I've Got Your Back (Whatever That's Worth)

by bradimey

Summary:

Modryn meets and works alongside a new Fighters Guild recruit, and in the process, deals with a problem that's been growing for a very long time.

Chapter 1

The first time they meet is unremarkable. He can barely remember it later, actually. One moment Modryn is leaning over his desk, looking over the paperwork he's been delegated to more and more since passing 70, and when he turns he's face to face with another mer. Taller than him just by a few inches, with light blue skin and a poorly shaven jaw set, tense. He looks like he doesn't want to be there, standing with one hand grasping his other bracer, not speaking. Modryn blinks, frowns. "Do you need something?"

That startles him, if the little jump to meet his eyes means anything, and when he speaks it's terse and hesitant, as though he's picking out his words just as he says them. "I'm here for work." He points to the Guild patch on the belt crossing over his cuirass, letting Modryn squint at it for a second before he speaks again. "The woman in town sent me."

"What woman."

"The..." He bites his tongue, literally, and waves a fist. "The head one, across the street."

A beat. "Vilena Donton?" He nods. Modryn inhales, rubbing between his eyes with one hand and reaching behind himself with the other. "Alright. If she sent you, I might have something. I'll speak slowly so you can keep up." Modryn sees his jaw clench, and he sniffs, reading through whichever report he managed to grab.

"One of your brothers, Maglir, defaulted on a contract, which means he didn't finish it. And we can't have that. Makes everyone look bad." The paper gets handed to him while Modryn struggles to put a name to a face. It wasn't as though they'd gotten too many new recruits recently; especially other dunmer. "Find him, find out why, and finish the contract. I don't care who does it. He was last seen in Skingrad, so I'd look there." The mer looks over the information given, engrossed in it while just standing there. Modryn snaps his fingers to get his attention back. "You can read on the way. Get going." A huff, a nod, and he leaves.

He manages to find the other's registration papers while he's gone. Gothren. Only Gothren. No surname, no previous house, no place of residence. Only Gothren. He puts his head to his hands and silently, pensively, wonders when the Guild got so desperate.

 

"Did you find Maglir?" Is what he says in lieu of a greeting when Gothren returns, looking no worse for wear and with the journal in hand. He gets a nod in response. "Well? What happened?"

There's a pause while he hands the book over, grip loose. "... He didn't default. He needed help. So I helped." Modryn hums, taking the journal and flipping through. It looks like it's all there, though with pages bent and the cover stained... It gets shut with a dull clap.

"That doesn't sound right. But you got the job done, and that's all that matters. I hope Maglir learned a lesson from all this." With that, he turns away to resume his own work. It takes him a few moments to realize that Gothren is still there, standing behind him with his arms held tensely at his sides. He squints back at him, and slowly raises a hand to wave him away. "Report back to Vilena for payment, and see me again when you're ready for another job. Go." Another nod, and he watches Gothren trudge out to make sure he actually leaves.

If it's like pulling teeth every time he gets orders, Modryn can't imagine him lasting too long. With the Guild's lack of new recruits, though, and his swift rise through the ranks... He'll see what happens. He exhales, sits down, and forces himself to focus on paperwork again.

---

"Back for more work, are you?"

Modryn is more prepared the next time Gothren comes in for a job. He looks about the same, not that that's very surprising; it couldn't have been more than a few days since his last contract. Heavy armor still dented, with the same warhammer slung across his back, and that same expression of discomfort across his clenched jaw.

Perhaps his face is just stuck that way, Modryn thinks as he holds out his instructions. "Some of our boys are causing trouble in Leyawiin. Looks bad for the Guild." Gothren takes the paper and reads through it while he continues to talk, giving the occasional nod. "Getting rowdy at a local tavern, starting fights, the works. I don't mind them cutting loose every once in a while, but this is starting to come back on us. You're looking for Rellian, Vantus Prelius, and Dubok gro-Shagk."

"Have they caused any trouble before?" Gothren mutters, glancing up from his contract before shuffling it away.

"No. They've been star members as far as I've heard. Which is why you need to look into it. You can do that, can't you?" Speaking like that to a man with a hammer in easy reach is dangerous; Modryn knows from experience. When the other mer actually bares his teeth at him, he's ready to stand taller and tell him to go before any trouble starts, but all Gothren does is nod again and leave, banging a pauldron on the stair railing on his way out. Modryn keeps his shield and mace close for when he comes back, just in case.

 

It takes him longer this time. Understandable, considering the job. Guild members were supposed to be stubborn things, not budging from their work when they could help it- or lack of work, in this case. Gothren returns looking marginally more relaxed than he did when he left, holding his completed contract. "It's done." He mumbles.

"Good. What happened, exactly?" Modryn takes the paper and moves to gather payment while Gothren pauses, frown curling into a sneer.

"The Blackwood Company. They said they've been taking all the work for cheap. No one can get anything done down there."

Modryn huffs, his free hand tightening at his side. "Those people... If they've gotten this much of a foothold in Leyawiin, then... Ugh. Nevermind." A bag of septims is tossed into Gothren's waiting hand, then tucked away into a pocket. "You did your part. I'm advancing you to Swordsman as well." Normally, that would be enough to put at least a smirk on any fighter's face, but all he gets from Gothren is a blank look. "... Keep up the good work, then. And come back to me for another job later."

He leaves, quiet still, and Modryn is left to fume about the Blackwood Company. Taking work frrom the Guild, slowing down their recruitment to barely a trickle... He can feel that there's something worse behind all this, something dark and ugly about that group that's going to rear its head eventually, but not soon enough. Maybe it was time to investigate further.

---

Gothren's next few contracts are done just as quickly and efficiently as the others, and while he works, Modryn tries to learn about their one trustworthy new recruit alongside looking into the Blackwood Company.

There doesn't seem to be much to him. Some news about odd jobs he'd finished before joining the Guild, favors for people farther east and in Bruma, item gathering for merchants. All done with a lot of complaint and maybe more bloodshed than necessary, but again, done quickly. Where he was from or what he'd been doing before suddenly appearing in the Imperial City is, as far as he can tell, lost to time. A mystery through and through.

His behavior during jobs paints a slightly clearer picture of the mer. Every time they meet is nearly the same- Gothren comes in, awkward and quiet, and Modryn hands his work off with some information, and he goes. Always looking that same put-together but utterly uncomfortable way, with that same small frown and eyes looking from Modryn to his contract to the floor and ceiling and back again. As hard as it is to put a finger on it, he figures he might just be anxious; having a muddy background and whatever secrets he's managing to keep with it will do that, Modryn guesses. So long as it doesn't come back to bite all of them in the ass, he's fine with it.

"That man you sent me on that contract with... He's a bit odd, isn't he?" Viranus Donton says, sitting down with his hands clasped together on the tabletop. Modryn stays standing during his post-contract checkup, giving a small shrug with his own hands held behind his back.

"A little. But he gets the job done."

Viranus hums. "I guess so. But he, well..." Modryn squints.

"What happened."

"Nothing bad. I'm not sure if it was even his fault. But he did end up getting us, well, lost, quite a few times."

"When?"

"On the way to Nonwyll Cave. And while we were there, when we ended up getting turned around... And on the way back..." His hands pull apart to lay flat, drumming his fingers gently. "Everything else was fine, for the most part. He just couldn't remember where we'd been or which way we had to go." Modryn hesitantly nods. He checks in with Vilena before he leaves, giving her the thankfully good news about Viranus' recent job, and returns home with his thoughts still on their recruit.

 

Looking back on that conversation now, with Gothren's next assignment in his hand and thoughts on Viranus' whereabouts racing in his head, he tries to stay positive. He's trustworthy enough. A bit tense and has memory problems, yes, but trustworthy. Putting all his kwama eggs in one barrel is a bad idea, he knows, but as he watches Gothren climb the steps of the Guild sanctuary, Modryn also knows that he doesn't really have a choice. If anyone can find Viranus Donton and bring him home safely, it's him.

---

Days later, Modryn sits alone, mere yards away from the building he's called his second home for years, stripped of armor and rank. He can still see into the backyard of the Fighters Guild headquarters through his window, empty besides scarred training dummies. His hands clench in his lap, teeth grinding together. One wrong call. One bad contract. One more dead son under his belt. Were he a lesser man, and had he not respected the Guild Master so much, he can imagine himself trying to argue his case. It was the Blackwood Company's fault, not his- but he has nothing to back himself up besides a journal and a conspiracy theory.

Could he just give up now? Throw away his research and all the time and energy he'd spent taking care of the Guild, even when it seemed like it was on its last legs? Start over at his age as an artist, sitting in his house and painting his days away, trying not to look so desperately over at the guildhall in silent prayer that he'll be offered his job back and given another chance to do right with it. Just the thought of it makes his chest burn, fists tightening hard enough to turn his knuckles grey.

He's stopped in the middle of his fuming by a single loud knock on his door, and doesn't get the chance to yell at whoever it is to go away before it opens. His uninvited guest nearly knocks the top of his head against the doorway when he steps through the threshold, covering white hair with a bright blue hand. Gothren, for once, looks more surprised than angry and confused. Modryn too.

"I didn't think you'd be home," he starts.

"You thought you could just break in while I was out?" Modryn stands, trying to will away the anger still clouding his mind despite just the sight of the other mer bringing it back. It wasn't his fault that any of this happened, the same as it wasn't his own. "What do you want?"

Gothren shuts the door as he walks further in, growing visibly more concerned. "Azzan said you were kicked out. And then I got demoted, and I didn't know who else to come to about it."

"Well, Azzan was right. I'm being... Forced into early retirement." He lets out an exhale through clenched teeth. That thought, still, is enough to make him see red. "And that means I can't do anything about your demotion. You'll just have to get your rank back by yourself."

"I know- I didn't come here just for that." Looking up at him now, Gothren almost looks... Hopeful? Determined might be a better word. His expression hardens when he catches Modryn's eye, and his hands ball into loose fists. "I want to... I don't know. I want to do something. About the Blackwood Company." Gothren's face darkens as he speaks on, glaring at Modryn and then the floor. "They've been causing so much trouble, and taking contracts, and now Viranus, and your job, and my rank, and-!"

In the moments it takes for him to get so worked up, Modryn moves to put a hand to the middle of his cuirass. "Easy, recruit." He hisses, and it at least gets him to pause, lavender-flushed face slowly fading back to blue. "Save your anger for Blackwood. I have a plan, but it still needs some work." The hand on Gothren's chestplate hesitates before moving off. "So I'll do what I can, and you focus on getting through the ranks again, just in case."

"In case of what?"

"In case things go poorly and you're blamed for it again. You'll still have made some progress in the Guild." He doesn't mention that being Champion hadn't saved him from Vilena's wrath. He should at least stay a little optimistic. "Once I'm ready, I'll have someone bring you a message to come back to Chorrol, and we'll work from there. Understand?" Gothren nods, looking a ways calmer but no less serious. "Good."

Modryn puts a hand on his back to turn him around and lead him to the door, with him glancing back to glare weakly at it. "It shouldn't take too long- two or three weeks, if that. You just focus on the Guild, for now, and try not to bring too much attention to yourself." Once they're out front, his hand drops. "Two more things."

"What?"

"Never come in without permission again. And be patient." Modryn steps back inside and shuts his door, locking with an audible click. He was sure he'd locked it before, but... He could worry about whatever implications that had concerning Gothren later. The downfall of the Blackwood Company was coming, and the sooner he starts to work, the faster it will all be done with.

Chapter 2

Gothren is not patient. He's very much the opposite, actually. A helpful trait when it comes to completing contracts, Modryn guesses, but lousy for anything else. 

He is completing contracts though, which is good, and Modryn knows this because he keeps coming back to his house in Chorrol in between work. He eventually learns to knock and wait instead of just walking in like he owns the place, which is good, but dealing with a guest while simultaneously scheming to take down a rival "Guild"- if he can even call them that- is still a pain. 

On the upside, though, he's very low maintenance; content to just sit in silence while he tries to relax, still in his armor, usually just sitting on Modryn's bed with his back to the wall. (He'd sat on the ground the first few times, before Modryn said he could sit anywhere, not just the filthy floor.) Having someone there is still somewhat distracting, but it's better than having to actually be a good host.

(And, he supposes, it's better than just leaving him out in the cold. With no home to go to, the least he could do is keep him over for a few hours.)

They don't talk often, and when they do, it's about work in the Guild or the plan; short, blunt sentences on each other's progress. Gothren asked about him, once, and what he did before joining the Guild, if anything. He spoke briefly of his upbringing in Vvardenfell, his time rising through the ranks there, his transferal to help the then-budding Cyrodiil chapter grow. Some less than choice words about the Tribunal had sat at the tip of his tongue, but he held back just this time; it was probably better they didn't fight about religious differences this far into working together.

"And what about you? The Guild barely has anything on you- you didn't even list where you were from." Modryn could see his ears twitch then, eyes to the wall across from him instead of looking at the other mer. 

"... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't." Gothren had turned his head to glare at him, teeth bared. "I was just, here, one day, and I had to find something to do. Someone said the Fighters Guild was an easy way to make money and I already had armor, so I joined it. And now I'm here." A pause. "Here." He'd pointed to the ground.

It took a few seconds to process before Modryn responded with a single, simple "alright," and tried to focus on writing again. They sat in silence for a while, Gothren keeping his eyes to the floor, until he suddenly stood and announced that he was leaving. The door slammed shut behind him, and Modryn was left to work alone the rest of the day.

Not remembering where he came from certainly explained almost everything about him. The lack of a background, his memory issues... He could bet that that was why he struggled with directions, too. Something about having problems retaining information. All Modryn could hope for, again, was that nothing came back to ruin things now.

The next time Gothren visited, he seemed to be in slightly better spirits. More relaxed, though still quiet. Neither of them brought up his background or lack-thereof again, and things seemed better that way.

 

With him coming over so often, Modryn could at least save on sending a courier. Having a physical copy of his plan's layout rather than just a mental one would do both of them some good; Gothren for his memory issues, and Modryn just to help keep track of everything in case something went astray. Considering who he was working with, he could bet that would be the case.

"Come in!" He barks at the single knock, standing with his plans laid out on the tabletop. Gothren looks more confused than anything at his bright expression as he's waved closer. His mouth opens and is closed again with a glare as Modryn waves it shut. "Don't talk, just listen. I've finally figured out what we need to do." The other mer's eyebrows raise, and he swears he can see the edges of his mouth twitch up for just a moment. Modryn flashes a grin in return, then moves over so the other mer can look over his- their- plans.

"They have a camp set up in Glademist Cave, just north-east of here. One of their higher-ups, an argonian named Ajum-Kajin, should be there with a few recruits..."

---

After days of waiting in eager silence, the hurried knocking at his door makes Modryn stand up fast enough to make his head light. Tens of questions buzz at the forefront of his mind- how did the mission go? What was their headquarters like? Did he steal anything?- as he throws the door open, expecting a triumphant-if-foul-tempered blue mer. Instead, his expression drops. He goes still.

Gothren is limp and being carried by a bosmer in heavy armor, one arm wrapped around his chest to keep him partially upright. Brodras is pale and quiet as he holds the dunmer out. Modryn puts his own arms around him, and together they lead his passed out body over to the bed and lay him down. Only when he's secure and the both of them have taken a second to breathe does Modryn whip his head around, curt tone undercut with worry as he asks "What happened?"

"We don't know," Brodras exhales. "S'kasha and I were heading out towards the gate, and he was..." He swallows, gestures to the unconscious dunmer before them. "We thought he was dead. But he was still breathing, and we didn't know where else to take him. I brought him here- S'kasha's still in Leyawiin to try and figure out what happened. He woke up a few times, saying something about Water's Edge, but that's all I could get." 

Modryn inhales, gripping the headboard hard enough to feel splinters dig into his fingertips. A nod. "Alright. Thank you, and thank S'kasha as well. I'll take it from here." Brodras hesitates, looking over Gothren's limp, twitching form before hurrying out. When he's sure the other mer is gone, leaving just him and Gothren, he finally allows himself to see how bad the damage is.

His hair is tinged pink and gray in spots, braids undone with strands sticking to his cheek and neck, both dashed with shallow cuts. Nearly every inch of him from face to boots is covered in ash and soot, but looking him over more closely (Modryn will admit to turning him over a bit, looking at his hands and back in search of anything that might need a spell rather than just patience), he doesn't have any burns. The worst part, he thinks, is the blood; it's splashed over his armor, coming off in dry, thick flakes that would make a lesser man retch. Enough of it's soaked into his undershirt to stain the normally rust colored clothing ruby red. Brodras hadn't brought back his warhammer, but he can almost imagine the state of it, stomach bottoming out at the thought.

Modryn keeps his hands steady despite that, carefully unbuckling and pulling off as much of his armor as he can. He should, at the very least, be comfortable. He lets himself check again for wounds, spotting only already healing bruises and faint cuts and more ash. Good to know that at least his armor had done its job.

With that done... There's little else for him to do. Gothren is still out cold, twitching harder now that he can move more freely, like he's about to wake up at any moment. For as long as Modryn watches, though, staying at his side until dark, he doesn't. Eventually he's forced to rest, and settles down for the night in a chair facing his house guest.

It's like that for another day. Modryn sits, and waits, and looks over him, leaving only once for some fresh air before hurrying back inside. He can't have another guildmate's blood on his hands. Gothren is not going to die here.

He's been dozing off and on for the past few hours, he thinks, just barely aware of things getting dark and then slowly brighter as the sun rises. On the brink of sleep, he gets startled awake by movement, then a series of weak, dry coughs. Through bleary eyes he can see the other's unbrushed mop of white hair move, a hand reaching up to grasp it before sliding back down. More coughing.

Modryn is at his side in an instant. Gothren looks... Bad. He expected that. Dark circles under unfocused eyes that are redder than usual, his breaths coming in slow and shallow as he tries to take in what's around him. His eyes lock onto Modryn's and he jerks up, lids snapping shut with a pained grumble. A hand rubs at his throat. 

"Relax," Modryn murmurs, more order than suggestion. He moves as soon as Gothren lays back down, uneasy,  and shortly returns to his side with a mug of water. "Relax, calm down. Drink." The mer stiffens at the sight, slowly sitting back up while his eyes narrow.

"No." He croaks out. Despite his swaying, his glare is steady on the cup.

"You've been out for two days. Drink." Shock passes over his face as it's shoved toward him again, making him hold the water to his chest. A blink, a sniff, and he shuts his eyes again, downing it like a shot. He coughs again after but still holds the cup out, letting Modryn refill it and drink again, slower, before he speaks.

"Two days?"

"And however long it took to get you here from Leyawiin."

"Leyawiin?"

"Do you not remember-" Modryn starts and abruptly stops. Were Gothren not so out of it, he's sure he would be getting up and storming out the door before he'd even finished the word. As things are, he's just blinking up at him, concerned and rubbing a hand over the ash on his cheek. "... Brodras brought you here. He and S'kasha saw you passed out in the street. You kept talking about Water's Edge-"

"Water's Edge!" Gothren says with a start, eyes suddenly focused. "I need to- we were at Water's Edge-" He's up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed before Modryn can stop him, frantic, and makes to stand. He gets as far as putting his feet firmly on the floor before swaying, unsteady again, and falling forward. Modryn is just fast enough to get an arm around him to prevent him from landing on his face, but he struggles still, trying to stand. "Stop, get off me! Water's Edge-!"

"You stop! Azura knows how long you've been out, you're not going anywhere like this!" Modryn manages to push him back onto the bed, the other elf shaking while a tight grip on his shoulders keeps him seated. "Relax. And tell me what happened."

"I... We..." Gothren's still breathing fast, but his gaze is distant, eyes darting around the floor at nothing. He swallows again. Slowly, Modryn's hands lift, dropping back to his sides once he's sure the other mer's going to stay seated. He doesn't say anything, just looking at the floor, gripping Modryn's mattress.

"... Rest for today. We'll take a cart first thing tomorrow, if you remember where Water's Edge is." He gets a nod in response, then watches Gothren stiffly lie back down, hands still in fists. Though he's breathing easier now, his eyes are still panicked, pupils moving but not seeing until he squeezes his eyes shut.

 

He's up early the next morning, though Modryn's not sure if he actually slept at all. With his insistence that they leave as soon as possible, there's little time to clean him up. "I'm not getting on a cart with you like that. Someone will think you've just done come out of the arena," he'd said to try and convince him to change. Gothren didn't look at him then, but grumbled as he pulled his blood-soaked shirt off. They get as far as scrubbing the ash off his face and arms and changing him into Modryn's spare armor before rushing out the door and to Chorrol's gates.

The ride is quiet for the most part. With both of them being as worn out as they are, a smarter person might've slept during it. But Gothren is borderline frantic, jumping with each bump in the road, and Modryn is too concerned to sleep. So they sit; silent, tense, and trying not to look at each other from across the cart.

It's only when they start the see the drooping wisterias on the edge of Bravil's swampland does Modryn ask, "do you recall anything now? We should know what to expect before we arrive."

Gothren just shuffles his feet and looks the other way, eyes on the water.

They're still some miles away from Leyawiin when Gothren tells the driver to stop and starts to scramble out of the cart. Modryn's close behind, tossing another few septims into the back before following him closer to the river. He can't see his face, but with how Gothren keeps slipping on stones and barely dodging holes in the mud, he can bet he's at least not watching his footing. Wispy trails of dark smoke rise from just ahead and Gothren moves faster, making his way back onto the road. He breaks into a run as charred rubble comes into view, and by the time Modryn catches up to him on the very edge of the settlement, he's still and shaking, holding the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose.

Water's Edge - what remains of it - is little more than blackened buildings and scorched stone steps. The door on every house is smashed in, glass scattered on the ground from broken windows, the roof of what was maybe a stable collapsing in on itself as they watch. Gothren shudders harder from the noise but neither of them take their eyes off it, the village itself, even as the ash that's left settles over them. They can hear muffled sobs coming from around the corner of a house, and Gothren slowly lowers his collar, his hands dropping to his sides in tight fists.

Modryn is the first to actually move, taking a step closer to put a hand to the other mer's back. He watches tears come to Gothren's eyes but turns his head away before he can see them fall, hand moving and squeezing his shoulder instead.

"I'm sorry about this," he starts, voice low for both Gothren's and the mourner's sake. "We'll deal with those bastards. Take directive action. After you rest in Chorrol - you'll need to get your strength back." Gothren, not looking back, gives a weak nod. "I'll get you another warhammer, and another ride to Leyawiin. Then..."

He inhales, taking in the too familiar smell of ash and burnt blood, and squeezes again. "We'll end the Blackwood Company, once and for all."

---

 

The fall of the Blackwood Company does not come with a shout, or a cheer, or a corpse draped across Modryn's front step.

It's with a knock, and Gothren peering down at him from under a thick layer of soot. The sight of it almost reminds him of when Brodras carried him in, though the fact Gothren's standing upright instead of laying over a bosmer helps get his thoughts away from that. 

"Did you do it? What happened? Who was there-" He's cut off by one hand slowly raising, Gothren's expression softening from his usual annoyed to just... Tired. With a nod and a quiet "right," Modryn steps aside, letting him shuffle in. He stops just inside the door and lifts his hands to undo his own armor.

This close, he can pick out the new dents in Gothren's chestplate, the wood fibers sticking to his palms, the way his jaw clenches when he fumbles with a strap. Modryn silently helps him ease his armor off, and the other mer doesn't flinch when their fingers brush while unbuckling. Slowly, Gothren's breathing relaxes, eyelids drooping shut when he's finally free of his cuirass. A hand stays on his back while he makes his way to Modryn's bed, then sits, exhaling. 

When he inevitably falls asleep in that same position, Modryn gently moves him to lay down, covering him with a blanket before taking his usual post beside said bed.  Celebration could come later. For now, it was enough to just relax.

Notes:

ahhh fuck its an update but its still not the end of this bc i kept adding shit. oh well

sorry for making waters edge so much worse i think its dramatic when stuff is set on fire

Chapter 3

Notes:

warning in the second section for discussions of disordered eating & food-related paranoia

Modryn's cleaning brushes the next time Gothren decides to just walk in. Considering the mood he's in, he lets it slip, lifting his head with his back to the door. "Did you talk to Vilena? What did she say?" He hears the familiar shuffle of unsure feet and turns to see Gothren standing just in front of the door, looking more confused than satisfied like he hoped they'd both be. "Well?"

"She made me Guildmaster." Modryn's eyes widen, and he claps his free hand onto Gothren's arm.

"Congratulations! Guildmaster - you deserve it after all of this, even if you're bound to mess things up." Gothren quietly grunts at the ribbing, turning to face Modryn even as he brushes past to his work-in-progress canvas. "Well done. Do you have any ideas for what to do with your new rank?"

"She said I should pick a second in command."

"And she's right. Someone who knows the ins and outs of the Guild would work best, I think."

"She said it should be you." He stills at that. Even after everything - the loss of her sons, the uphill battle to keep the Fighters Guild afloat, his expulsion from the Guild - she still recommended him. He'll have to remember to send her flowers after this.

Had he been any younger, he would have said yes before Gothren even finished speaking. As things are, he shrugs, turning back to face the other mer with brushes held tightly in one hand. "I appreciate her recommendation. But I'm not sure; I was just starting to enjoy retirement. You can see how good my painting is getting." Modryn steps aside to gesture at the canvas, chest swelling with pride as Gothren moves in to take a closer look.

A beat passes with him just looking it over, no doubt taking in the details, and his face suddenly breaks into wide, warm smile. It's the first Modryn's ever seen on him - getting past his usual angry stoicism, so unexpected that he struggles to hold back his own after seeing it. He settles for hiding his behind a fist, propping his other hand up on top of the canvas.

"A true appreciator of the arts, I see." He gives it a pat. "But someone's going to have to keep you in line. Show you how things work in the higher ranks."

Gothren turns his smile to him, cheeks and ends of his ears turned lavender, and nods. "Alright - thank you." Modryn simply waves it away.

"Consider it a favor for the Guild. And whenever you're ready to assign duties, you can come to me."

---

Just over a month after the Blackwood Incident (which is how Modryn refers to it for everyone involved's sake), Gothren is still acting odd. He hangs around Chorrol less despite having to adjust to being Guildmaster, and had Modryn not known better, he might think that was the reason for his strange behavior. Nerves can certainly cause shaking hands, but they can't account for the sickly pallor of his skin, the headaches he grumbles about almost constantly, or the way his sweater and armor are starting to hang more loosely off his body.

It's making him worried. They don't need to get a second new Guildmaster this soon.

So he asks Gothren to stay for dinner on one of his rare visits to Chorrol under the pretense of discussing future plans for the guild - it's been a few weeks, he should be comfortable enough to start really working on improving things. Even if just the idea of thinking about real guildwork makes him grimace, Gothren agrees to come, and turns up on his front steps with his usual awkward stance and full armor.

Drinks and plates laid with cooked boar and potatoes are already laid out - thank Azura that Gothren's got a predictable schedule - and Modryn ushers him over so they can eat and talk. The other mer grimaces before they even sit down, shifting in his seat and just staring at the food. Modryn gets it; even with how often they've been around each other for the past while, eating at another person's home is still strange. Maybe it's for the best they focus on the guild instead.

"You'll need to choose what the guild should be focusing on now that we're without competition."

"Hmm."

"There's recruitment, getting new blood in, maybe recruiting those who'd been scorned by Blackwood..." An answering grunt. "Or finishing contracts. It'll bring more money and items in, but we're low on manpower from people leaving." Another grunt. Gothren rubs at his eyes with his fingers, leaning back from the table.

"We could try focusing on both-"

"Fine."

He's used to one-sided conversations, but this is ridiculous. They're trying to talk about what to do with the guild that Modryn's been trying to save for years, and he, the Guildmaster, is barely paying attention. If Gothren hadn't risked his life however many times over for him, Modryn would be demoting him himself. As things are he just lowers his own utensils, looking over in time to see the other mer now sitting forward with his eyes shut, pressing his hand to his forehead. One elbow rests on the tabletop beside his plate which is, as far as Modryn can tell, still full. He can't recall him drinking from his cup either. Both of Modryn's, by comparison, are half empty.

The wheels start turning in his head. He looks from Gothren, still rubbing at his head, to the food. His hands rest on the tabletop, steeling himself as he looks over at the other mer.

"You're not eating." Gothren's eyes open, his mouth snaps into a thin-lipped frown.

"Yes I am."

"Not eating enough, then. Have you looked at yourself lately?"

His arms raise at his sides, and though his eyes hesitate on how low his sleeves hang, Gothren is quick to go back to scowling at him. "It's nothing. I feel fine."

"Do you? You keep talking about those headaches-"

"They leave eventually."

"When? After you eat?"

"Eventually." 

"Do you have one now?" He goes quiet. Waiting for a real answer is pointless, so Modryn gestures to the untouched plate in front of him. "If food helps and you're completely fine, go on. Eat."

Gothren weakly glares at the food, looking from it to his cutlery. A hand lifts his fork, careful, and pokes into the boar. There's a twitch in his upper lip like he's smelled something rotten before he even lifts the cut up, raising it a few inches off the plate. His eyes squeeze shut, but his mouth doesn't open - the meat is quickly put back down with the clatter of wood on wood. When his eyes open, they're still on the food, no longer angry but... Disappointed. He's not looking at Modryn when he starts to speak.

"What they had us drink at Blackwood-"

"Hist sap."

"The Hist sap we drank, I didn't know it would..." He huffs, eyes further downcast. "They didn't warn us. I thought it would just make us, I don't know. Stronger. And now when I see water, or meat, or anything, I start to wonder- what if there's- if it might be-"

He struggles to get any more words out, still looking at the floor and fists tight at his sides, until he finally goes silent. Modryn thinks he gets the gist of it. His arms loosely cross in front of his chest, and he exhales.

"I wouldn't do that. Not only because it's wrong," he leans forward, arms against the table, "but because I wouldn't dare cross you after everything you've done. If it weren't for you, the Blackwood Company would be going on Hist-fuelled rampages across the Empire, and the Cyrodiil chapter of the Fighters Guild would very soon be a distant memory. I have no reason to turn on my back on you after all that." Gothren doesn't make any noise nor look back at him, but he does shift in his seat.

"And besides, I don't have any Hist sap to poison you or anyone else with."

With that, Gothren lifts his fork again, tugging it out of the piece of boar. The same hand picks up his knife, though he doesn't make to cut it just yet. Modryn lets out a frustrated sigh.

"If it will make you feel better, I'll have you watch next time I cook something for you." That makes his head lift, eyes going from his food off to the side as he thinks, then, finally, back to Modryn.

"Next time you cook for me?"

"Whenever you visit again, sure."

A sniff, and the knife gets moved to his free hand. There's something unreadable about his expression now, but Gothren nods, slices a piece off, and shuts his eyes as he takes a bite and swallows, quick. It's small, but it's a start.

---

Weeks pass without incident. Gothren visits Chorrol more, popping into Modryn's house for food and a quick chat, and even finally asks him to start recruiting for the guild again. With Blackwood out of the way, the Fighters Guild is free to flourish again. If things keep going this well, maybe Modryn can go back to his painting sometime.

That's what he's considering when he hears the familiar clunk of boots on stairs, and a familiar blue face showing from behind the railing. But something's off.

Gothren's jaw is set and tense when he gets to the top of the stairs, standing straight with his arms held at his sides. He looks like he's forcing himself to be like that, hands twitching between gently closed fists and open palms. 

Modryn, despite his immediate worry, tries to stay relaxed, setting recruitment listings aside as he turns to fully face him. "You've already given me orders for the month, you know. You don't have to check in again."

"I know." He's not quite looking back at him, eyes to his cuirass instead. Modryn frowns.

"So? Why are you here?" He'd been fine his last visit, but to be fair, that was earlier in the week and over dinner. When Gothren doesn't reply right away, Modryn crosses his arms over his chest, trying to quickly glance over the whole of him just in case. "Is something wrong?"

"No! No. Just..." Gothren squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment, rubbing his fingers against his forehead.

"Are the headaches back? You're supposed to be eating-"

"I am," he hisses. "And I'm fine. Just give me a second."

So Modryn does. He watches as Gothren stands there and fidgets - pressing his hands against each other, quickly brushing his fingers through his hair, grinding his teeth. Through it all, he never quite manages to look at Modryn's face; his eyes stay on his chestplate or the far wall. The largest change comes when his face starts to heat, bright blue fading into lavender and growing stronger as he tries to even his breathing.

"I would like to..." His palms return to laying flat at his sides. "See you more, outside of the guild."

A beat passes. Modryn's head tilts, and he squints. "We already see each other outside of the guild. You eat dinner with me several times a month."

"Besides that! Besides eating together. And without talking abt contracts or work or anything." His face is getting steadily pinker, ears and cheeks flushing from anger and..

And what else? And why? The gears start to turn again as Gothren grumbles on. "We don't have to talk about the guild at all. We could just, talk. But we don't have to. I'm just asking-"

"What exactly are you trying to ask me?"

He sees the other mer's fists tighten at his sides, entire body tense. Had this happened earlier, Modryn would be ready for the inevitable explosion of anger and him just running off; but Gothren forces himself to inhale, exhale, and relax out of his stiff-backed stance. His expression eases up minutely, finally looking back at Modryn and no longer trying to stay stony-faced, but... Hopeful?

"I wanted to ask if we could be together more. Outside of the Guild. Maybe outside of Chorrol, too. Just to get farther away from it." Gothren shifts again, gaze going back to the floor. 

It finally clicks, what he's trying to say, even if it's in his own roundabout way. Modryn swallows, his face darkening to match Gothren's own. "Well. You know I've been busy - someone has to pick up the administrative slack around here." Gothren's mouth twitches and straightens out again as Modryn takes a step closer. "And I'm an old man. I don't know how much fun just talking to me outside of work could be."

His hand reaches out and one of Gothren's follows, letting Modryn gently close his fingers around his wrist. "But it sounds nice. We'll see how things go, alright?" He squeezes, carefully. "After work."

Even with his head tilted down, eyes certainly trained on where he's being held, the pink on Gothren's face is more then clearly visible. He gives a small nod, and his hand slips out to hold Modryn's.

"Thanks."

"Of course. Consider it another favor for the Guildmaster."

Notes:

and that's that! i hope everyone enjoyed, i'm sorry again for the wait but i think me getting the last two parts out quickly makes up for it lmao. thank you for reading about elves, and enjoy the rest of my TES content!

Notes:

hi. i'm posting this in the hopes that it'll make me finally finish the second part. title based on we've got your back (documented minor emotional breakdown #2) by los campesinos!

my twitter: @bradfromHR
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