatched armor, and the townsfolk have clothes that look to have been mended over a few times. Everything's parched, trees dying and river beds cracking. People have less jewelry, probably sold it off. It doesn't look good for the Dres, for sure.”
“Well, there's at least a little hope for this one.” From his pack, which had looked strangely full when he brought it to camp, he took out a small Khajiit child, only a year or so old. The little one was gnawing on a big piece of dried meat, and regarded them both with curious green eyes.
“Where'd you find that?” Eddie asked with a slight laugh.
“His mother. I came across a slave shack, and nobody was around except the woman and this child. She recognized me, from the description of other slaves who knew of me, and asked me to take her child. I knew I couldn't get her and the others out without drawing attention, but I couldn't resist her request. I promised to deliver him to the Lamps and give him a better life.”
He smiled at the little Khajiit, the cub's golden striped fur looking healthy and sleek. This one had a good chance of making it through. “Gods, Ten, you're such a softy.”
Tenvaril held the cub on his lap, the little one starting to bat at his hands. “Hm, isn't that why you love me?”
With a playful scoff Eddie leaned over to give him a firm kiss. “You know it.”
Aryon entered Tel Uvirith, arms full of the specialized fabric used to filter out ash in the various types of helms worn by guards and wanderers alike. He knew one of the dangers that would come if and when the volcano erupted would be the tremendous amount of ash in the air. Orinarion knew how to craft the dust helms, and was working on making enough for everyone. He delivered his burden in the storage room, noticing Eddie was there, sorting frantically through the drawers. “What are you looking for?”
Startled, Eddie turned around sharply. “Oh, didn't expect you back so soon. Just looking for an amulet I thought I left back here, it has an enchantment to ward off diseases.”
“Is something going around the Tel?” he asked, concerned.
“Not that I know of.” He gave up the search, the amulet nowhere to be found, and sighed. “Laje-tal and I heard about a raid on some Ashlanders near your Tel and went to take a look. It was that same band of rogues who came by a couple or so years ago when the blight struck the camp. We're not sure who did it, probably some bandits or something, but they were all dead. We figured we might as well see if anything useful was left, and she sniffed out an enchanted shirt in a chest that was a bit out of the way. We found a child hidden there, the girl we had noticed missing from the dead. I have no idea how long she hid there, but she was starving to death. She's here, but we're trying to keep her from everyone else until we have something to protect her. The last thing she needs is a secondary infection.”
“It's a good thing you found her,” he said, searching the nooks and crannies of the storage room for the amulet. “Maybe I can enchant a new one for you.”
“Could you? I can't spare much time, I have a whole pot of guar bones stewing on the stove for broth, Tenvaril is out on the mainland getting supplies, and almost everyone else has gone with him. Blast, I'd better check that pot. Laje-tal is upstairs in the study, she'll let you in. Excuse me.”
Eddie exited to the kitchen, leaving him to find a spare amulet and soul gem from the storage. After several minutes, he had the amulet enchanted with the proper spell, and brought it up into the study. Laje-tal's study looked a fair bit different from those of other Telvanni, a few types of maps on the walls, experimental plants languishing in jars by the window, and curious pieces she found around the province on the shelves, all speaking to her various explorations. Laje-tal herself sat near a Dwemer heater she had salvaged, the room overly warm and a bit stifling. The reason for this was clear, though, when he saw the state of the child in her arms, blanket loose around the barely moving form. The girl was so emaciated it was a miracle she was still able to breathe, all bones and limp skin. He made to approach, but Laje-tal stopped him with a wave. “Roll up your sleeves and wash all the way to your elbows. We may not be able to get sick, but I'm not taking any chances with her.”
Aryon complied, washing up in the lavatory until his skin started to tingle. It was just like working in the Corprusarium again, and he tried not to remember the hopeless cases down in the bowels, watching him with fevered eyes. He returned to the study, sitting beside Laje-tal on her large cushion by the heater. She had a bowl of tepid bone broth, and was trying to coax the girl to open her mouth. The poor thing was barely conscious, but managed to swallow a small spoonful. He took the girl's skeletal hand, easing the smallest bit of restoration magic into her. “Eddie told me most of what happened. The whole camp is gone?”
“Yes, whoever did it was merciless. This one only escaped because that chest was hardly visible. I would have missed it, too, if I hadn't smelled the shirt she was clinging to. It wasn't Argonians, most Argonians out here are the three-toed type like me and their tracks are unmistakable. I found boot tracks, the heavy kind, usually worn by bandits, mercenaries, and other rough-living sorts. I don't think it was Dunmer, since the corpses were left to lay as they were and not burned. Imperials generally group the dead together to get a count. It was probably a mixed group of several types, ones who were in a big hurry to take everything of value and leave. Some things were left behind, on the ground or tossed aside. That's about all we know for now.” Slowly the girl came around, opening her glazed red eyes. She was too weak to be afraid, barely able to take another spoon of broth. “Hah, the Tel has acquired a fair few children now, hasn't it?”
He smiled, the changes in Tel Uvirith coming to mind. A few of the Altmer in the Tel had brought in their own share of orphans, a couple of whom were disowned Altmer as well. Ceykynd had taken to the adjustment better than expected, and had even been seen playing with a few of them. She was still exceptionally quiet, but her occasional laugh was encouraging. “It sure has. Have you drawn up a plan, just in case?”
“Yes, we've all worked together on that. Everyone knows where they need to go if the daedra come out here. Each person who has any amount of magic has been shown how to activate the teleporter, and we made lists of emergency supplies to keep on hand if we must leave quickly. Have you been down to Vivec lately? Do you have any notion on how much time is left in that conduit?”
“I have, but I don't know.” He glanced down at the girl, her eyes cautiously watching him as her strength grew slowly. It seemed the magic was doing her some good. “I added a couple soul gems to help stabilize it, each with some strong daedra souls in them. It should help it keep going for a few years, it's hard to say. This is still experimental, after all, but it seems fine enough.”
“That's good.” In her arms the girl started to struggle, seeming to finally be aware of where she was – and the strange Argonian she was being held by. Laje-tal tucked the blanket around her firmly, restricting her movement. “Easy, child. By Azura, you're as squirmy as Ceykynd when I try to oil her scales! Settle down, you're alright now.” She held the child until the flailing stopped, easing another spoon of broth towards her. “Here, try a bit more.”
“I can take her for a while if you need to move. You look terribly stiff, love. How long have you been sitting here?”
She handed the girl over as carefully as she could into his waiting arms, stretching out her sore legs. “Too long, apparently. Thank you. Tenvaril should be back pretty soon.” It was difficult to get back up, she'd been sitting so long, and everything ached. After a good, full stretch, she faced him. “If you don't mind, I'll check in on Eddie and finally get a bath, it's been days!”
“So that's what that smell is,” he said with a chuckle, earning himself a playful glare as she left. He eased the girl onto his lap, slowly feeding her the rest of the broth. In one deft motion, he also put the amulet about her neck, the piece looking far too large on her sharply defined collarbone. Still, it would work, and that was all that mattered. Soon Eddie came in, carrying a new bowl of broth.
“Here, I put a little powdered ash yam in this one, and a touch of saltrice.” Downstairs, a door closed and he looked back over the entry. “Oh good, they're back. I'm sure you know not to overfeed her.” He left quickly, the sound of several people returning down below restoring noise to the Tel. Aryon set aside the bowl of broth to cool, gently brushing back the girl's dark hair from her eyes.
“You're a really lucky one, aren't you?” She again started to squirm, and he held her tight. “Save your strength, you barely made it as it is. Just rest, we'll take care of you.” When she started crying for her mother, though, it was heartbreaking, and he held her to him as she struggled harder. There had been too damned many orphans lately. In another time, another place, he wouldn't have been the least bit concerned about an orphaned Ashlander girl. He had changed, though, in spite of being so sure he couldn't. His forays into Vvardenfell with Laje-tal had brought a new meaning to misery, witnessing the death, destruction, and poverty he had been previously unaware of. With that, however, there came hope, which was about all this little one had left. Eventually the girl stopped thrashing, and he fed her slowly as she quietly cried, clinging to him for dear life.
Soon Tenvaril entered the study, following the feel of the walls and shelves to find his way to the corner. “Hm, I hear we've had a very fortunate young lady turn up in the Tel,” he said with a smile, easing himself down on a nearby cushion. “May I?”
“I just got her settled again. Here.” He knew Tenvaril didn't mind if people reached out to place his hands on something, so he did just that, setting his hand on the girl. She still looked so very scared, being handled by all of these strange people in a very foreign place. “We'd better not let anyone else in here for now, the four of us are enough until she gets used to being here.”
“Agreed.” He kept his evaluation as quick as possible, inspecting her thoroughly with his magic. Once he was done, he withdrew, letting the girl have her space. “Not a moment too soon for her,” he said solemnly. “You've restored her strength quite a bit already, and I think she'll recover well enough in time. It could take days, weeks, maybe months.” Briefly he fished through his pack, removing a few items from the mainland Laje-tal had been asking for. “So, are you two taking this one?”
“What?” Momentarily he balked, unsure what he was being asked. “Oh, the girl. I don't know, I just got here and was put to work!”
Tenvaril laughed, also taking out a slip of paper and graphite stick. “That tends to happen around here. We'll see, then, I suppose. I'd best leave a note outside for all of the curious eyes around here to leave the girl be for now.”
He looked on in surprise, watching as Tenvaril folded lines into the paper. “You can write?”
“Well, I'll never win any prizes, certainly, but I've been told it's legible, and... distinct,” he added with a chuckle. “There will be no mistaking on whose authority we're restricting access to the study.” By now several sharp, straight lines had been folded into the paper, and he found a nearby panel of polished wood to write on. He slowly wrote within the lines, handing it over once he was finished. “What do you think? Good enough to be displayed at the Arcane University?”
Aryon took it with a slight laugh, then handed it back after looking at it. “It would be the feature of the week, to be sure. Honestly, it's not that bad at all, considering. Where did you pick up that trick?”
“Eddie, naturally. Everyone in Bergama thought he had lost his mind. The priests and craftsmen thought it was a waste of time to teach me anything. Still, he taught me my letters, both common and daedric, so I can read anything that's carved, and write something down if I need to. It turned out to be a good idea, during the times I had to work alone. Once I showed an aptitude for magic, he taught me that, too.”
“He's certainly stubborn, in a good way,” he agreed. “It sounds like you owe him a great deal.”
“I try not to think that way anymore. I enjoy paying forth the kindnesses I have received in the service I provide to others. I am grateful, and I would never hesitate to say so, but I would not consider myself indebted to anyone. I know he wouldn't want me to feel indebted to him either. We've worked together close to forty years now, and have stopped keeping track of who owes what to whom. We are simply doing what we feel is right, both in our work and within ourselves. That is all there is to it.”
Laje-tal then entered, dressed down in simple clothing and smelling far less like a nix-hound's burrow. She looked exhausted, peering down at the now-asleep girl from the door frame. “Gods, I'm so tired I worry I might sleep right through her crying if she wakes in the night. How is she doing?”
Tenvaril nodded. “She'll recover. There might be a little trouble as she grows, with her being so very young, but I think I would be able to detect anything that might be amiss before it becomes dangerous. Why don't I stay with her here for the night?”
“Are you sure?” she questioned, concerned that he was taking on more than he could handle. “You were gone in the mainland for days getting us extra supplies, I'm sure you're as tired as I am!”
“If anything serious happens, you will end up having to trouble me anyway. These first few nights will be the riskiest for her until she regains her strength. I'm watching her tonight.”
She knew he wouldn't change his mind once it was made up, and acceded with a tired grunt. “If you insist. Let me know if you need me.” As soon as she saw to it that the girl was settled without much trouble, she eagerly retired to bed. The trials of the past few days had caught up with her, and she was feeling every last inch of stiffness she had earned. When Aryon joined her, she managed just enough will to come close, laying her hand on his waist. “Did you bring in the ash mask fabric?”
“I did.” A slight pause passed as he glanced at her. “Tenvaril wanted to know if we're going to be the ones taking in the girl once it's clear she'll make it.”
“I will, at least,” she insisted. “I believe she may be the Ashlander girl I saw in the dream about Red Mountain's eruption. Either way, she ought to be my charge. Everyone else has their hands full. The Lamps only take in slaves, unless they have the time and resources to take in others, and I know they don't. You don't have to be part of this.”
He pulled her nearer, sharing the warmth. Damn, but he missed her when she went away for long periods. “I already am.” Her thankful smile was its own reward, and he brushed his hand against her cheek. “There's no way we can leave a rogue with any of the tribes, she'd be raised as a slave. After what you've shown me, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. This might not be ideal, but it's the right thing to do.”
“The right thing to do, hm?” She, especially, had noticed the change that had come over him in the past few years, far removed from the perpetually annoyed wizard at his wits end she once knew. Even his guards had been heard commenting on it around Vos. Drelan knew Aryon the longest of all, and remembered a time before the stress and anxiety of being a Telvanni of considerable prestige had overcome the compassionate boy he used to know. It was those scant recollections that made her think that perhaps Aryon hadn't changed, but rather had been able to be more like himself. A strong shudder came over her, and she clung to him tightly.
“Are you alright?”
As much as she wanted to reassure him, she wasn't even sure she could reassure herself. “It's been getting worse, a little bit at a time. Around you, the young ones, or those who are like family to me, it's not quite as bad, but I've been irritable with the others. Han-kur thinks I would have slipped long ago if I had had a better association with other Argonians. I have snapped at him, too. Even the farthest gone of the ones in the marsh aren't harming their own kind, but I'm not like them, and I'm worried I might harm him or Smokeskin, or try to leave. I would not be accepted by the others if I left to join them, what with my background being as it is. Han-kur said they would ritualistically kill someone like me, so I might cycle back and be reborn into a life they find less offensive.”
“Is there anything they could think of to try?”
“No,” she said with a frown. “Well... actually, Esther thought I might try wearing my magic inhibiting amulet all the time. It wouldn't keep magicka from accumulating, but it would make me less dangerous if I lost control. I just don't know, though. Magic has been my life from the moment I hatched, and to be without it for weeks, months, even years? I can't even fathom it. I think I might try it, though, if I get even the slightest bit worse. Esther is about the only person I haven't gotten mad at.”
He chuckled. “I doubt anyone, whether in their right mind or not, would have the nerve to snap at an ancient vampire.” The threat of her doing so, however, was very real. “I think she has a point. It's worth trying. Maybe now, before it gets any worse. If anything needs to be done magically, we have enough mages here and in Tel Vos to get it done.”
Her magical ability had been her only comfort as an orphan and a slave, the thing that had saved her life time and again, granted her her freedom. It was also what made her more dangerous than anything else. “Alright. I'll try it.”
Chapter Text
For several days, life for the recovering Ashlander girl was a struggle. Her meals consisted of fruit juices, thin bone and marrow broths sometimes mixed with powders, and the occasional nut paste or scrib jelly. At all times, at least one of the four strangers stayed in the room, often checking her brow, her skin, or her eyes. Sense of time was entirely gone, only the cycle of being fed, washed, and prodded at interrupting her sleep. She had phases of implacable crying as her recovering body ached and strained, followed by long stages of laying very still. Slowly, though, she was able to sit up on her own, and now sat on Tenvaril's lap near the heater, eating small spoonfuls of mashed ash yam. She had grown a little bold with the return of her strength, and had been observing the people who came by to tend her. Her hand reached out to touch his face, wondering why he covered his eyes.
Tenvaril reached for a cup of watered down fruit juice, smiling at her inquisitiveness. It was a good sign that she hadn't suffered brain damage from her ordeal. He held the cup to her lips, letting her drink it slowly. “My, did you finish this one already?” Not a drop was left, and she had polished off the last of the ash yam. More often than not, these past few days, she had cleaned her plate entirely. In a few more days, she could be ready for regular meals.
Being a precocious three year old, she put both hands on his face now, asking the question that had been forming for the last few hours. “You hurt your face?”
It was one of the few things she had asked that had nothing to do with wondering where her mother and father were. Nobody was anxious to answer that question just yet. He humored her and briefly removed his blindfold, showing her his pale eyes. “I'm alright, I was just born this way. I can't see you or anything else, so I wear this to let other people know.”
She took a moment to absorb this fact, her comprehension still slow. “You can't see?”
“No, so if you need something, you need to tell me or take my hand, just like the others do.” The slight scrape of nearby footsteps sounded at the slightly open door, sounding like those of an Argonian. “Laje-tal?” The visitor said nothing, but did come inside and paused. He knew who it was. “Ceykynd, you're not supposed to come in here right now.” With a sigh, though, he held out his hand, knowing the girl couldn't read well enough yet to understand his note outside. She had been told, but she was a curious one. He knew, too, what everyone else in the Tel knew but didn't say aloud. Ceykynd wasn't quite right in the head. She had spent so many years alone or with very few other people around, she had grown up a bit too wild to understand many social norms. “Alright, come here. It's safe enough now, I suppose.”
Ceykynd came to him and stared down at the new girl, not at all picking up on how the younger one was looking at her with a touch of fear. A new pair of steps were heard approaching faster, and this time it was Laje-tal, following after the increasingly evasive young Argonian. “Well! That's where you've run off to! You know you're not allowed in here yet.” When Tenvaril faced her direction and nodded, though, she relaxed. At least there was no harm done. “Hm... I suppose it is about time anyway.”
Tenvaril's smile was confident, glad to give a positive report. All too often had he been unable to save those under his care, and he had been worried at first that the girl would be yet another. “I would say it's safe now to venture into the main Tel and the outer grounds. The amulet Aryon made for her should ward off disease quite well, as long as she's kept warm and clean.”
She took the assessment with a relieved smile, the news encouraging. “Good, I'm thinking we could all use some fresh air. If you have no objections, I'd like to take her with me outside for a little while.” There were no objections, so she found a large pack, enough for the girl to fit inside. She wrapped the girl up in a small blanket and helped her get comfortable, situating the pack on her back. By now the girl had thankfully stopped crying every time Laje-tal took care of her, and it seemed like Ceykynd had only startled her, but there would be quite a few people for her to get used to in the coming days.
“Will you be alright, Laje-tal?” Tenvaril asked.
“I think so. I'll come in and find you if anything seems wrong. Thank you.” She made her way down and out of the Tel, taking in a good long breath of fresh air outside. The last few days had been filled with work inside the Tel, even without being able to use magic. Perversely, the amulet had worked. Right now she could still hear the call of the Hist, but she was no longer forced to acknowledge it. The headaches were gone, the shivers reduced to her usual jitters if she accumulated too much magicka. Unable to enchant anything, she had been able to devote more time to alchemy, and kept up on making the needed poisons to remove the excess magicka. Being incapable of magic any time she wanted, however, had taken getting used to. Several times now she had made to use a spell, and remembered she couldn't. Frustrated, she headed down into the large flat patch of land they used as a field.
The wide expanse of the seemingly endless ashlands spread out before the Tel, tall mountains looming behind, clouds choking the sky above. Ahead and to one side lay the field, ashy soil already showing the tips of ash yams pushing through. She stooped low to inspect the crops, watering them from a nearby bucket. For a time, all was quiet, only a few other occupants coming by to tend the fields. The girl took in all the new people quietly, until suddenly, she started to struggle. Yet again she started to yell for her mother, and when Laje-tal looked back, she saw Esther approaching the field, stopping as soon as she saw the child. Esther took up a decidedly casual stance. “I have news about the camp when you have a moment.”
“Oh, give me just- oh dear.” She did what she could, taking the whole pack to hold the girl close to her chest. “It's alright, Esther is a friend. I know she looks as scary as I do, but she won't hurt us.” That comment earned her an amused huff from the vampire, and Esther shook her head.
“Cover her ears. She shouldn't hear this.”
Laje-tal brought the girl in closer, covering her ears, voice reduced to barely more than a whisper. “What was it?”
“Eddie reported what he found out there to the guards in Tel Vos, and Smokeskin thought it didn't smell right. The description he gave made it sound like very little blood had been spilled, which seemed unusual for reckless bandits. He asked me to come take a look and see if his hunch was right, and I believe it is. That camp was attacked by vampires. My money is on the Quarra.” She made a face, looking about ready to snarl, but she was above that. “Those idiots have no decency left in them. They plow their way through any village they please. There's no negotiating with them like the Berne and Aundae. All three of them give me a headache.”
“That's horrible. To think they would hurt even helpless children!”
“The Quarra aren't very discerning, they don't just pick a couple men or women to take a bite from. There might be a lucky one or two who escape, or maybe a couple enslaved as cattle, but mostly they just go through everyone they target and have a wild feast. Sometimes they raid and take valuables, which they did at the camp. I'm thinking they left hastily because the sun was rising. Smokeskin thinks they were in bad need of supplies, since nearly every weapon was missing, along with most items from the craftsmen. It makes sense. Aside from you Telvanni, it's hard trying to trade with anyone.”
“Please give Smokeskin my thanks if you see him before I do.” She looked down at the girl in her arms, the poor thing still clinging to her tightly. No wonder she was so scared to see Esther. She turned the conversation to a more pleasant tone, no longer covering the girl's ears. “What is he up to now?”
“He insisted on going out on a hunt for kagouti, and would bring back a whole one here so I could harvest its blood. That was a few hours ago, so it should be any moment now.”
Laje-tal gave her a grin, just as curious as everyone else why Smokeskin was dancing attendance on her so much. True, he would be flirtatious with just about any lady he saw, and didn't hesitate to bed any who were interested, but he knew when to stop. When it came to Esther, though, he seemed to like the challenge she posed and wasn't willing to give up just yet. “Hah, he has quite an eye for you! I'd be careful with him, he's quite the heart breaker.”
“Men come and go anyway,” she said dismissively. “The moment I try to have just a taste of their blood, they run off in fear. Whether he can measure up to the many boasts he has made has yet to be seen. I'll give him credit, though, for his probably foolish bravery. He's a bit better than the usual sorts I chase off.”
“You're not bothered, I hope?”
She shrugged. “If I were, I would have let him know on no uncertain terms.” Overhead the clouds parted, hitting all of them with a strong blast of sunlight. While Esther was resistant to the sun's rays, she didn't like when it was particularly bright out. It was just a bit much for her heightened senses. “I'm going to head to the side. You'd better get in before dusk just in case. If the Quarra are raiding that far beyond their usual scope, the other clans might be just as strained for victims.” With that, she retreated to the side of the Tel that now lay in shadow, sighing gratefully once she was out of the late afternoon sun.
Several minutes passed before Smokeskin entered the side field used to skin and clean any creatures hunted near the Tel, dragging along a moderately sized kagouti. He found Esther already waiting under the cover of a canopy, testing the sharpness of her boot knife on a scrap of leather. Watching her do just about anything had become a fond pastime of his, and only when she turned her attention to him did he address her. “Nice and fresh, just as you like! Got this one with a good hard club to the head, didn't waste a drop.”
She eyed up the beast, appreciating the effort but knowing some most certainly would have to go to waste. “I doubt I could consume the whole of its blood, but I appreciate the effort.”
Confused, he gestured back to a small storage cabinet. “Someone managed to get the ice enchantment working again, we could store it all in a few bottles, I think.”
“No, no,” she said with a frown. “If you let it sit, it will settle, the pale portion separating from the dark red. Trust me, days-old, cold blood is quite disgusting, even if it's been frozen. It's best when it's fresh right from the source.”
He certainly wouldn't argue with her expertise, and gave her an appreciative grin before lashing a rope about the kagouti's two legs, the other end already running through a pulley. The beast was lifted high, its head down, and he twisted the kagouti's head by the tusks to help her have access to the neck. Esther stuck the neck artery with quick efficiency, a small barrel poised underneath to collect the blood as it flowed out. By now a couple Tel residents had come by to help dress down the rest of the kagouti for its meat and bones, taking the corpse as soon as the body was lowered and the barrel of blood removed. He hoisted the barrel to his waist, nodding back at the Tel. “Well, what will be your pleasure for dinner, dear lady?”
Esther took his formality as passively as she could, holding back a scoff. “I can take it up to my porch.”
“Nonsense,” he said, already making his way to her house. “Surely you can allow me the pleasure.”
Honestly she didn't care who brought it up as long as it got there, so she simply followed after him. On the edge of the grounds, her housepod stood taller than all of the other homes, hosting a wide circular porch fit to view any part of the Tel grounds she needed to. As the primary night guard, she had the most advantageous view, second only to that from the very top of the Tel itself. This vista now boasted the sight of the waning sun slowly tracing its path across the sky. Esther approached the small table and few chairs poised at the southern end of her porch, collecting her favored large crystal decanter. “Would you set it right over there?”
“But of course.” He placed the barrel where she indicated, bemused by how she was inspecting her decanter in the light. “Hm, going for something rather fancy, I see?”
She gave him a droll glance, gesturing with her glass slightly. “Even a vampire can enjoy the finer things in life.” A ladle hung from a nearby hook, and she served the kagouti blood into her decanter, admiring its color and scent. When Smokeskin sat down at the table, a mischievous smile on his face, she peered down at him with a quirked brow. “You're not leaving? Most don't have the stomach to watch someone drink blood.”
His eyes only narrowed in appreciation as he leaned back, ready to take her challenge. “Hm, maybe I like it.”
Yet again she was unsure if he was foolish or brave, but probably the latter since she was bound by her oath to Laje-tal not to cause undue harm to anyone who hadn't earned it. Not that she would, anyway. As long as she stayed properly fed, there was no risk to anyone but the occasional assassin who braved coming to the Tel. She sat across from him, taking a good, long drink. Smokeskin didn't even blink, watching as she licked the blood off her lips. Despite herself, she found his persistence enticing. “You wouldn't be so bold if my lips were on your neck.”
He leaned forward to set his elbows on the table, head resting on his hand. “Oh really? Can you be sure of that?”
Her own eyes now narrowed as well, wondering what sort of game he was trying to play. “You might think yourself braver than most, but there is no telling what someone may do when faced with their fears.”
The sight of her finishing off the last of her drink, her pale neck stretched to eke out the last drop, only made him want to taunt her more. “I'm not afraid of a little bite. The question is, are you afraid that someone might bite you back?”
She rose, eyes still watching him warily, setting her cup in a nearby water bucket to soak. Deciding that he was just teasing as usual, she turned her back, ready to head inside. “You wouldn't do that.”
Smokeskin had never intended to actually do anything when this all started, but now he was drawn to her, his scaled mouth just barely against the sweet scented hair laying over her neck. “I would, but only if you want me to.”
Curious, she turned back to face him. It was rare for a mortal to show such interest; most men in her life had been those of her own kind. For a vampire to also be an Argonian was extremely rare. Despite all her years of existence, she'd never had the opportunity to even see an Argonian this close without them already being dead or close to it. Now she found herself more intently assessing him, his lustrous scales and corded muscles. She was done playing games. Pulling him forward by the cuff of his shirt, she sank her fangs into the side of his neck, well away from the major artery pulsing faster at her approach. To her surprise he put a hand on her lower back to bring her in, giving her a better position to taste his savory blood. She kept it to only a taste, though, licking up the remnants of the sluggishly rising blood before giving him a sly glance. “I could have drained you entirely, you know.”
“True,” he agreed with a winning smile, “but if you did that, who would you talk to?” When she only shook her head, sighing, he chuckled and turned to leave. Esther grabbed his arm firmly, tugging him back to her.
“I'm not through with you yet.”
The intent, voracious look in her blazing red eyes as she slowly licked off the last of his blood from her lips only accented her authoritative tone. When she kissed him, it still held a strong metallic taste, which didn't dissuade him in the least. He grabbed her tight, exhilarated when she responded in kind. Clearly she liked things just the way he did, and he gladly accepted her invitation.
When Eddie came by the next day, bringing all the information he could find on the Ashlander camp, it thankfully included the name of the girl. A man had been researching the tribe nearby and had written down quite a few interesting details, including what he himself had witnessed after the attack. When Laje-tal sat in her study with her charge to read the missive, however, she struggled to pronounce the odd Ashlander name. Luckily Aryon had been able to join her that evening, and read it as he sat beside her. “Ashlander names can be a bit complex,” he began, pointing out a few of the other names on the paper. “Ah, there it is. Let's see... her name is Savurnabitashpi Ashibaal.” Sure enough the girl, who had been sitting nearby eating a soft meal, looked up at her name.
Laje-tal made a face. “That's quite a name indeed. No wonder we couldn't make it out when she tried saying it.” She looked down at the girl, glad to see bright and thoughtful eyes staring back. “Is that your name?”
The girl left the meal as it was on the small side table, coming over to grab her arm. “You know Mama? Where's Mama?”
“Oh dear.” Yet again Laje-tal was faced with the fact that aside from the technical aspects, she had no idea how to care for a child. Her usual direct approach would likely be too harsh for someone so young. Aryon took the girl in his arms, patting her hair gently.
“Your mama and the others in your village are with your ancestors now,” he explained, hoping she had some sort of concept of what death meant. “They will always be with you in spirit.”
Her eyes welled with tears again, but she looked back at him with more strength than she'd had before. “The pale man hurt them.”
“Yes, he did,” he agreed, deciding to not make light of the facts. She had already seen too much. “He hurt them, and now they are gone. Do you understand?” She didn't respond, only breaking down into tears again; she was just too young to comprehend what it meant to die. She would, however, learn just what that meant only days later.
One morning, Laje-tal was informed that one of the eldest Altmer who had come to work in the Tel had passed in her sleep during the night. The woman had been quite old indeed, and had lived a full and happy life, so the mood around the premises was only mildly reserved. A few shared stories of Welande's exploits and accomplishments, her kind attitude and willingness to help despite missing an arm all of her days. Her body currently rested in a stone cavern nearby, and Laje-tal sought out Tenvaril to inquire what to do with it. She found him already conversing with Orinarion, and she figured she could ask them both. “What are we to do with Welande's remains? Is there a tomb we ought to send her to?”
Tenvaril shook his head, dismissing the thought with a wave. “No, there's no need to do anything.”
“Well we ought to do something. Shouldn't she join her family?”
He was slow to answer. “A hulkynd has no family, no ancestors, no inheritance, and no place in society, not even in death. We've already done more than anyone on the Isles would. Generally a hulkynd's body is just thrown in a pit somewhere and quickly forgotten, if anyone cares to think about it at all. She's been given a fair interment in the cavern, and at least among us, she will not be forgotten. It isn't a sad end at all for one of us.”
She knew, unfortunately, that he was right. Hulkynd children weren't simply abandoned, they were stricken from memory entirely, looked over as if they didn't exist. Simply having so many hulkynd around the Tel had been a blessing for all of them, comfortable as they were in each other's company. Welande had already been struggling as an old woman with only one arm to work with, and had met her end surrounded by those who cared for her. “I'm glad we were all here to show our respects, then. I had best show mine as well.”
By now the Ashlander girl, who had been granted the far easier to say nickname of Savari, seemed to accept the loss of her tribe as best as anyone could expect a child of her age to do, her bouts of crying reduced to hardly any. She sat in the pack on Laje-tal's back quietly, absorbing the sights and sounds of the familiar ashlands and the warped mushroom Tel. Laje-tal toted her into the cavern, a bundle of nightshade in hand, solemn as she placed the small offering beside Welande's still, uncovered form. Savari looked on curiously over her shoulder. “Is she sick?”
Laje-tal sighed, sitting on a nearby rock and bringing Savari to her front. She supposed this was as good a time as any to explain death to the girl. Maybe she would be too blunt about it, but it was the best she could do. “No, Savari, she's not sick. She was very old, and sometimes when people get very, very old, they go to sleep and don't wake up. Welande went to sleep last night, and didn't wake up.”
Savari looked over at the body, processing the knowledge slowly. “Muffin lady won't get up?”
She chuckled, remembering Welande's fondness for making muffins, especially for the children. “She did make some fine muffins, didn't she? No, dear one, she won't get up. She is dead. When someone dies, they leave us forever. She's gone.”
Now Savari drew the conclusion that was both tragic and necessary. “Mama is dead?”
Pulling the girl close into an embrace, she nodded. “Yes, Mama is dead. That's why I'm taking care of you. You can live here now, with all of us. When I was very little like you, I didn't have my mother or father either. I had to have a new mother take care of me.” She certainly never wanted to bring up or explain the damned orphanage again, and left her wording as it was.
“Are you my new mother?”
Now she balked, caught off guard by the question. Young elven children could often be wiser than their years, but she hadn't expected this. How could she explain how things were? She had gone headlong into taking the girl in as her charge, but hadn't really given thought to actually acting as a parent. Ceykynd's odd ways of going back and forth from person to person had become so much the norm around the Tel, she had forgotten that most children were different. She wasn't sure, though, if she should be thought of as anyone's mother. Something like that was beyond her comprehension. “I could never replace your mother,” she began, smiling down at Savari, “but I will take care of you. Hah, I do think Eddie can be your uncle, though, how about that?” She had to laugh at the thought of what would undoubtedly be the look on Eddie's face if Savari started calling him her uncle. With that, they returned to the Tel in better spirits, ready to face a long day of work.
Drought hit the mainland hard, straining the Dres and Hlaalu severely. The Hlaalu were already having trouble since they hadn't found a suitable replacement for their assassinated councilor, and the rescue of slaves from the Dren Plantation left a crucial area of the lower Vvardenfell province tended only by a few angry, overworked, underpaid laborers. The Dres supplied most of Morrowind's agricultural needs, and after hiring on their own sets of workers, food prices had slowly but steadily increased. Luckily much of Vvardenfell was self-sufficient, especially the reclusive Telvanni, and all Telvanni lands were relatively unaffected. Vivec City, however, relied heavily on trade and exports, their food generally being bought from outlying farms or the mainland, and the problems of late were the talk of the town.
Laje-tal had decided to check on the sigil stone conduit herself to see whether anything ought to be done to keep the magic stable. Baar Dau was a large object to keep in the air, especially given the amount of force it had been thrown at, and even she and Aryon had no idea what they were dealing with. She barely made it into the Temple canton, however, before she heard several whispers from the people now staring at her. Everyone knew she was the Nerevarine, but few knew she was also the Telvanni Arch-Magister. She had walked right into the city in her official robes, words and looks be damned, intent on visiting with the Arch-Canon Saryoni. Ignoring the various people watching her with a mix of awed and disdainful glances, she pressed on to the Temple.
When it had come time to present the sigil stone conduit to the public, Saryoni had suggested he keep it in his own office to keep it safe, knowing just as well as they did that it was their only real hope of delaying the inevitable. It had been strange, to see the Arch-Canon of all people take the Tribunal's disappearance so relatively well, but Saryoni had been of a different mindset than his fellow Temple members. He had accepted the coming of the Nerevarine as an inevitability, and in the end, he helped where he could in setting her on that path. Now, he was quietly moving anyone who could relocate from the city, though the cantons were about as packed as always. Many refused to leave, confident they would be safe despite the rising costs of living and the very real, measurable threat posed by the moonlet. A few even refused to accept that Laje-tal was the Nerevarine, in spite of all she had done and all of the evidence to prove it. It didn't bother her; she had expected as much, and saw no point in fighting it. As far as she was concerned, her role as the Nerevarine was well over and done with anyway.
Within the Arch-Canon's generous but humble office, the subtly glowing conduit rested on the shelf as if it were just another curious object among many others on its shelf, probably to not attract too much attention from anyone who had no business coming close. Saryoni was there as he always was, working hard on his plans to reorganize the Temple. How he planned to do that was anyone's guess. He looked up to greet her with a faint smile as she entered, gesturing her to come in. “Greetings, Nerevarine.”
She grimaced at the title she was growing very tired of. “Just Laje-tal, please. I hope I'm not disturbing you, but I thought I might take a look at the conduit.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Aryon's novel construct has been quite effective, I must say. I haven't the slightest idea how it works, but the moonlet has been completely stable even with Lord Vivec's disappearance. Ah, by the Three, what am I going to do?” He sighed, hunching onto his desk. “I suppose I should start by not saying 'by the Three', shouldn't I?”
“It's a habit many will have for a while, certainly,” she assured, carefully taking the conduit from the shelf to inspect it closer. “Change is difficult, but often necessary. It was change that moved the Chimer to migrate from Summerset under the Prophet Veloth, and Azura's curse that changed them further into the Dunmer when the Tribunal erred. It may be time to remember the principles your kind wanted to stand for when they came here in the first place.”
He glanced up at her, the strange, thoughtful Argonian always a puzzle to him. “Maybe.” Moving his chair back from his desk, he watched as she prodded at the conduit. “You've never been at all like I thought the Nerevarine would be.”
“I thought I was an odd choice too, but I suppose it makes sense. An outlander would have few preconceived notions about who they felt the Nerevarine should be. I'm guessing I succeeded because I had no motivation to use that role for my own gain, or maybe it was because I was willing to listen to the Ashlanders. I don't know. It's done, and I'm glad for it.”
Leaning forward, he pursed his lips in thought. “I hope you don't mind me asking, but I can't help but wonder. Are you truly Nerevar?”
She spared him a curious glance, taking out a small knife to adjust the carving of one of the runes on the conduit. “No. He's with me, as he's been with the previous Incarnates who have tried, but I am my own person. I don't think Aryon would appreciate it if I was Nerevar all the time,” she added with a laugh.
Slowly he returned to sitting back in his chair, still conflicted by everything that had transpired in the past few years. Being present to see the arrival of the true Nerevarine, and to guide her on her way, had not been something he had anticipated happening in his lifetime. “How does the conduit look?”
She sighed. “Well, it seems fine enough, but it's taking more power than I expected. I'll leave some filled soul gems here, I think, in case the power starts waning unexpectedly. If you don't mind it, if you see the glow from the conduit getting unusually low, would you set a new soul gem in it?”
Saryoni looked over the strange device, unsure if he could. “I can't make heads or tails of that thing.”
From her robes she took out a new filled soul gem, needing to replace one of the nearly depleted ones as it was. “Here, I'll show you.” On the front, the housing of the soul gems had been intentionally made easy to access, and the grand soul gem she took from it slid out of place readily to be set with a new one. “This is all there is to it. If you can't get it, you can let us know.”
“I suppose I can manage that.” He frowned, his brows drawn and looking grim. “How long do you think this will last?”
She had been wondering the same thing. The primary gem hosting Almalexia's captured soul was the main thing holding the whole conduit together, the accompanying soul gems largely there to help extend the power longer. Once Almalexia's soul waned, that would be the end of it, but for now it seemed like Almalexia's soul hadn't drained much from Azura's Star. “I don't know, but judging by how it's been doing so far, we have at least a few years. When this fails, it will fail catastrophically. I can't stress enough how important it is to move as many people away from the city and the surrounding areas as possible before that. I've heard tales of boulders that fall from the sky and cause craters far, far larger than the object that fell. Baar Dau is not all that large, but if it came with the force that other falling sky stones have, it will most certainly wipe out the entire city, and possibly much of Ebonheart at the very least.”
“Ebonheart?” Stunned, he sat back roughly. “You're sure it would reach that far?”
“Yes, and likely farther. Among the many other things he studies, Divayth Fyr has recorded several instances of rock impacts and the destruction they cause, as well as a few thoughts about the moonlet itself. Given that he has thousands of years of records and experience, it's hard to argue to the contrary. If it falls with enough force, it will cause not only the destruction of the city, but would send large waves of water to the mainland, as well as rock and debris high into the air. If I can go up and measure it somehow, I might be able to get a better idea on how far the area of impact will be.”
“If it can help, I'll permit you to go up to there and record whatever you need. Here.” He removed a map of the whole of Morrowind from his desk, handing it over. “Maybe you could mark a few locations down, the areas that will be the worst affected, and I'll send word to have them ready to evacuate. Hopefully my authority still has some effect around here.”
Laje-tal paused to really look at him, how worn and strained he had become, knowing how hard the past years had been for everyone in the Temple. House Indoril, especially, had put everything they had into the protection and reverence of their religion. With it all now gone and so many questioning where their faith lay, their house was in near upheaval. People were having to find new ways of doing things, whether they liked it or not. “I'll do what I can. We're undoing thousands of years of beliefs and practices. There will be many long, hard years ahead of us, and there's no quick and easy way to fix it. How are plans coming along about the Daedra?”
Now Saryoni looked down, the news he had on that front hard to deliver. “They aren't.”
The passing moment of silence was palpable. “What do you mean?”
“House Indoril are the sole protectors of the cantons, they're all we have but they have refused to even consider the idea. They said it's all Argonian superstition, a few suggested the Argonians made it up to scare us all into freeing our slaves and cause panic. Many people heard that idea, and with all of the slaves that have gone missing besides the Argonians, most are starting to believe it. I heard rumors that the Twin Lamps have been orchestrating some of the escapes, though of course the agents have been too discreet to prove it.” He gave her a sidelong glance, suspicion burning bright in his eyes. “I also heard that Tel Aruhn has done away with slaving entirely, something I thought would never happen. I don't suppose you would know why that so beautifully coincides with these other rumors, would you?”
A chill of panic ran down her spine at the thought of her friends being compromised, and made a note to have them lay low for a while. Externally she only waved off the concern as if it were nothing. “Both Savile and Endase agreed that it was illogical to keep the slave market going when half or more of the slaves being sold were erratic Argonians. There's no profit to be had from that, and the Tel has prospered more than expected under their management. I believe in being adaptable, and we have adapted to our current situation. I'd best go up now and measure the moonlet, if I may. Aryon is expecting me back soon.”
He chuckled, his suspicion gone. “You'd better be careful or people will start to think you're involved with him. Rumors are abounding about that, too.”
Finished with the adjustments to the conduit, she placed it back on the shelf. “Yes, I've heard that a hundred times over. That's not a rumor, that's a fact.”
The humor left him in a flash, replaced with a stern frown. “A fact? You're with him?”
His tone surprised her; on her few visits to the Archcanon's office, he had always been amiable and understanding. She subconsciously took a defensive step back, pulling her robes closer. Why did she feel his scrutinizing glare so intensely? “What of it?” she questioned, watching him as he took in her admission silently. For a long time he said nothing, then turned away from her in his chair to face the wall.
“I believe you have measurements to take, Arch-Magister.”
The cold dismissal was as puzzling as the rest of his demeanor, striking her into a long pause. He was of the Temple, and very traditional in his methods, she reminded herself. Her choices were against Temple doctrine to the point of being immoral, and that didn't just include her relationship with Aryon. She had subverted quite a few of their ways even without that, and she couldn't expect it to be ignored. She took the dismissal with a polite nod, excusing herself. “Pardon me, then.”
Once outside, Laje-tal eyed the moonlet hovering over the canton, taking a levitation potion from her robes. She tried to set her mind on the task at hand rather than dwell on the rift she had unintentionally driven just now. The coarse but dense rock above appeared to be much the same sort of rock that lay at the base of most mountains, made up of several types of differently colored rock. Something like that wouldn't split easily, and she made note of its composition. Around the middle, the outer wooden walkway had been driven into the rock, guards frequently patrolling the rim. The guards gave her little notice, remembering her from previous visits, though they did watch with cautious stares as she counted her paces around the perimeter. In all, the rim was a hundred paces plus a couple dozen more, and she estimated the measurement from top to bottom to be slightly more from the look of it. It wasn't much to go off of, but by now there were a few onlookers watching her nervously and she decided an approximation was good enough.
As soon as she descended to the ground, a rather irritated, well-dressed Telvanni man from the cantons accosted her, shoving his finger in her face. “What do you think you're doing out here, poking around where you don't belong, Argonian?”
Laje-tal didn't recognize him. Most Telvanni in the cantons preferred to be left alone, even by their Arch-Magister, and she had done just that at Dratha's suggestion. Their ways were very different from the Telvanni who preferred to couch themselves in the back of nowhere. “I received permission from the Arch-Canon to measure the span of the moonlet. I'm finished and I'll be on my way.”
He most certainly did not, however, let her go on her way. “What gives you the right to march in here dressed like that, pretending you're one of us and tampering with the moonlet? You damned lizards have no business interfering with Telvanni matters!”
Affecting a patient smile, Laje-tal nodded to him graciously. “I hope you can pardon me for not visiting the cantons often, but I didn't want to impose myself upon your daily activities. I am your Arch-Magister, and I have every right to be concerned with Telvanni matters. If any in the cantons such as yourself need my aid, I'm willing to provide it.”
The man looked nearly apoplectic with anger, and she almost regretted not paying the cantons more attention. Almost. “I don't care what those fools in Tel Aruhn say, an Argonian has no place in our house and certainly not as our Arch-Magister! You're no Telvanni, you're just a filthy- what the-?”
In the confusion, Laje-tal had discreetly removed her necklace long enough to send her excess magicka into one of the many roots she carried with her, holding back the pressure that came with it. She knew she could endure the aggressive pull of the Hist for a short while if she needed to. To see the man struggling to free himself from the vine-like branches now encircling him, lifted by the force of the growing mass, was well worth the effort. She looked up at him, shaking her head. “I can't quite hear you from down here, but I suspect you were complimenting my immaculate scales. I suppose we'll never know now.” From the corner of her eye she noticed a pair of Ordinators looking her way and pointing, and she knew she had better make herself scarce. Ordinators had no patience for jokes, and this was on the fringe of being a direct assault. She issued one last spell to recall herself to her Tel before quickly putting her amulet back on, now too focused to breathe a sigh of relief.
Before she could become any more distracted, she grabbed a bit of paper from her study, writing down her measurements atop the desk nearby. Her encounter with the Telvanni man barely came to mind, pushed aside for more important matters. It was not uncommon at all for her to be accosted by other Telvanni whenever she went into a city, and she had settled the matter in a way any Telvanni would have done. Her pencil scribbled furiously, writing the formula she had eagerly copied from Fyr's records on her last visit. Slowly, though, she found herself becoming more and more frustrated by what she had done. Saryoni had nearly been a friend, yet she had gone and opened her big mouth and ruined it. Still, she wasn't ashamed of who she was with or whether anyone knew about it, and it was bound to have gotten out anyway.
“Back already?” Aryon came up to her from behind, peering over her shoulder at her calculations. She soon turned to face him, giving him a brief kiss.
“I had to keep it brief, but I have enough to make a fair estimate. How is Savari?”
“Fit as can be,” he replied with a confident smile. “She's been playing outside with the others whenever she can, getting her strength back. She should be in soon.” While Laje-tal looked relieved, he could detect that she was just a bit preoccupied. “What's wrong? Is the conduit holding up?”
“Oh, yes, yes, it's fine. I think I had better avoid returning to Vivec City for a while, though. I've become rather unpopular there.”
“You're unpopular anywhere the Temple is.” That fact seemed to make her even more withdrawn, no matter that she already knew it quite well. “Something else happened?”
She pulled him in, taking in the simple comfort of his presence. “I'm so damned tired of everyone's expectations. I know I'm not the least bit what anyone wanted the Nerevarine to be, and certainly not what anyone wanted their Arch-Magister to be. I'm not going to run off into the marsh and tend ancient trees for the rest of my days. I can't change my scales, what else is there to do about it?”
“There's no point in trying to please people like that,” he assured, holding her lightly. “You're not at all what I expected, either, but I am pleasantly surprised rather than disappointed. I'd rather not know you as some back-country, uncultured Argonian with a penchant for rolling in the mud. Ah... no offense to Han-kur, of course.”
They both had a chuckle at that, knowing Han-kur was very much one of those Argonians. “Of course. He's been very knowledgeable about cultivating the fields and recalling folk remedies for all sorts of ills, but I can't say I understand his love for mud. No, you're right, some people can't be pleased, and I don't have to do so. I'm just tired of hearing it all the time.”
“Take it as a compliment, love. I doubt they would have been so eager to complain at you if you had failed.” When a calm, natural smile returned to her face, he returned to the task at hand. “You took these formulas from Fyr? I don't like the look of this. That moonlet could cause more trouble than we thought.”
“I know. Ebonheart will be ruined for sure.” She calculated again, and took out a bit of string, cutting it at the radius she came up with for the high and moderate impact areas. When she used it to draw a circle around the impact site on her map, however, even she was stunned into silence. It was far, far worse than it had looked even just a moment ago.
“Gods, that can't be right.” Aryon had gone a bit pale, startled by how wide the radius was. It extended into the mainland, covering several towns. Ebonheart, Seyda Neen, Pelagiad, and even Suran were in the most dangerous zone, likely to receive the better half of the fallout from the collision. The moderate risk zone extended all the way to just outside of Tel Uvirith. “How big is that damned thing?”
She reached back to grab his arm, terrified by the scope of the data. “A hundred paces and a couple dozen all around, and more from top to bottom. This is a rough estimate, certainly, but I'd say it's close enough. I don't think my stronghold or the Erabenimsun camp will be in the worst of it, given the mountains in the area, but I will certainly keep up surveillance at all hours. We'd better send a message to Tel Branora. I think Felen Maryon will listen to us if Therana and her lot won't.”
“If Therana can manage to think at all,” he agreed ruefully. “If we send this to Fyr and get a second opinion on it, maybe to Baladas, it would serve our claim a bit more.”
“A good plan. I said I'd send Saryoni a copy of it as soon as I had an estimate. Could you send it off with your signature on it?”
He gave her a puzzled glance. “You said you would send it, though, didn't you? Why should it come from me?”
She scoffed lightly as she backed away from the desk. “I think having it come from one of his own kind will make it less unsettling.”
Aryon couldn't think of what to say about that, knowing she was probably right. It also made him wonder just what had happened at the Temple canton today. She clearly didn't want to talk about it, and he let it go with a smile. “Alright, I'm sure you're anxious to check on Savari. I'll send off a copy.” When she left, though, he not only included a copy of the map, but a note commenting that Saryoni ought to take a closer look at his often-spoken seven graces, and consider whether he was following them. He magically set off the note with a huff, soon joining Laje-tal in the main sitting room. Within, however, he also found a very dirty Ceykynd and Savari both getting ashy mud and soil all over the previously clean floor. Laje-tal looked on, aghast.
“Gods above, what have you two gotten into?” She gathered the girls both together, grabbing a scrap of cloth from her pocket to wipe their faces. They both looked like they had joined Han-kur in the mud, but she wasn't about to get cross with them. They were both well enough to play and get dirty. That wouldn't stop them from getting a talking to, though. “I don't mind you playing outside, but try not to get the Tel dirty, alright? You wouldn't want to clean up all of that dirt you tracked in, now would you? Come on, let's get you two washed up.”
Chuckling, Aryon joined in to help her drag the now struggling girls up to the washroom, the task only somewhat clouded by the lingering knowledge of what was soon to come. How many years, months, days did they have left before the conduit failed? When would the mountain erupt? How long would it be before Tel Uvirith was gone, and times like this could never happen again? He tried not to think about it, knowing they were witnessing the last quiet years in Vvardenfell.
Chapter Text
Aryon winced as a stinging salve was rubbed into the fresh cuts on his arm, Tenvaril doing his best to keep the pain minimal with magic. Every last Argonian left in the province was on the verge of violence, and now, Laje-tal was no longer an exception, even with the help of her amulet. During an otherwise normal training session, she had finally lost control and attacked him in earnest. Thankfully Aryon wasn't one to be trifled with either, and he readily exploited her lack of magic to subdue her with a sleep spell. Eddie now watched her closely, waiting for any sign of her waking, while the aftermath was cleaned up.
“It's a good thing you've trained together so often these past few years,” Tenvaril stated, carefully securing a long, bleached bandage. “I don't think it would have ended so quickly otherwise.”
“I know.” His head ached, the open wounds searing with pain as the salve worked its way in deep. He knew all too well how things would have gone if he had been inexperienced. “What are we going to do? If she doesn't come around, what will we do with her? We can't keep her locked up forever.”
“It would be unfortunate, but it might be necessary,” he said with a frown. “If it comes down to it, she will have to be removed from the area so she can't hurt anyone. We may be forced to minimize our losses.”
Aryon knew this had been a possibility all along, but it still pained him to even consider it. The past few years had been nearly idyllic. Their respective strongholds had grown extremely prosperous under their shared management. People flocked to live in Tel Vos, though moving on to Tel Uvirith was highly discouraged due to the types of people already living there. Still, even Tel Uvirith had acquired a few individuals who didn't mind their neighbors or who their coin came from, and that Tel, too, had needed expansion. Savari had turned into a very active, rambunctious child and while she drove everyone out of their wits with her constant questions, she was well loved by everyone in the Tel. Having any amount of time to spend with both of them had been hard enough to manage, and now Laje-tal might have to be kept captive like a rabid animal. He rested his head in his good hand, groaning wearily. “What does the damned Hist want with her, anyway? Shouldn't it have given up by now?”
“The Hist is difficult to explain, and even more difficult to understand,” Tenvaril mused, reaching for a bottle of clear distilled water to wash up. “Only Argonians can commune with it without a torrent of adverse after-effects. Believe me, I tried,” he added with a chuckle. “Worst headache I ever had, but it was worth it for what I learned from it. The Hist is ancient and wise, but can do nothing for itself as it resides within the trees. For some Argonians, their only duty in life is to tend the trees. It's completely reliant on others to care for it, and will frequently summon nearby Argonians if it requires anything. Whether those Argonians are indisposed or unwilling doesn't factor into what little judgment it has. That's why regularly communing has been working for the Argonians left abroad. The Argonians have a far better understanding of the world and its ways, and can explain why they do as they do. While the Hist can guide them well, it doesn't understand the concept of free will and why its children would stray from the collective. Strangely, it seemed just as interested in me as I was in it, when I tried communing.”
“I've heard it can be quite the experience. What was it like?”
“It's very much like when you share a magical spell with someone else and the two types of magicka weave together. Instead of just one other and mine, though, there were thousands upon thousands of magics interwoven together. I suspect I was not sensing just the Hist, but the many Argonians intrinsically linked to it. When it calls, the call is always heeded by those near it, like the obedient children they are. It certainly doesn't need her, but it probably can't understand why she is not answering. That may be why it tries so much harder to reach her.”
He hummed acknowledgment, curious as he often was about Tenvaril's apparently numerous and prolonged visits to Black Marsh. From what he understood, the marsh was a very treacherous place for anyone who wasn't an Argonian. Still, as well-liked as the Lamps agents were, he would have had a few volunteers to keep him from disaster. “Strange, how you turned out to be the expert on Argonians I've been looking for all this time. You were even crazy enough to try to commune with the Hist. Too bad you couldn't see any of it.”
“I suspect that is largely why I was allowed as far in as I was at all. I couldn't accidentally see anything I was not supposed to see, and I had to rely on my guides at all times. They allowed me to try to commune because we wanted to know what effect it would have on me, and whether I would be granted any degree of sight through visions like blinded Argonians often have. I wasn't, but I was able to gain information all the same.”
With a sigh, he glanced back at Laje-tal's bedroom. “Do you really think trying to commune would be as harmful for her as Smokeskin and Han-kur think it would be?”
By now Tenvaril had finished all that needed to be done for Aryon's injuries, and carefully set all of his paraphernalia back in its place. “I suppose there is no way to really know unless she tries it. At this rate, it's anyone's guess, but it could very well cause as much harm as good. If that amulet gets lost or breaks, she could burn this whole place to the ground and then some. Her performance on the battlefield was notoriously gruesome, as I'm sure you recall.”
“Don't remind me,” he grumbled. “Maybe it'll be alright if you're present. Since you've done it before, there would be no reason to keep you from it. Esther, too, since she's seen it several times already. Smokeskin may have a bit of talent with magic, but he wouldn't be enough.” He perked up when he suddenly heard someone running through the halls, and spotted Savari pelting towards him at top speed, rushing to cling to his leg, tears in her eyes. She was supposed to be in bed, but he didn't chide her once he saw how distraught she was. Instead he picked her up, minding his injured arm as he held her. “There now, what's wrong dear one?”
She shivered in her little sleeping dress, wiping tears from her face. “I had a bad dream. There were monsters outside.”
He saw Tenvaril frown out of the corner of his eye, subtly listening in on them. “Monsters here?”
Her tousled hair bobbed as she shook her head emphatically, gripping his robes. “Other place.”
“Monsters in Tel Vos?” When she nodded, he tensed. Ashlander women were very sensitive to their surroundings, and were often granted visions and warnings. Despite her young age, it seemed like she too was granted the same foresight. “What kind of monsters?”
She stretched her arms wide, waving them about. “Big dark men with horns, and scary lizards.”
“Lizards?” He supposed the lizards would be clannfears, but he had to be sure. “Not like Argonians, right?”
Her brow twisted in a frown as she tried to remember. “Not lizard people. They came out of two big dark rocks with holes in them, and the holes were on fire.” The courage she had summoned up to describe the scene was quickly gone, and she curled up in his arms. “I'm scared, Papa.”
Aryon about panicked, a chill shock running though his gut. Since when was he considered her father? He knew, just as everyone in the Tel did, that Savari would quickly forget her real family, as young as she had been orphaned, but he hadn't been prepared to be thought of like a father so soon. At a loss, he decided to not confuse her any further, holding her close and patting her back. “It's alright to be scared. Most people are scared of monsters, even if they don't say it. Everyone here and at Tel Vos is doing their best to keep the monsters away, though, so we can all get some rest. Come now, let's get you back to bed.”
With only a little fuss, Savari was soon put back to bed, and he returned to find Tenvaril meticulously sorting various other items. When he entered, Tenvaril turned his way, giving him what he understood to be the man's version of a curious glance. “Papa, hm?”
“Oh hush, you know she thinks Eddie is her uncle!” As much as he wanted to shrug it off, though, his concerns were still there, out in the open. “I don't know what to do. I'm not her father. I know we agreed to take care of her, and I will, but can I really do this? I barely knew my own father, what am I supposed to do? Gods, what about Laje-tal? What if we have to put her away, and Savari has to lose a mother figure all over again? Blast it, we're not even married! What sort of insane life have we put this poor girl in?”
Tenvaril urged him to sit down, taking a seat himself. “Just asking that question shows you care enough about her to have her best interests in mind. Sometimes you don't have to be the best father out there, you just have to love your child enough to do what you feel is best. I wouldn't be alive if my father hadn't had a soft heart. It was and sometimes still is a practice on the Isles to kill imperfect children, and my father went to great lengths to take me from my mother and find someone else to care for me. She is... very traditional. My adoptive mother didn't want to tell me, but my father and I regained contact and I found out what happened from him during our visits.”
“I had no idea,” he said quietly. Many people whispered about the strange practices of the deceptively beautiful Summerset Isles, but he hadn't known parents would brutally cull children they deemed to be imperfect. “I suppose you're right. All I can do is try to do what's best. Still, what about Laje-tal?”
“She's a strong woman, but the Hist is also very strong. I wish we could do something to help her, but we can't get into her head like it can.”
“Get into her head...” Slowly, he sighed, not having the faintest notion of how anyone could reach her now. She was so deep in her madness, not a single word got through. “I'll go check on her.”
A small lamp glowed in the corner of Laje-tal's bedroom, other lights out or dimmed for the night hours. Eddie stood vigilant nearby, watching nervously as she moved in her sleep. She wasn't restrained, which was at least somewhat encouraging. If they could keep her manageable, she could at least be kept in the Tel until the problems passed. Eddie caught sight of him and frowned. “No change, but at least that isn't worse. Hate to suggest it, but she might just have to try to commune.”
“That's what we were thinking. Do you think it could be harmful to her?”
He regarded Laje-tal thoughtfully, scratching at his head. “I really don't know. Granted, it would be overwhelming for someone as altered as she is, but it may just be the price she'd have to pay to get things back to normal. You know as well as I do that she was ready to pay it.”
“That's true.” He approached the bed and sat nearby, placing a hand on her brow. On reflex she growled, still asleep but clearly having some awareness of what was happening. Her skin was hot to the touch, her breath coming raggedly. She started muttering in Jel, and while he caught a few words, he didn't know enough to understand it.
“She's describing the walls of Stormhold,” Eddie supplied. She went on, and he sighed in aggravation. “It doesn't seem all that relevant, but I can write it down for later anyway.”
Aryon lingered only long enough to take her hand, feeling the press of her moon and star ring against his skin. “I suppose we might as well enact the contingency.” He rose, ready to take charge of the Tel. While most residents generally took care of themselves, Laje-tal always felt it was a good practice to still make occasional rounds at night and confirm all was well. It had kept her informed, and he saw no reason to neglect it. “I'll make the rounds tonight. Why don't you take down whatever she says and see if any of it should be considered.”
“Right. Esther is meeting with a few vampires tonight, one from each clan. She can handle it. Ceykynd is on her first night watch tonight, accompanied of course. She's got quite the knack for the bow.”
“Almost forgot about that. I'd better check on her first.” He exited the Tel into the hot night air, the summers in Tel Uvirith made hotter by its proximity to the lava-filled foyada. The intense humidity immediately made him sweat, and he quickened his pace to head up to the nearby watch tower. The overgrown tendrils of the Tel made for a rather strange set of stairs leading up, but by now everyone was used to navigating the irregular mess. Atop the tower, watching and waiting, Orinarion stood ready with his bow, the persistently quiet young Argonian by his side. Even now, Ceykynd said very little, but she had improved more than had been hoped. She gestured down to the ground, pointing to the vampires meeting below.
“Pale-skins are here,” she said in a whisper.
Aryon peered down below, sighting the Nord, Altmer, and Imperial vampires representing each of their clans, Esther catching the attention of each of them. He was still curious about how the clans respected her so greatly. Most clan members barely made time for other vampires at all, even within their own clans. “Hm, she's managing well, it seems.”
Beside him, Orinarion nodded. “If they won't listen to her, they won't listen to anyone. No vampire ignores a pure-blood elder like her without being a complete idiot.”
He hummed agreement, everything suddenly making sense. If Esther was a pure-blooded vampire, she had not been turned by receiving the gift from another vampire, but rather from the daedric prince Molag Bal himself. In their culture, she was the equivalent of nobility. Her apparent age and experience also made it nearly a requirement to defer to her. “I'll let her be. I think you two have things under control,” he added with a smile for Ceykynd. The girl's scales had paled to a lustrous, opalescent white, standing out in all but the darkest surroundings. Even now she stuck out, her quiet regard easy to see.
“They're angry.”
Below, he could indeed see the scowls on each leader, arms crossing and uncrossing nervously, their words inaudible but their gestures clear and anxious. “They have just as much at stake in this as we do if and when the daedra come. Esther is right; they need to put aside their differences and work with each other and us. They can be as angry as they want, it won't change the truth. If everyone dies, they starve.” He backed away from the ledge, giving Ceykynd a slight pat on her back. “Keep an eye on them, alright? I'll go check on the others.”
For the next hour, Aryon inspected armor, checked supplies, and took a list of requests from residents. A few looked at him strangely, knowing he rarely did the nightly rounds. He knew he couldn't tell most of them what had really happened. Some were fairly new to the Tel, still unsure of their Argonian Arch-Magister, and would be doubly unsettled if they knew she had been overcome by the Hist. One by one, he alleviated their concerns, telling them that Laje-tal had been called away to Mournhold on short notice and left him in charge temporarily. As everyone knew she still occasionally did some work for the queen, it was the most likely excuse he could think of, and one everyone accepted without pause.
At last, he returned inside for the night, satisfied that all was as well as could be. Laje-tal remained unchanged in her condition, though she seemed somewhat quieter than when he had left. Eddie readily left his post, looking just a little optimistic. “Might be sleeping for real now, probably tired herself out with all of that fighting she did. You think you'll want to stay in here, or should we move her to the dungeon?”
“Better safe than sorry, I suppose. I hate to do it, but I'll go ahead and move her. Could you go on ahead and make sure the halls are clear?”
“I can,” he said agreeably, his worried frown turning to Laje-tal. “Just take care of her, alright?”
Aryon didn't hesitate to clap him on the shoulder, a determined fire in his eyes. “You have my word.”
His word, however, would be sorely tested in the weeks that followed. Each day was the same, meals brought to Laje-tal by Han-kur, her fellow Argonians the only ones she didn't snarl at. Some prying individuals had noticed she was not in Mournhold after all, and questioning whispers spread like wildfire. Under pressure, Aryon finally made up a rather convoluted but plausible story of how she had been sent on an expedition to Akavir, one place he knew nobody in their right mind would go looking for her. It took care of the curious nuisances, but not the unending duties of an Arch-Magister. Aryon already had enough to take care of with his own lands, and her habit of frequently traveling to meet with important members of multiple factions was unsustainable even with Eddie taking up most of those assignments.
Along with the long list of things to do, Smokeskin and Han-kur both maintained that Laje-tal should not try to commune with the Hist as they did, since she was just as likely to become even more violent as not. They would be playing with too many unknowns, the largest of which being a very dangerous mage with an equally volatile problem of gaining excess magicka. Out of desperation, they had slipped a ring on her finger that had the same enchantment of a slave bracer, slowly draining her magicka to a low level and leaving her with little more than her claws and horns to harm anyone. The only hint that there was anything still left of her in that raging shell was on the few nights she slept uninterrupted, soundly resting on her bed in the dungeon as if nothing had happened. There didn't seem to be an end to it, every single day just the same as the last.
One morning, though, Aryon woke to see Laje-tal at her small bedroom desk, writing down something quickly. She had no noticeable trace left of the mad fog that had plagued her, her eyes clear and focused. It was so unexpected he thought any moment now, he would wake up from this strange dream to return to reality. Eventually she noticed him watching, but shook her head. “I need to write this down before I forget it.”
He rose at once, coming behind her to look at her writings, hands tight on her shoulders. Things seemed real enough, from the scratch of her pen to the light of the nearby flickering lamp, but he was still mentally on guard. “Are you alright?” His voice sounded hoarse even to himself.
“I had quite the night, but I'm well enough. It was just one nightmare after the next, each crazier than the last! You must have hit me harder than I realized during our spar yesterday, I was straight out for the whole night.”
Frozen where he was, he took a long moment to respond. Did she really think only one night had passed, and that she had merely been knocked out? Didn't she remember any of it? “Yesterday?” He moved to face her fully, the worn, haggard look in his eyes as plain as the overgrown stubble on his face. The many weeks of managing both towers had taken its toll. “Do you think that was only yesterday?”
Laje-tal took in his shadowed eyes, his rough face, the worry and helplessness aging him in an instant. Her eyes widened as she rose, holding on fast to his arms. “Aryon, what happened? How long was I out? Gods, is Savari alright?”
Without warning he pulled her in, holding on so tight she tensed, the weight of the past months lifting as he realized he wasn't dreaming. “You're finally back. I thought you'd never make it out of that madness. Savari is fine, she's been driving all of us crazy,” he added with a smile, his voice wavering in relief. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, yes, I'm fine.” She brushed the tangled hair back from his eyes, wondering when it had gotten longer. He looked so tired, like the weight of the world had been on his shoulders. “What's going on?”
“It's been months,” he explained, frowning when she stilled in his grip. “When we sparred, you attacked me like you were trying to kill me, and I managed to get you with a sleep spell. You were lost to the Hist for almost three months. After the second month I'd nearly been ready to give up and consolidate our towers. We enchanted a ring to drain your magicka, and I'm sorry to say we kept you in the dungeon. I didn't want to have to treat you that way, but we had no choice. Eddie and I split your work as best as we could between us, but some things had to be left undone. I hope you can forgive us for letting some appointments go.”
“Forgive you! Of course I forgive you,” she said quietly, trying to ease his concern while she overcame what she had learned. For months, she had been so far out of her mind she hadn't even perceived time, all of it seeming like one long, ongoing nightmare. “I should be more worried about you forgiving me. I'm so sorry for this.” He looked ready to deny her apology, so she cut him off with a kiss. “I know it wasn't my choice, but I am still sorry. I must have put all of you through a terrible amount of trouble, you look exhausted. Why don't you rest and let me take care of things today.”
“Not a chance. If you had even the faintest idea of what happened last night, you'd keep yourself in here until we can be sure you won't start up again. We've narrowly avoided disaster too many times. If you're willing, it would...” Hesitating, he gestured out the door. “It would be best if you stay in the dungeon again today.”
The gravity of what happened hadn't entirely hit, so many details left to guessing. What had she been doing? Who had been involved? Did she hurt someone, or worse? “Aryon, what happened last night?”
A grim frown overcame him as he avoided her gaze, looking at the desk, the walls, the decorative plants and wall hangings. Anything to distract himself from the weeks of their collective anxiety. “It was horrible. We finally got desperate enough to try to let you commune with the Hist. Han-kur thought if we did a very plain ceremony, a small one used for newborn Argonian children to be introduced to the Hist, it would be alright. It went wrong so quickly, I don't know where it began. The cavern we used near here is in complete ruin, your amulet and magic draining ring both burst at once and you blasted the whole place apart! You certainly gave us the challenge of our lives, but nobody was badly hurt. At one point you just stopped, and fell to the ground. We brought you up here so I could watch over you, and I cast a strong sleep spell to get you through the night. If there hadn't been so many of us, I don't know what would have happened.”
“Was that what that last dream was about?” She pulled him close, feeling him sag into her embrace. He seemed so tired, so shaken by all that had happened, and she'd never realized during that long series of dreams that some parts of her nightmares had taken place. So much of it now made sense, but the final one still lingered. Easing him down to sit on the bed, sitting beside him, she held his shaking hands. “In that last dream, I saw Nerevar. He was there beside me, sword and shield in hand, slashing this way and that at a horde of encroaching plants. I couldn't move, too focused on fighting the creatures before me, and suddenly he grabbed my horns and turned me about. He pushed me out of the dream, and then I was there, looking at you just before I blacked out. When I woke, I was here. It may be that Nerevar was fighting off the Hist for me.”
“If he is, I certainly welcome the break. We were all so worried you'd never come out of it.” Exhaustion overcame him and he lay back on the bed, knowing he ought to prepare for the day, eat something, but he just couldn't muster the energy anymore. With the imminent threat of danger past, every last shred of adrenaline that had been keeping him going was simply gone. “Eddie is going to meet with Dratha this afternoon. If you're careful, you can go find Esther and see if she can settle you somewhere. Maybe the dungeon isn't necessary, but someone we can trust needs to watch you. Everyone else thinks you're off in Akavir, we can't have you be seen.” He managed a smile at her confused look. “People went looking for you when they thought you were in Mournhold.”
“I will be careful,” she promised, giving him a brief kiss before rising to prepare for the day. “I will find Esther right away and see what she thinks is best. Oh, I feel terrible about this. I know I couldn't have done anything to stop it, but I can't shake that feeling.” Logically, though, it had been inevitable. At least there hadn't been any serious injuries. “I hope Eddie has been handling Dratha well enough.”
Regaining some of his humor, Aryon huffed. “Only if he doesn't bring Tenvaril with him. Even blind and clearly uninterested, that man has a face that can turn the heads of nearly every one of Dratha's ladies. He caused so much distraction he's banned from Tel Mora barring emergencies. His father is visiting right now anyway, so he won't be going anywhere. If you need him, he'll be available.”
“His father is here? Oh that poor man, I wonder what he had to do this time to get away from the Isles. Every single time is a trial, making excuses and stories. I don't know why he doesn't just leave that dratted woman.” She glanced at him over her shoulder as she secured her outer robes around herself. “I suppose I haven't made things all that easy for you, either!”
“Bah. If I wanted easy, I had any number of Telvanni daughters waiting in line to comfort me in my hour of need,” he said with a laugh. It was good, he thought, to finally have something to laugh about. “Esther did us a favor and chased off most of the ones who came wandering by.”
“Hah, I'm sure all she had to do was bare her fangs.” Finished preparing, she hesitated to leave, her long absence slowly creeping up on her as she realized how much time was lost. In the long view, it wasn't much time at all, but so much had been scheduled during these past months. “I must have missed so many things. Damn, I was going to call on the Khajiit ambassadors, and that band from the marsh! What about that missive from the Imperial City? Oh, and the Ashlanders!”
“Relax,” he urged, not wanting to get her overly worked up. No sense taking chances. “We took care of everything that seemed most important, in the way we figured you would have done it. The Khajiit and Argonian ambassadors have agreed to meet with me in Mournhold, and will be there in a couple weeks. They're ready with their proposals to end slavery in the mainland. If you're well enough by then, I'd appreciate you being there as well. I kept your friend in the Imperial City well supplied with whatever information, books, or other such things she asked after, and we've obtained details about the rise of the Mythic Dawn cult out there. As far as the Ashlanders, your scout returned with an answer. Nibani said no. I don't know what the question was, but she was firm about her answer.”
At once, her features fell into a mix of quiet acceptance and sadness, her scaled brow drawn as she thought it over. Honestly, what did she expect? The Ashlanders were still wary of her even now, and many certainly did not want an Argonian as the Nerevarine, never mind that she had succeeded. She had asked too much, and the answer was expected. Still, that knowledge barely took the sting out of the blow. “I see. I thought as much.”
Aryon knew that look in her eyes all too well. Whatever she had asked about, it meant a great deal to her. He mustered the energy to sit up, watching her intently. “What did you ask her?”
“Oh, it doesn't really matter anymore, I suppose. I shouldn't have asked in the first place. It's nothing.”
He didn't believe her when she said it was nothing. She could smile that fake smile, but he knew better. With some effort he rose to stand before her, hands on her face while he looked her squarely in the eye. “Why can't you tell me about it?”
She smiled a small but genuine smile, facing him resolutely. “I just don't find it relevant now, after everything that's happened. I only asked her if she'd be willing to officiate a marriage. Now, though, I don't think that would be such a good idea. After what I did, it wouldn't be safe to even be around me. You might want to go back to Tel Vos where you'll be safe.”
“Don't be ridiculous,” he said quietly, pulling her into a brief but passionate kiss. “You know me better than that. I'm not going to just do what's safe and leave you here. I had every chance there was to leave and be done with it, but I'm still here. Maybe I'm too damned stubborn, but I'm not going anywhere.”
“Neither am I, if I can help it.” From the corner of her mind, she could sense the familiar presence of Nerevar, the faintest tinge of thoughts that weren't hers floating to the surface. He was curious and watchful, looking for any signs of regression, but at the same time he seemed puzzled. Aside from the one time he had surfaced during the battle with Dagoth Ur, he had never been close enough to her thoughts to be aware of Aryon, much less know what had been going on. She didn't push him away, as had always been her first instinct, but instead sent him a brief thanks, understanding now that he had indeed ended her turmoil with the Hist. When she was kissed again, though, Nerevar was still very much there, though he soon departed as quickly as he came. Relieved, she returned the kiss as ardently as she dared, only the many tasks laying ahead moving her to end it earlier than she wanted. “If you keep that up, neither of us will get anything done before breakfast.”
“Hm, well you know me,” he said with a roguish grin, “I hate working on an empty stomach.”
She smiled into another kiss, not caring one bit that he was undoing all of her work dressing.
In the cover of thick shade on Esther's balcony, Laje-tal carefully observed the happenings around her Tel, Esther by her side. Below, she could see Eddie and Tenvaril conversing with Tenvaril's father, a man she had met only a few times. Aroniel and Tenvaril looked nearly identical, the resemblance was so close, only their obvious age difference, clothing, and Tenvaril's blindness separating them. She tilted her head curiously, wondering what he was up to this time.
“It's strange,” she mused, her tail tapping the wall behind her in thought. “I understand why he is here now, with the blight gone and all, but you say he's researching the mountain? What could he want to find out there? I know firsthand that there's little left to see.”
Esther frowned, her otherwise impassive gaze locked on the group below. “Red Mountain is one of the towers. Knowing the Altmer, they would have a vested interest in knowing this tower has been deactivated. Your severing of the heart of Lorkhan's power would have certainly done that.”
“Hm, that old theory?” For years, scholars knew about how the many towers across Tamriel had a connection with the world around them. Whether it was the man-made white-gold tower or the gods-created Vvardenfell, each province had its own creation that was said to be connected to the very fabric of reality itself. “Right, they believe deactivating the towers will cause reality to cease. Would that really happen, I wonder? How can they be sure it would?”
Esther only shrugged. “Can we be sure of anything, including reality? Do you think he's up to something?”
“Him? Oh, no, not him. Anyone he reports to, though... Well, let's be careful about what we tell him. Let's not tell him I'm the Nerevarine, or anything about Kagrenac and the heart of Lorkhan. He's too trusting for his own good, and could easily put the wrong information into the wrong hands. He can peruse the library and find out anything anyone else already knows.” A faint presence lurked at the back of her mind, and she knew Nerevar was looking in on her. She tolerated it with only a hint of irritation, his hourly prodding starting to become obnoxious. It was all that kept her from the dungeon, and she endured it. When he retreated at the sight of Esther, strong recognition passing their link, she jolted back with a start.
While she remained outwardly calm, Esther's sharp red eyes narrowed. “Is the Hist back?”
Laje-tal shook her head, giving her friend a scrutinizing glance, wondering yet again just how old she was. “It seems Nerevar remembers you.”
For a long moment, she said nothing, looking away towards the distant shore. Withdrawn, she spoke quietly. “I was turned a couple decades before the founding of Daggerfall. I knew him, back then. He was... a good person. He was one of the few people who would talk to me instead of try to kill me. We met now and then, and I suppose I would have called him a friend. I think he was glad to have an ally in the dark part of the world I come from. Nobody could have saved him from his choices, though.” She looked back at Laje-tal, the span of her years telling in the shadowed cast of her frown. “Maybe if things had been different back then, Nerevar could have had what he wanted.” Casting her gaze down below, she nodded at Tenvaril. “Hulkynd children were always killed back then, and men were very discouraged from taking another man instead of a woman. It was always about the clan, about creating the bloodline. I wonder how he sees things now.”
She grumbled. “What are you talking about?”
Esther only gave her a long, piercing glance. “He might tell you, if he wants to. You've been pushing him away, haven't you?”
Chuckling, Laje-tal shot her a grin, her thoughts too muddled to press her for more information. “Wouldn't you want to push away someone who was in your head? When I first felt him there, I was terrified. I think he sensed my fear, and he stayed buried for years. Now, well... he knows what I've been doing all this time. I don't know what mortified him more, me being the Arch-Magister, my Tel being full of castoff Altmer, or me being with Aryon. Hah, wait until he sees Savari!”
At the ground level, Aryon had come out as well, discussing something with Eddie neither of them heard. Esther shook her head at him with a glimmer of a smile. “That idiot really loves you, you know.”
“I know,” she said with a fond smile directed down at him, knowing just how fortunate she was. “He's been working so hard while I've been out, trying to keep everything moving. The Khajiit and Argonian ambassadors were scheduled, Dratha received her Dwemer constructs, all contracts filled, and there's even a new house here, all while I was raging like a monster. Damn but I wish I could marry that man!”
“The Ashlanders said no, I assume.”
“They did. I understand why, of course, being what I am. I've been officially refused by every method I can think of, now. It almost feels like an achievement!”
Esther only shrugged. “I don't know what else one could expect. I really don't understand why you need to bother with it, though. It's clear he'd go to Oblivion and back for you.”
“He would, wouldn't he? Well, the feeling is mutual. I don't need some silly ceremony to tell me that. It's nice, though, to make things official and be recognized.”
She regarded her friend with a bit of tolerant consternation. “Then make it official. I don't see a need to do anything more. Everyone here knows where you both stand. What else matters?”
Encouraged, she smiled, finally feeling somewhat reassured by her direct manner. “I suppose you're right.”
“Of course I am,” she said with a hint of levity. “Still, who wants to be anywhere near a temple right now? Especially Tel Vos, what with Yakin still prowling around looking for trouble. That ingrate loves to stir the pot.”
Scowling at even the thought of the man, Laje-tal fidgeted. While he had threatened to leave many times now, he had belligerently decided to stay each time for some unknown reason. “True. He just refuses to leave! I've tried to keep the peace but he just keeps provoking everyone he sees.”
Just then, Smokeskin came onto the balcony, one arm in a sling and the other bandaged to the elbow. He grinned at Laje-tal's horrified look, confirming her suspicions. “You did quite a number on us, but don't worry, I'll be alright. It's just a sprain and a few scrapes. Han-Kur's collar bone is fractured, but he'll heal in a few weeks. The question now, though, is are you going to be alright?”
“I hope so,” she said quietly, looking at the extent of his injuries. Esther sported more than a few scratches herself, she now noticed, from the bandages peeking out from under her long sleeves. “I hardly hear the Hist anymore, or it's barely a whisper when I do. It may sound crazy, but I think Nerevar somehow cut off my access to it. Not completely, but enough to keep it from influencing me.”
“Really?” Baffled, Smokeskin couldn't keep the disbelief at bay. While he had accepted her role in ending Dagoth Ur, the idea of her hosting another fully sentient soul within her was beyond his understanding. He was glad to accept whatever had returned her to normal, though, and set his confusion aside. “Well, it worked, I suppose. It seems like the Hist has eased up on the rest of us, too. It's been lessening by the day for the past week. By the first egg, it's been such a relief to get a good night's sleep at last!”
“I wonder if that means it's going to happen soon.”
“Maybe. I hope one of the Argonians in that group of ambassadors happens to be a shaman. They're about the only ones who can begin to interpret the Hist.”
On that front, at least, she had some good news. “Yes, there is one. The Khajiit also have an Alfiq mage who is quite the seer. They will all be in Mournhold in a couple weeks and if I can, I'll be there to offer support.” The thought made her anxious, her tail taking up its tapping behind her as she faced Esther. “Well, do I pass? Can I go see Savari?”
Esther rarely laughed, but did slightly at her eagerness. “You seem as well as anyone could hope for. I think it's safe enough for you to return. Go ahead, she's down in the library learning to read with one of the maids.” Laje-tal didn't need to hear any more, and left Esther's tower as soon as she thanked them. Amused, she turned to Smokeskin with a smile. Whatever she had been about to say was silenced when he leaned forward and kissed her.
He grinned down at her slightly put off glance. “You're too tempting when you smile like that.”
Outwardly she only scoffed, but inside, she was conflicted. Their casual arrangement had started to become too personal over the past months, something she wasn't sure she could abide. Anything resembling a relationship was out of the question, especially with a mortal. He would all too quickly be dead and gone just like all the rest. “Don't play with fire, child,” she said with a hint of scorn, hoping it would put him at a safer distance. As always, though, he took her abrasiveness with good humor.
“A bit too late for that, hm?”
He made quite the picture, standing coyly at just the right angle to make his scales glimmer in the morning sun, but the harsh realities of life and death cooled any warmth there might have been in her. He was right; it was too late to completely back away as if it was nothing. She turned away, arms crossed, head lowered. “Get out.” There was no mistaking her tone, her stance like a wall warding him off. Smokeskin had no idea what he'd done, but he knew her well enough now to understand when she meant it. Silently, he withdrew from her tower, slipping out as smoothly as he would from the waters. It should have felt better, to be alone, yet Esther felt his absence as keenly as she felt all of the others she'd been foolish enough to grow fond of. She had to stop this before it went anywhere. No matter how much time passed, it never got easier.
Down in the musty, dim tomb of Tel Vos, Laje-tal tried to quiet the squirming girl in her arms. “Hush now, if we're too noisy, cranky old Yakin will hear us!” Savari stopped squirming, but barely grew quieter.
“Why are there so many bones here?”
“Because there are a lot of people buried here. You'd better talk quietly or I'll send you out to your uncle right now!” That seemed to work, and the girl continued in a quiet whisper.
“How many are there?”
She had often wondered that as well, and despite having counted the visible skulls, she couldn't be completely sure how many there were. “I don't know, but it must be quite a few. Here, we need to let your family know you're thinking of them.” Carefully, she lit a candle and set it at the nearby shrine, taking out a scrap of paper to write a note. Savari's tribe had been burned soon after the incident, as per tradition, but their ashes couldn't be integrated into any shrine, the ways of Ashlanders still seen as a moral aberration. Laje-tal found it unfortunate, but was glad there was at least something she could let Savari do to honor her family now that she was old enough to start learning.
“I'm hungry.”
“Hah, you're always hungry. Alright, let's see if I packed you anything good.” She had learned to always bring a few snacks and drinks whenever Savari was with her, the ravenous girl often causing trouble by looking for scraps. She had never been irritated by the behavior, remembering how she had done much the same at that age to scrape out a living among equally hungry, competitive orphans. Out of her pack she handed over wrapped dried meats, nuts, and a small sweetbread. “Here, you can have this, but save some room for dinner, alright?” Savari nodded as she promptly stuffed the roll into her mouth, invoking a laugh from her bemused caretaker. “Easy now, not all at once!” She knew she'd be ignored, though, and from the agreement felt at the back of her mind, so did Nerevar. Yet again he was checking in on her, but this time he didn't seem completely out of sorts with all the odd things she'd gotten herself into. It was almost like he expected as much at this point.
“Who's that?” She pointed down at one of the many skulls littering the basin.
Truthfully, she didn't know anyone interred here. “I don't know. Most of the people here are from Aryon's family, but there are other people in this shrine right here.”
“Papa put them here?”
“Well, maybe. Some of these bones are much older than he is.” All of the questions were distracting her from her note writing, but she tolerated it with a smile. Savari drove everyone crazy with her questions, but just about any child her age did. “Here, why don't we say something nice about your mother in our note. What's the best thing you remember about her?” The girl looked blankly at the cairn, then back at her, seemingly unsure what to say. Laje-tal looked her over, concerned. “You remember, right? The lady who took care of you before I did?”
All she got in response was a stare. “What lady?”
“The family you had before I found you. Before the vampires attacked and you hid in that chest.”
A brief moment of recollection passed, but it was just as quickly gone. “I was hiding.”
“Is that all?” More silence met her question, and she pulled Savari close when the girl looked distressed. “It's alright, sometimes we can't remember things very well.” She discreetly wrote in the note what little she recalled of Savari's mother, brief as their interaction was, and left it at that. It seemed much of what Savari remembered had possibly been suppressed, or perhaps forgotten entirely, as a defense against the memory of her horrifically traumatic experience. It was too bad that the good memories of her true mother had to go with it.
A quiet rustle sounded as Eddie crept down into the tomb, keeping a close eye and ear out for anyone above. He met her with a conspiratorial grin, his voice hushed. “All clear up there. Gods, I'm glad Ten's father is here, that man could talk the paint off a post. He's got Yakin completely distracted asking questions about the Temple, you could be down here for hours and he wouldn't even know. Aryon is coming down. I can take Savari.” With a heavy pause, he grew serious, watching her closely. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She smiled, grateful for his unending concern. “I think so.”
Sighing, he took Savari while he gave her a quick embrace. “Just be sure of it. This is permanent.”
“I know.”
“Alright. Here. I've been meaning to give this to you for a while.” He handed over a vial on a string, a small bone couched inside. “The other Lamps recovered Lenassa's body, finally. She actually willed this to me, but I figured you might make more use of it. It's not much, but you can add it to the shrine and ask for her blessing.”
She took the vial carefully, keeping it close. “I don't think I could ever thank you enough for this. You're sure you don't want it?”
“What, add a bone from a Hlaalu Twin Lamps agent to a Telvanni family shrine?” He laughed. “Oh, well I guess that's what you'd be doing. Maybe you'd better keep it on you, instead. No sense annoying the ancestors even more than you're already going to do. No, I don't need it. Just use it well, and don't call on her unless you need to. That will be good enough.”
“I promise I won't unless it's necessary.” Once Eddie left, the tomb was as quiet as always, and she sat down on the rim of the small outer shrine, glancing at the bone through the vial. It was little more than a small finger bone, but the significance of it was far greater. No doubt a few choice bones had gone to some of the other Dunmer agents Lenassa favored most to add to their own family shrines, and the rest to her own ancestral tomb. It was an exceptionally generous gift, and one to never take lightly. “I hope it's alright that I take this, especially considering what I'm about to do. I could use your help.”
The following silence was reassuring. At the very least, the spirits of the dead had nothing to say about it. Just being able to be here, alone, without stirring up trouble was a good sign. It helped quell her worries a little, but she was still concerned over what was about to happen. Annoyed by the notion that not a soul wanted to officiate a marriage for them, she had jokingly suggested they could marry in secret, utilizing the tomb for the rites instead of the upper chambers. Aryon had taken the thought seriously, though, and agreed to it. It was a bit unorthodox, since using a tomb was a very old tradition few followed anymore, but it was considered acceptable. There was still the risk that the ancestors would outright attack them, however, and force them to stop.
She was a little surprised at how easily the decision to go through with this had been made. Despite her full life so far, she'd never even considered any other man, much less want to marry anyone. If anyone had told her ten years ago where she would be now, she never would have believed it. Even now it often didn't feel real. It was real, though, and she faced this decision as seriously as Aryon did.
While marriages did occasionally end in divorce, or sometimes maintained for convenience sake, it was still not to be taken lightly. The rites involved in the ceremony would bind her permanently to the family. Even if something happened, she would still be connected in some small way. While she was certain about where she stood, she would make sure Aryon was too.
A slight noise could be heard as Aryon soon made his way down the stairs, carrying a wrapped bundle in his arms. He seemed out of breath, his ashen skin flush with exertion. “I can't believe I put these damned things all the way up those stairs.” He approached her with an exhausted huff. “Never thought I'd need them.”
She reached for his nearby hand, looking at him intently. “We don't need to do this if you're having second thoughts.”
“I've already thought about it long enough,” he replied, returning her grip with a nervous smile. “If I haven't changed my mind after these past few years, it won't happen any time soon.” As he unwrapped the bundle he brought down, a mixture of worry and trepidation ran through him in spite of his determination. It was still possible this could go terribly wrong, but he tried to maintain some hope that it wouldn't. Laje-tal had been able to come and go in the tomb without a wraith manifesting, a sign that the departed souls had more or less accepted her presence. Accepting her as his ritual-bound wife, however, could be different. “This might not work, you know.”
“I know. Believe me, the risks of any given tomb were very thoroughly lectured on by everyone I've known.”
Her measured response was the reassurance he needed, and he finished removing the old ceremonial robes that had been handed down who knew how many generations. Everything he'd ever been taught was at war with him, telling him he shouldn't be doing this, but he fought off the notion as soon as it arose. For far too long, he'd done what made others happy, giving in to every little pressure and suggestion. If anyone in his family had ever finally been satisfied, they had only shown it with silent acceptance, just as quiet as the tomb was now. Laje-tal had driven him to think for himself for once, and right now he didn't want to cave in to the pressure yet again. “Here,” he said as he handed over one of the robes and led her to the central cairn. “It probably won't fit very well.”
“I'll be careful.” She took the gray robes gingerly, trying not to trouble any of the finely sewn, intricate embroidery on the borders. Thankfully there was no enclosed collar, so while it certainly didn't fit around her with her tail in the way, at least she didn't have to worry about snagging her horns on the fragile neck piece. She moved to sit in front of the central cairn across from him, getting the same eerie sensation of violating who knew how many traditions. Aryon looked tense, and she tried to ease him with a smile. “Gray sure isn't my color, is it?”
The tone did indeed clash with her umber scales, yet it still somehow looked fitting for the occasion. He tried to settle his nerves, feeling like they were being watched. Maybe it was just the threat of being found that made his skin quiver like this. From his pack he removed a few items, looking at her as he handed over a small red clay jar. “Do you know what to do?”
She took the familiar jar without pause. “I stood guard through dozens of these ceremonies in Mournhold. I can't say I miss having a flock of priests carrying on for ages.” She also never expected to be on this side of the event, tracing the customary markings on his face with wet volcanic ash and having the same done to hers. From memory she recited her side of the old litany, trying not to jump at every tiny sound heard outside. While there was no real threat to either of them, getting caught would definitely mean an abrupt end to things. Feeling a sense of urgency, she leaned closer, keeping an ear out for anything amiss.
Both of them froze when someone wandered down the stairs quickly, the man freezing the moment he saw them. They recognized him as one of the many farmers in the area, one who had the ashes of his family incorporated into the shared shrine. He was probably just coming down to visit, like many others. It took him a moment to move, unsure how to react to what he was seeing, but he slowly eased his stance with a smile. “Hah, about time you made an honest woman out of her. Don't mind me, I'll come back later. Kinda wondered why your friends were talking Yakin to death. You'd better hurry, he's been trying to get back in here.”
Laje-tal grinned at him in relief. “Thank you, Hlendres. I'll be at the harvest at the end of the week as promised.” With a polite nod the farmer left, only the faint flickering of a candle left in his wake.
Aryon looked after him, knowing their time was short. Tense and watchful, they hastily cast the last bit of magic, the continued silence of the tomb unnerving. Surely someone would object, wouldn't they? Why was nothing happening? Had his ancestors accepted the terms? Had his alteration to the rites been enough? From the corner of his eye, he watched for any sign of a wraith, to feel the pressure of paranormal energies, yet there was nothing at all save for the sounds above. It was very unexpected, but he wasn't about to complain.
The rites were finished just as a few voices could be heard above, and the arriving people were left with nothing to see. Laje-tal quickly recalled herself and Aryon back into the Tel library in a flash. Relieved, she let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, heart still pounding in her chest. “That was close.”
“I know. I can hardly believe that worked.”
She leaned close, trying to chase off the last of the anxiety. “Neither can I. Something seemed off in there. The magic was a bit different from what I recall. What did you do?”
“I altered the spell a bit,” he admitted. “Normally you would have been bound to my family as a whole, but I made it to myself specifically. I hoped that might be enough for my ancestors to allow it, since you would never be able to forcibly summon them on anyone's behalf but mine. You can ask for their aid, but they can refuse. It seems the compromise was acceptable.”
“A good move,” she agreed, tensing as someone approached from behind them. It was only one of the guards, though, and she turned to greet him. “Drelan, you nearly scared me half to death! How long have you been here?”
He had a conspiratorial smile, clearly having been waiting for this. “About an hour. Eddie figured you'd recall up here if something went wrong. I'm guessing you were caught at it?”
“It was finished by the time they came down.” She pointed a finger at him, amused by his involvement. “You were in on this!”
With a slight laugh he gestured outside. “And a few others, yes. Don't worry, we knew who we could trust. Here, let me take those robes back up. Easy, now.” The robes were delicately folded and placed in his care, and he returned them to the high loft in the services tower, leaving an uncertain silence in his wake.
Perplexed, Laje-tal looked to Aryon for an answer. “I've never seen any farther beyond the ceremony. What's next?”
His smile, warm and relaxed, only disappeared when he kissed her brow. “Now, we just need to stay together for as long as we can stand each other,” he replied, eyes closed as she reached for his face. Though her claws grazed against his skin, he didn't flinch, leaning into her touch gratefully. Years ago, he had been certain he could never love anyone again, after all that happened, and a small part of him sincerely hoped he hadn't made yet another mistake. That part went silent when she spoke.
“My vow remains the same. I am with you until the end.”
That, in and of itself, was all that needed to be said.
Chapter 20
Notes:
I have realized that I bungled not only my own timeline but the canon timeline of events so the date change on the previous chapter has been removed. While a LOT has happened, we're still in year 430. Whew! Sorry for the confusion. I'm certainly confused! More notes coming soon about things to come and I will also be editing past chapters for consistency.
Chapter Text
Thrumming wings and raucous activity were the daily backdrop to life in Port Telvannis, the political center of House Telvanni. Massive shimmering insects scudded overhead, ferrying travelers back and forth between the islands and mainland peninsula. Laje-tal felt like an interloper in this place, despite being here at the pleasure of the Arch-Magister of the province. She had requested a meeting to present the research on the moonlet, as his influence could tip the balance in petitioning the court for action. The way Aryon had spoken of the man, though, had given her pause. Vedram was said to not be a cruel man, but he was so focused on progress and prosperity that he freely interfered in the matters of other provinces if they failed to produce results. She would make absolutely sure he had no sound reason to cause any more trouble in her province.
Her clothing was decisively sparse, dressing in plain browns with her pants and sleeves bound firmly to her limbs, papers in a waterproof satchel. In an instant, she could dive into the ocean and blend into the muddy colors of the bottom until any pursuers gave up the chase. The only concession to decoration was a patch with her rank and location markings as well as her ever-present ring. Already standing out in the crowd as a free Argonian, her drab clothing only accentuated the separation amid the bright swirls of silks, hides, and molded chitin around her. Tantalizing smells from the food vendors on the streets wafted down the paths but she could not be tempted. There was business to attend to.
Intricate tangles of roots both decorated and supported the various homes and shops scattered about the city, larger growths denoting wealthy areas and public buildings. In the distance rose the enormous Tel that governed the province, followed by the cluster housing the Telvanni parliament responsible for handling laws and disputes that did not fall under local jurisdiction. Several rough-looking men stared at her as she passed, their clothing marking them as Council Club members. She was untouchable and they knew it, teeth gritting in anger as they caught sight of her rank and let her pass without incident. Her thoughts turned to the problem of the moonlet. A large section of Vvardenfell would be unlivable for who knew how long after the fall, and her authority to allow people to live on any amount of land only extended to her own lands. No, she would leave that up to the court. Helseth was a complete pain in the ass but he would actually know what to do.
The main hall of the central Tel was packed with people; numerous residents, workers, visitors, slaves, and just about anyone else she could think of meandered through the hub with purpose. Grand tapestries covered the walls, inlaid stones making the entire floor a mosaic with each color leading in a different direction. Clever, she thought. The different swirls of color were both decorative and a clear way for visitors to know which section of the Tel they were going into. Chandeliers shaped like trumpeting mushrooms lit the ceiling with magic-infused stones, glimmering with warm tones. The sheer expense of what this must have all cost was overwhelming, making her Tel look quaint by comparison. Quaint was preferable, in her opinion. All of these things to look at would make her dizzy if she had to see them every day. She steeled herself against the various floral scents and dazzling metals, waiting in line to meet with the receptionist. This place was sure to give her a headache.
Vedram Oran was a well-informed man, or at least so he thought. Most Telvanni itched to do his bidding in the hope of earning favor, and getting information was one of the easiest ways to do so. One subject had been consistently mysterious, however, and that was the new Arch-Magister of Vvardenfell. He had heard all of the usual things – her abnormal magic use, the fierce battle with Gothren, her sheer audacity – and of course what his cousin had reported. He still wasn't sure what to make of what she reported or if he even believed it. What little else he had heard was mixed but confirmed what he had suspected. It was clear she was strategic, staffing her Tel with the most frightful Altmer she could find from Summerset instead of low-ranking Telvanni who might start getting ideas. Tel Uvirith was extremely well fortified, a vampire clan and wide lava river guarding the southwest, mountains at its back, various guard towers, walls built to funnel invaders into traps, and even Dwemer automatons guarding the rest. Her magic was said to be wild, even violently explosive, but instead of quickly running out of magicka from the effort, she could keep it up for longer than most. She had often been dismissed as an exceptional illusionist, but illusions didn't kill Gothren.
Right now he was blatantly ignoring her as she entered his minimally appointed meeting room, waiting to see what she would do first while he continued to stare down at the large map of Vvardenfell he had laid out on the large table, stone markers laid on key sites in the province. A person's initial actions could speak volumes about their character. To his surprise she waited, standing at attention with the poise of a soldier, watchful but still. Finally he straightened, smoothing out his stark white robes and observing her quietly. Unlike so many pompous sons and daughters of someone important, flaunting their riches in his face, Laje-tal's clothing was so austere it bordered on severe. The only bright colors came from her natural facial markings and unwavering golden eyes, striking against her umber scales. In an instant he could tell that she meant business, which was refreshing after meeting with that blustering Spellwright from Necrom. “Arch-Magister Laje-tal, please come in.” Damn, but did that feel strange coming out of his mouth. An Argonian in the house was odd enough as it was. “Do close the door, that frippery in the hall distracts me.”
She entered without hesitation, quick to shut the door firmly. “The décor is so loud it nearly speaks to you, doesn't it?”
Of all the things he expected to come from the lizard's mouth, dry humor was not one of them. In theory he knew that intelligent Argonians existed, with some being in positions of some renown, but this was the first he had ever met. “It gives the gawkers something to gawk at and stay out of my business. I made a whole museum just to keep them busy. The courtiers and aristocrats love that sort of thing. Here. I took the liberty of setting up my personal map of your province and marked a few of the locations you mentioned in your letter. I must say, your message was something of a surprise. Why present Fyr's research to me?”
She began unpacking the projection maps and summary, clawed hands as steady as her tone. “The research is sound but House Indoril is contesting it. Archcanon Saryoni agrees with my points and the evidence, but the Temple and Indoril are so intertwined they have difficulty getting anything done when they disagree. Since Indoril is both their guard and patron House, the Temple risks having few defenses if they separate, plus other Houses and factions have a stake in the city as well, causing even more discordance. The only option is to go above the local factions, Houses, and crafts, and petition the court for an emergency override. King Helseth is willing to hear my petition if I can get sufficient proof that this threat goes above and beyond the management of local governance. Your approval would give enough support to the validity of my claim.”
For a moment he paused, not believing his ears. Her words were so far removed from the analogies and references of sane Argonians, never mind the mad ones currently foaming at the mouth in the slave pens. If not for what he saw, he could have mistaken her for one of his own people. Appearances could be deceiving, he reminded himself. If a person could smile and yet be willing to stab in the same instant, maybe there could be a sharp-minded reptile. “Well spoken. You must have been exceptionally educated, or perhaps of a noble family. Do Argonians have nobility in the marsh?”
Her scoff surprised him. “No, not exactly. They have tree-minders, nest tenders, clan leaders and wise ones, but they work differently from how we work. No, I am only an orphan of two mercenaries. I was taken in when I was younger and granted a tutor as part of a work agreement. When it was clear I had magical ability, they arranged an instructor for that as well. After a time I found work with the Queen's caravan and was there and in Mournhold as a guard for ten years. Then I moved on to Vvardenfell.”
Ten years, he mused. Well, that explained why she had an ear with the court. Very few Argonians had found their way into the queen's guard within the last few centuries. “And you came to the Telvanni?” His question was rhetorical and he continued. “Whatever for? The Mages Guild would have accepted you without any trouble and could have handled anything you may have needed.”
She grimaced, her sharp teeth stark in the light. “Oh, no, I understand well now that they would have handled me straight to the grave. No matter what I do I cannot stop gaining magicka, even when I already have too much. Mages like me rarely live to see forty years due to mishandling or overconfidence. The Guild has been known to pressure their best mages to achieve more and test their limits, and that is well enough for everyone else. Pushing an unfillable mage into things they are not ready for is disastrous. Despite my power and skill, I cannot use most of the master spells for safety reasons. No, I needed the best mages to help me, and as we know, the Telvanni are the best.”
Vedram found himself smiling slightly at the statement. “That's true enough. I have heard of mages like that. A terror on the battlefield but, as you said, not for very long. Too many forget that while their magic has no limits, their bodies certainly do. It is very difficult to train one.”
After a pause, she nodded. “You may not have a high opinion of Aryon, but his mentorship helped me get to where I could perform a handful of master level spells safely, and my control has increased significantly. Many things that were once beyond me are now things I do as I wish.”
“Aryon did?” Puzzled, he looked away, mulling over this information. The weak branch of the Telvanni, accomplishing this? So many things that man had been doing were weighing on his mind often. “I didn't think Aryon could handle such a task as training a mage like you. Then again, he has done many things I did not expect. Instead of falling apart, his Tel flourished. Hah, he even told me where I could go when I last offered my cousin to him. He never wrote to me in such a way before. There was a time he would have jumped at the chance to earn my favor and now he wants nothing to do with it. Tell me... Is what my cousin said true? Did he turn her down in favor of you?”
“That matter is personal,” she said simply. The last of the papers had been laid on the table and she pointed at her set of maps, anxious. “The outlook for the Vivec City area is grim no matter what. These three maps represent different ways that the damage could occur. The first is the most optimistic, then a realistic model, and finally a worst expected outcome. The missives detail this as well as economic, social, and psychological impacts that may occur during and after the impact. Evacuation sites have also been recommended, though I left out a few sites that cannot handle refugees at this time.”
Before him the three maps stretched ominously, the spread of colors presenting the looming danger in undeniable clarity. Vvardenfell was not the only province expected to receive fallout, the farthest reaches stretching all the way south into Mournhold and then some. The red portion, total destruction, erased Ebonheart in all three maps. “Does the Duke know?”
“Yes, I sent this to him as well. He is also willing to support my claim if I get enough evidence. He is still annoyed with me for tricking him into selling the land for my Tel.”
He couldn't help the slight chuckle that came at the thought of the Duke's face when he realized he had been duped by her. It had probably been unavoidable, though. “Trickery is necessary when you are at such a severe disadvantage.” Drawing back, he reassessed her. Beyond the scales and horns, there was a tenacity that many aspiring Telvanni youths failed to embody. They were native Dunmer born into the House, too, often to notable families. They had their future all laid out for them, ready for the taking, and yet so many failed. “An orphaned Argonian with common parents has so little.”
Unexpectedly, she echoed his thoughts. “I have known people with all of the wealth, prestige, and skill they could ever need who end up squandering their years away at the cornerclub with their noses in a cup. I had nothing, but I also had no worry of disappointing my family or doing something someone would not approve of. I am sad to have never known them, but I also know that my current life would be impossible if I had. The work I do, the man I married, the company I keep... no, this is for the best.”
“Marriage, even? So you did find a way to marry him, then?” Curious, he glanced up from the baleful maps. For once, she hesitated. She hadn't meant to let that slip. He decided to let it go for now and picked up his copy of the missive, relieved when he saw that it had been rewritten. “Thank the gods I don't have to read Fyr's crabbed script in every available margin. That man writes with the grace of a kwama.” As he skimmed through the summary, however, there was a distinct difference in tone and writing in several sections, completely removed from Fyr's idiosyncrasies and ramblings. “I thought this was only Fyr's work.”
“His notes were condensed and copied-”
“No, no, no,” he interrupted, separating an entire section from the document, his voice raising. “This right here, and the other parts! I have read entire tomes of Fyr's nonsense, and aside from the equations and measurements, this is unlike anything he ever wrote.” In his raving she had frozen in place, at a loss. Caught. Could it be? With an effort, he curbed his reaction. “This is yours?”
To her credit, she did not lie. “Yes, it is. I wrote about half of that missive. My contribution was reviewed and approved before being released, of course.”
He took in the document with fresh eyes, reading her portions thoroughly. Tidy, articulate, and clearly written. She was descriptive without being flowery or grandiose, her writings free of pontificating and self-aggrandizing. He knew several young- and old!- Telvanni who could take a lesson from this. An Argonian wrote this. It was still unfathomable that this could be happening. “I understand why you would lie about this to the others, but I would prefer that you do not lie to me. I like knowing exactly who I am dealing with.” Papers fluttered as he waved the missive in her face. “So many Telvanni have come to me with work they have clearly inflated to make themselves look better, all the while missing important points and an opportunity to make a real impression. I will read this in its entirety later, of course, but I will approve this. Fyr is no alarmist and would not have let this be released if he had doubts, and the story of Baar Dau is quite plain that it is sure to fall with Tribunal magic gone. The conduit you mentioned will buy some time, but it is inevitable. House Indoril's piety and belief in the protection of the Three is honorable but has no place in a world without the Tribunal. Take this to Helseth. Make the boy choke on it if you have to.”
“Gladly. Helseth had a bet running against me ever since he heard about the bargain and I will be very pleased to make him lose that bet.”
“You have your nose in everything, don't you?” Against his better judgment, he was starting to think that maybe she did make a good addition to the House. “I was very concerned when you first joined this House, you know. Everyone was worried that Aryon found some reckless idiot to be his pawn and do his bidding. Idiots get killed quickly, of course, so I let you be, but then you did what none of us expected. You succeeded, surpassed your mentor, and rose to the top. You were never his pawn. No, I think you had Aryon right where you wanted him.”
“No,” she said quietly, her features softening. “I did not manipulate him or rise above him out of spite or any other ill intent. Removing Gothren was partly for selfish reasons, I'll admit, but it was also to protect Aryon. I knew there would be no future for us if Gothren was able to stand in the way.”
He caught an oddly affectionate tone in her words. “This is no political marriage, is it? He didn't just deny my cousin to make a more lucrative arrangement with you and have your favor.”
To his surprise, she laughed, a sound he had never heard from one of her kind. “My favor, indeed. If anything, Dratha has asked far more of me than he ever has. When it comes to business, he is treated just like any other Telvanni in the province. All the adoration in the world cannot save him from filling out the appropriate paperwork.” Shaking her head, she gestured helplessly. “We are an odd pair, I know, but your cousin would have been a poor match for him anyway.”
“I know,” he said ruefully. “I have been trying to marry her off for years to help her out of this archipelago but between you and me, she couldn't catch a man if he were tied up. Her methods are too forced and fake, like her heart isn't in the right place for it, and her head is lost somewhere else. All she wants to do is hang about with that woman from the parliament, they are inseparable!”
“Maybe she doesn't want men at all.”
Now that had been something he never considered. There had been a few in some families who could not tolerate even a political marriage due to their preferences for the same gender. Had there been signs he missed? Maybe that friend of hers was not a friend at all! “You might be right about that. Well, that is neither here nor there. I have grown too accustomed to Gothren's habit of doing absolutely nothing for his province, as have we all, and to meddling in Vvardenfell's business. You are, by all rights, the Arch-Magister and it is plain you are prepared for the work that is expected of one. I would suggest not recording your marriage in the familial books, however. I don't care what you do, but you will never hear the end of it if you end up on the registry.”
She paused to glance down at the spread of papers on the table, looking but not quite seeing. “We won't. The only witness was one farmer who wandered by at the wrong time, so few outside of our staff know about it. I have no intention of letting our personal relationship interfere with our professional ones, and I hope to maintain strong relations with Port Telvannis.”
“I am looking forward to leaving Vvardenfell out of my worries,” he agreed. “If you keep handling things as well as you have so far, they will be in good hands.” A slight rap on the door distracted them both. His receptionist would not have disturbed this meeting unless it was necessary. “Enter.”
At the door his receptionist wavered, half in and half out of the door. “Sir, Gildron has returned. He wants to see you at once.”
Oh Gods. Not him again. “He can come up here and wait outside.”
“He insists you come down. He said...” The man glanced at Laje-tal nervously. “He said if you can stoop as low as to accept an Argonian into the House, you can lower yourself for him.”
“That's Gildron, alright,” he agreed with a groan.
Laje-tal took the interruption smoothly. “Our business was nearly concluded anyway. Why don't I go down there with you just to make him squirm at the sight of me?”
He was starting to see what it was Aryon saw in her. “Yes, why not. He needs to learn that his magical protections cannot save him from everything.”
Laje-tal descended the stairs to the reception room in a bit of a daze. Somehow, this meeting had gone extremely well. She had a better understanding of the things Vedram liked – pragmatism, effectiveness, respect, power with sensibility – and filed those things away for future meetings. It seemed he was unbothered by her race and relationships as long as she did what needed to be done, and she intended to keep being the polar opposite of Gothren.
The scene that met them in the reception hall was chaotic, and not just for still being crowded with people. A tall, frustrated man in a very unusual glimmering robe was waiting in the hall, berating everyone he felt like and causing a scene. It looked like this was one of many times he had done this exact thing, everyone who caught sight of him running off in an instant. Just hearing him was grating on her ears.
Vedram strode forth gracefully, hiding his annoyance well. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Gildron?”
Gildron could have been an exceptionally handsome man if not for the hard set to his jaw and the cold, empty look in his stare. “I am here to be sure you reconsider my very generous offer. I am willing to give it to you right now if you have the money. You'll be needing it soon, you know.”
His twitch was just slightly noticeable, his posture stiffening. “Your offer is absurd. I ought to have you arrested for tampering with my Tel!”
“Now, now,” he said with a condescending slur, his grin entirely too sweet. “Only I know what to do for it, and without my help, your Tel will perish. You should consider your position in this matter carefully.”
Subtly Laje-tal moved further back towards the wall, already ignored by both of them in their distraction, hand flat against the wall of the great Tel. Somehow, in some way, Gildron had tampered with it and from the look of things, it was something difficult enough to diagnose that Vedram hadn't been able to do so on his own. He was ransoming the cure, a cure apparently hard enough to have a common alchemist make. A quick magical inspection confirmed the source of what ailed the Tel. Poison. What kind, though? The energy that ran through it was like many types of poisons, maybe even an infection of some sort, the symptoms too varied to be sure. Too inconclusive to a Dunmer, anyway.
“You! You snake, what are you doing back there?”
She had cut into one of the Tel veins, taking a sample of the discolored, poison-filled fluid that ran through it on her claws. To everyone's disgust, she sampled it with a lingering lick. “Lotus root poison. The night lotus of central Valenwood, to be precise. It causes a wide variety of symptoms, too wide to belong to any one type of poison and slow-acting enough to cause issues for years. It is difficult to identify without knowing its distinct taste, and only Argonians can do that safely. There are treatments for it, which can cause the symptoms to disappear for a few months, but it is incurable through ordinary means. He could have ransomed you indefinitely for every treatment in the hope that it would be the last one you would need for a cure, and your Tel improving every time would keep the cycle going.”
Understandably, Vedram was furious, his face slowly reddening with rage. “You are sure?”
“I am. Through the years I have sampled every poison I could to learn their flavors. Night lotus is very toxic to Telvanni fungus but since the plant is native to Valenwood and cannot grow in the waters of Morrowind at all, the two plants generally never meet. The poisoning would have to be intentional, and in a very large quantity to affect a Tel of your size. It is expensive, and hard to remove from native lands as doing so is in direct violation of the Bosmer green pact. This would have taken a great deal of time, money, and planning.”
Gildron scoffed at her. “What do you know, belly-crawler? Who do you think you a-” Just then he caught sight of the markings on her clothes, his eyes narrowing. “You! You're the one who killed Arch-Magister Gothren, and now you are trying to ruin me!”
She simply shrugged. “Your own actions ruined you.”
To her surprise Vedram came in between them, whispering to her. “He is a dangerous man and it would not do to antagonize him. I will take care of this.” Turning back to his guest, he gave a polite nod. “I'm sure there is some sort of agreement we can come to. Why don't you take a moment to have a few refreshments after your travel and come back after Arch-Magister Laje-tal has departed.”
Gildron, too blind with rage at his ruined plans, suffered the last straw at Vedram's acceptance of an Argonian. “That title does not belong to animals!” The punch that followed was a clear statement – not aimed at Laje-tal, but at Vedram. Maybe she should have let it hit, maybe it would have missed anyway, but her reactions didn't have that logic and she caught his arm, using his momentum to twist him down and away from them both. Without a pause he was on his feet, his eyes set on her, murder in his gaze. In that moment, she smelled it. The enchantments on his robes. He was immune to all elemental magic as well as common weapons, and she had just accepted the fight. In a panic, she went over her options. Conjured or Daedric weapons would work, and she still carried Gothren's dagger. Throwing him would work if it was done quickly, before he had time to cast a levitation or slow falling spell. He had been quite heavy when she threw him, and she suspected he had armor under those robes to protect him from specialized weapons. Armor had weaknesses in the groin and armpit joints, and his neck and head were bare. He wasn't invulnerable, but it would be a difficult fight. Running would only serve to make her look like a coward, and there was no guarantee he wouldn't try to finish the fight at her home later.
“Come and get me, fetcher!” she shouted, drawing him outside. Some of the onlookers already had the good sense to back away from the escalating fight, but there were still too many. Outside in the bright sun, flurries of every color swarmed about as people scattered every which way through the plaza, several forming a nervous circle around the fringe. Vedram had also come out to spectate, his face grim. It was clear he had seen too many people die to this man's volcanic anger.
“Well, what are you waiting for, pet? I'm right here!”
There was no point in using magic other than to ward off his. What, then? Telvanni convention was to have long and drawn-out magical battles from a distance, which was generally how disputes were settled. The more unconventional she could be, the better. Imperial hand to hand tactics, then, maybe with a bit of the Khajiit blade and throwing methods learned from the Lamps. His eyes widened with surprise when she closed in, dodging a spell before attempting a cut with her dagger toward the joints in his armor. Every time she advanced, he pulled away, trying regain his advantage of distance to lob a spell at her. Fighting him was like sparring with Tenvaril, with some countering but mostly trying to back away for spell casting. At some point he had summoned a bound mace, blocking her weapon strikes and attempting to strike back, met with her own block. Stalemate.
Laje-tal managed to get a throw in, Gildron landing haphazardly on his bound mace and taking unintentional damage, holding his side as he rose to his feet and winced. His magicka was wasted when he kept trying to hit her, bent by a focused ward or evaded entirely. In a war of attrition, she could win when it came to magicka, but who knew how long that might take? Without being able to counter with magic, it only left the physical. Her claws couldn't tear at him and punches did little. In the long run, he still had the advantage.
She blotted a small cut on her arm with a corner of her shirt, willing the sting away. It was still too risky to use restoration magic in the midst of battle. A memory came to her, unbidden, of the time she had shown Aryon what restoration did to the bandits they had removed. As usual, it had been a failure, blood and flesh everywhere. “You can just heal them to death,” he had joked. Wait. Restoration magic. What kind of mage warded themselves against restoration? That was always a beneficial magic, or so they thought. For years she'd failed at it. A calm surge of resolve flowed through her as she lowered her dagger. She was going to fail as hard as she possibly could.
“Giving up already?” he taunted, swaggering about victoriously. “I'm not letting you go, of course. It's you or me, and I'll make you eat the dirt like the worm you are! You haven't even used a spell on me yet! Can you do offensive magic at all, pretender? Go on, give it a try, I dare you!”
As he turned to look at the crowd for cheers of approval, she was on the move, stopping just short of him to lean back on her tail, both feet poised to kick him all the way over her head and send him reeling head over heels to land on his back roughly, disoriented long enough for her to pin him down. As her hand wrapped around his neck, his eyes widened in fear for the first time as the harsh light of restoration magic surged around her, her own pupils mere slivers in her malicious compliance. “As you wish.”
All of her experiments with restoration magic before meeting Aryon had ended in blood, but never to the degree it did now. It took all of her focus not to lose herself to horror of the explosion that followed. She hadn't wanted to harm anyone today, especially not like this, but she forced herself to remember that he started this. In the chaos that followed she quickly took out her dagger, stuck it into the cavern of his throat, and fed lightning magic through what little remained of his blood vessels. The white light was close enough to restoration to be mistaken for it, and she knew from experience that lightning would leave him so mangled it would be impossible to tell that she hadn't used it to kill. Her use of restoration magic was an ace she intended to keep fully up her sleeve.
“You killed Gildron... Thank the Gods!” A man she didn't recognize came forward, slowly, too in awe to approach farther than a few paces. Soon Vedram also came to the scene, slowly picking his way through the horrific display she had made. Maybe choosing to wear white today had been a mistake.
“I don't believe it. How... how did you do it? I never thought I would see the day someone would get the better of him.”
She was still crouched over the body and shakily rose to her feet, pointing to the dagger sticking out of his neck. “His robe protected him from elemental magic, but he wasn't immune to magic on the inside. Once I broke his defense with a Daedric weapon, I sent shock magic through the rest of him.”
Vedram was accustomed to death, but the sight was slowly making him sick. Laje-tal was completely covered in blood from nose to tail tip. Tatters of ruined robe all over, and Gods only knew what else. All that was identifiable was Gildron's signet ring. “I see.” All of the reports describing her magic as... messy... now made very clear sense. “He left you little choice, but this is a grave matter. Take his ring, and we will send a report to Blacklight that their Arch-Magister is dead.”
She was still in shock from what she had done, she almost didn't comprehend what he had just said. “He was their Arch-Magister? I... I didn't know. Oh Gods, what have I done?”
“You did nothing wrong. He attacked me unprovoked and you spared me from the attack, defending yourself when he escalated. As is our way, you are in the right as the winner of the match. As for other Telvanni, I doubt any will complain about Gildron being killed. That hothead has been asking for it for decades and making a nuisance of himself to more than just me. It's unfortunate he died before we could confirm if he really did have a cure for my Tel.”
“He didn't.” She stooped to recover her dagger and the signet ring, just as quickly turning away from what remained of Gildron. “There is no antidote for lotus root poison, not for Telvanni fungus at any rate. The only thing that can be done for it is grand spellwork to purge the poison.”
He grunted in discontent. “It would take three adepts to do that. I hate bringing the others here. I suppose it cannot be helped.”
“I can perform the spell if you and Aryon can regulate my power. I can fuel a grand work but I have no control over it whatsoever. Not now, of course, but I can send a formula for a temporary treatment to your alchemist to help your Tel hold out until it can be done.”
His look was unreadable, searching, confused. “You would really help me with this?”
Her body started to quiver, overcome with what she had just done. It had been a long time since she left so much gore in her wake. Trembling harder, she looked around, grabbing a nearby bucket of water and dumping all of it over her head, the cold liquid snapping her back into reality. With an effort she fought back the bile that threatened to rise in the back of her throat. She couldn't afford to appear weak. “Excuse me. I can't stand being covered in blood.”
He looked anxious to leave himself. “Understandable. Come, we will inform my receptionist and we can settle Gildron's property and lands.”
A guard had come to retrieve the body but even he minced around the remains. Silently she vowed not to use restoration magic to kill again unless there was no other viable option. “Right. Let's go.”
The next minutes were a blur as she followed Vedram back to the Tel, letting him take care of the report and property negotiation. He seemed to want to do all of this for her and she was too tired to argue otherwise. She nodded agreement at everything – yes, she would be in contact with Gildron's Mouth about his holdings. Honestly she had no interest in Blacklight but having a stake in the largely Redoran lands may be worthwhile. An appointment was set to purge the Tel, as well as follow up on the research that had brought her here to begin with. She had nearly forgotten about that too. Thank goodness she wrote down all of the things she had promised to do.
Upon arriving home – when had she made it home? - the daze had finally started to lift. The familiarity of home restored some of the warmth that had left her body. She looked down the hall. “Aryon?”
Before she left, Aryon agreed to stay near her teleportation chamber just in case things had gone badly and she needed to rush home, but he never expected what he walked into. He took one look at his wife, bloody, scratched, exhausted, and forgot all about the questions he had, leaving the room and swiftly returning with a bucket and towel. The silence that followed his return was only punctuated by the drip of water as he methodically wiped the blood from her face, all else put on hold. Only when she looked at him, her eyes seeing him and not past him, did he speak quietly. “Please tell me that isn't Vedram's blood on you.”
“No, though I think we now have him as an ally.” She handed him Gildron's signet ring, at a loss as Aryon took it, growing pale.
“You didn't...”
“I didn't know who he was.” She briefly explained what had happened during and after the meeting, the discovered poisoning of the Tel, and how Gildron had started the fight. “That robe protected him form nearly everything!”
“No wonder he was able to make everyone so furious and not end up dead. What did you do?”
“I took one of your suggestions,” she said with a levity she didn't quite feel. “I healed him to death. Nobody blocks restoration magic.” She started to quiver again, feeling phantom sensations of flesh yielding under her magic-infused hands. “It was terrible.”
Her shaken expression moved him to act, guiding her back further into the Tel “It will be alright,” he assured, though he had no idea if that was true. There would be a lot of assets to settle, but for now, her well-being was at the top of the list of priorities. “Let's get that obnoxious man's blood off of you.”
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