#aicantar

The living quarters past the Dwemer Museum were warmer than the rest of Understone Keep, the stone walls softened by lamplight and the quiet clutter of long habitation. Shelves bowed beneath the weight of books and rolled schematics. A small table sat crowded with half-empty cups and a plate someone had clearly forgotten to clear days ago. Talisse had claimed the corner of a low couch, boots tucked neatly beneath her. She leaned back against the armrest, gaze drifting lazily over the ceiling while her thoughts wandered far from Markarth’s stone walls. Aicantar’s voice carried from the table as he spoke, words layering one atop another. She followed none of it. Her gaze lingered on nothing in particular, mind elsewhere entirely. [insert a droning boring Dwemer sermon from Aicantar here] Talisse made a vague sound of agreement, eyes still unfocused. Aicantar paused. He looked up, studying her with quiet scrutiny. Then he set the quill down carefully. “Talisse,” he said. She turned her head when she heard her name mentioned. “Mm?” “Are you listening?” She startled slightly, blinking as though waking from a shallow sleep. “No—sorry,” she said at once, straightening a bit. “I was… deep in thought.” She let out a slow sigh, the breath slipping from her like she’d been holding it too long without realizing. Then she swung her legs off the couch and rose, stretching once before beginning to pace the room with an unhurried, almost idle gait. Her steps were soft against the stone floor, a loose circle that took her past shelves, past the table, past the familiar signs of lived-in scholarly chaos. Aicantar watched her for a moment, brow faintly creasing. “Are you all right?” he asked, voice gentle, more concerned than curious. Talisse waved a hand without looking at him. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” The words came easily, carrying just enough finality to discourage any follow-up. Because how, exactly, was she supposed to explain any of it? How did one casually mention that she’d helped a Thalmor prisoner slip his chains, that she’d deliberately nudged the Thalmor and the Forsworn into tearing at each other’s throats, had come up behind a sole justiciar and closed her arm around his neck until the fight left him? How did she tell him that there were probably notices bearing her face—or a close enough description—being penned at the Embassy this very moment? What would Aicantar even do with her confession?