#tesfic

Things were different since that day.

Well, not really. Teldryn still hung out with his boss and helped her in the marketplace carrying supplies back home. They took small adventures into the nearby forest to hunt for deer or just to explore the nearby mountiain. Every night they shared a dinner in her home and every night they separated into their respective rooms to sleep.

Sometimes Yera had to leave to deal with Guild business and left Teldryn on his own to do as he pleased. He spent it browsing the few books she had on her shelves, chatting with Lydia on whatever idle conversation came up, or trying his hand at fishing on their personal dock.

All very mundane, domestic activities he didn’t believe he could ever experience again. For decades his life revolved around how much money he got and which patron was next on the list. Everything else was put to the side as survival was of the utmost importance. Sure there were years he was living it in some form of luxury with the influx of gold, but most of it was saved or spent drinking the evenings away to keep the creeping nightmares away.

Always that promise he’d leave Solstheim and return to Morrowind, his homeland for what it’s worth. Yet here he is now back in Skyrim. Living now in his boss’ home - free of charge! - and spending his afternoon fishing. Fishing on that lake that shined gold at dusk, the same gold that lived in Yera’s hair and eyes when she sat on the porch.

He was sure her housecarl knew. Teldryn knew that Lydia teased Yera back on Solstheim whenever the two of them were chummy. It wasn’t as if Lydia didn’t like Teldryn; in fact the housecarl was grateful for another person to be around Yera when she couldn’t be there. Being guide and friend and housecarl all in one was a big responsibility. But how could Teldryn be that person when all he can think of is running his hand through her hair, looking right into her sunlit eyes, and leaning down to-

Enough, he thought. There are more important things to think about.

For example, like how he was dragging out rugs to the porch to get the dust beaten out of them. It had been months since Yera was last home and the home chores were finally catching up to her. Lydia was already outside setting up the racks to hang them off of while he and Yera rolled and carried the rugs out.

Once outside, they were beaten until a considerable amount of dust and dirt fell onto the porch. Teldryn was tempted to grab his helmet if only to spare his lungs and eyes from the cloud that came out of it.

“How in the Gods did it get so dusty?” Yera grumbled, waving the air in front of her face. “It’s not like I was gone for months and left the bloody windows open.”

“Don’t know about the windows, sera, but you were in Solstheim for quite a few months. You might even say you were gone long enough for the dust to settle in your home.”

“Only because an ancient dragon priest and a Daedric Prince of Knowledge wanted my soul for extreme dubious reasons,” she responded. “I have them to blame for my house chores being left undone.”

“Blame it on Hermaeus Mora’s all seeing eye that you can’t get your rugs dusted in an orderly fashion,” Teldryn joked back.

“Wouldn’t be the first nor the last time the Gods and Princes both wanted to bother me for their own entertainment,” Yera huffed. “But enough of that, I think these are ready to be taken down to the lake for a soak.”

Yera set aside the paddle she was using and reached up to tug the rug down from the rack. It was a huge, heavy thing and while the rack was sturdy it looked ready to fall forward with one badly timed pull. 

“Woah, wait Yera,” Teldryn started. “It’s going to-”

Too late, the rug caught the pole at the very end of the tug and the whole thing started to fall towards Yera. Out of instinct, Teldryn reached out and grabbed Yera to use his own body to protect against the falling rack. Thankfully, it clattered harmlessly around them and just threw up a big cloud of dust. 

“Yera, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “Didn’t think I’d pull the whole thing down.”

Now that there was no threat, Teldryn realized the position he put himself in. Arms wrapped around Yera and hunched over her as if blocking an attack. No attack forthcoming except the realization of how close he was to Yera. And how she looked up at him just as stunned as he was.

From this close he could see the scar on her lip so clearly. Two thin lines crossing over the corner of her lips. How she looked so different without her usual warpaint, almost youthful. Eyes clouded over but he could still see where her irises were and how they focused at the center of his face.

How easy would it be to lean down and-

“I heard some noise, did something happen?”

Lydia arrived just in time to have Teldryn release Yera, as if he were about to do something indecent to her. Yera herself took a step back as well and patted herself down, brushing off the dust that and floated onto her.

“Nothing,” Yera answered. “Just pulled on the rug too hard and made the rack fell.”

Yera could never see it, but Teldryn could see it clear as day. Lydia’s eyes glanced down at the rack and back at Teldryn and Yera, and back to Teldryn again. A silent conversation that he could not hear was transmitted through the housecarl’s eyes right into his skull. He knew what she was thinking, and she knew he knew what she was thinking. But Teldryn was an honest man and a coward and didn’t say a single word.

Lydia broke the eye contact and simply walked over to the fallen rug.

“I’m glad you are unharmed. Let’s get this rug into the lake before more unforeseen accidents happen.”

And just like that Teldryn was left on the porch alone once more. Lydia and Yera dragging the rug down while he was left to sweep the dust away. He almost wanted to use the broom to beam himself in the head with how stupid he was acting.

She is still your boss and is paying you, he thought. There is no space here for that kind of feeling. Nevermind she probably doesn’t have the thought or time for it with her lifestyle.

Conveniently forgetting that Yera hasn’t paid him in months, or that she loudly proclaimed she was not going on anymore adventures for the next lifetime, Teldryn focused and brushing the dust and his own feelings away into the wind.

cyrodiil

1. you can tell oblivion is an older game: it feels very sparse compared to skyrim, especially considering it’s supposed to be the cosmopolitan heart of the empire. for the sake of realism i upped every settlement by one increment: villages become towns, hamlets become villages, etc. but as you can see from the huge swathes of empty space, there’s still plenty of room for worldbuilding and creating your own settlements :)

2. on this scale the imperial city has a diameter of about 30 miles, which is roughly the same as modern day london. realistically the iconic wheel layout would probably only make up the very centre of the city -- i imagine it sprawls far beyond these bounds. the island itself is also more than large enough to contain plenty of farmland in addition to the city

3. i also added a bridge on the imperial city’s eastern shore because it makes absolutely NO sense for a city with as much traffic as the imperial city to have just one entry point. i know the game is tiny and walking around the loop takes like 5 min so it’s not a big deal, but as soon as you up cyrodiil’s scale to something even vaguely realistic (here it’s about 520 miles from north to south, which is roughly the same as germany -- so still not even that big), the necessity of a second entry point quickly becomes obvious: the journey from cheydinhal is reduced from 16 days on foot to just 8. 

4. on this scale, (and assuming the HoK has a horse), the oblivion MQ would take an ABSOLUTE MINIMUM of three months. but realistically -- factoring in rest days, recovery times, random oblivion gates, distractions, taking the time to prepare for battles, waiting around at CRT for martin to crack the mysterium xarxes, etc -- you’d be looking at more like 6-12 months, depending on how focused your HoK is :)

solstheim

the dragonborn questline can be completed in a minimum of 20 days, starting from when the LDB arrives in raven rock and assuming that they didn’t bring their horse with them. again, however, it would likely take a little longer in practice. 

As she padded along the grass, the shadow of a bird cast itself above her head. It held in the air, capturing the morning sun on its back, then settled on a nearby branch where her clothes hung dry. The creature bore the resemblance of an eagle, with sharp talons and brown-speckled wings that stretched the length of its perch - but that was where the similarities ended. Its face had no eyes, no golden beak, but was flattened instead by a clay mask which mirrored the visage of man. The creature craned its neck to an unnatural degree and spoke to her in hushed whispers, like a whistle in the breeze. 

“Teach you to forget your morning hymns, my little flightless thing.” 

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not in a singing mood.” Tatia muttered, her voice lacking in warmth or sincerity. She paid no mind to it as she stood by the campfire and started wringing the water from her soot-painted curls. “I hardly slept last night with all the noise coming from the road.”

The creature laughed, and it sounded like chimes beating against the wind. “Ah, yes! The men in the painted wagons! I was drawn to them in the night after I fell out of a breeze. They had built a fire that burned large and bright, and around that fire they sang and danced and played little pipes until morning dewdrops freshened in the new day. So drunk they were on wine and mirth that they collapsed right there in the grass and made a bed of it!” 

“I’m sure you kept their fire burning long after its time.” Tatia remarked.

“I did.” the creature mused. She could hear the smile in its voice. “I kept it low and steady - strong enough to keep them warm but not scorching, and I watched over their sleeping bodies like a mother guards her young. Before long they crawled into their little wagons and cracked the reins, and the hooved beasts carried them off into the horizon.” it then remarked, “I might have been more generous with you this morning, had you half a mind to join them!” 

The priestess scoffed at that. “I hate large gatherings. You know that.” 

“Hate!” the creature made a hissing noise and beat its wings against the air in a huff. “Oh, and how well you keep it! Your heart is surely made of stone. It holds no joy, no sorrow, nor anything that breathes life into your fellow man. How often I’ve brought you sweet smells and pleasant melodies only for you to turn your head. You’ve never once delighted in them - not one! And there is no greater offense to me than that.” 

“Then find some other priest to sing your praises at the crack of dawn.” Tatia whipped around to glare at the beast, her thick brows furrowed with contempt. “The things that live in these woods are protected so long as I’m here to keep it that way. That is the promise I made to you.”  

“Yes.” the creature replied, speaking softly and with immeasurable patience. “I know very well the promise that you made, just as I know the company you keep with the larks and the roaming bear, and the willows longing for their wild youth in the days of old Cyrod. It is through their eyes that I have watched you crawl upon the green like a low and humble beast, spitting at anything that may disturb the peace.” The creature paused and beat its wings against the air once more. It dug its talons into the linen folds hanging on the branch, then took to the air with them - only to drop them on the priestess’ head.

Tatia cursed, her voice muffled the fabric. “Hey-!”

“But you are neither lowly nor humble.” the creature continued. “And I did not make you so you could spend your days frolicing among daisies. For seven years you have stood as vigil as the hare, witnessing the world from the safety of your den - but you will not lay sleeping forever.” a strong gust of wind flung the creature higher into the air, and it sang in tongues unknown to the priestess below. 

“Ahrk fin zul, rok drey kod, nau tol morokei frod. Rul lot Taazokaan motaad voth kein.” it circled above her, chanting. “Nuz aan sul, fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok. Fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz!”

The priestess pulled the linen from her face and watched on in stubborn silence. She expected the creature to leave her with that, as it always does. It talks and talks, and by the time she thinks to question it, it takes to the sky without a word.

            “Neht!” Vehk’s sharp eyes had picked out the Hortator first, and in the next breath, he was running to greet the three ahead.

            Up close, they seemed to be in even worse shape. Alandro, unsurprisingly, was unscathed save for a few cuts on his cheek. Nerevar leaned heavily against him, hardly able to put his left foot on the ground and one eye nearly swollen shut. Voryn’s legs seemed fine, but his fine robes were torn and dirty, his long hair tangled, and he cradled his right arm, the wrist bent unnaturally.

            “The n’wah organized an ambush,” he snarled by way of greeting, dark eyes blazing with fury. “We barely managed to get out alive.”

            Sil’s brows drew together. “And Grandmaster Elvasea?”

            “Dead. Long dead, by the time we got there,” Alandro said grimly. “Her whole entourage was probably killed the moment they entered Balmora.”

            Nerevar lifted his head; the pale blue of his open eye was nearly swallowed up by his pupil. “Ald’ruhn…they must be planning a concurrent attack…”

            “They did,” Vivec said. “We just barely managed to drive their forces out.”

            “And the Grandmaster?”

            “Safe. She was…incredible. Rallied the people to fight, built up their morale after the attack—I don’t know how many more we would have lost if she hadn’t been there.”

            “She’s overseeing the survivors,” Sil added. “We don’t anticipate there’s any more.”

            “Even so, let’s not dally on the road,” Alandro said, voice clipped as his star-bright eyes glanced around them. “Vehk, are you uninjured? Take Neht’s other arm. We can move quicker if we both help him.”

            Vivec wasted no time, pulling Nerevar’s arm over his shoulders. “How badly injured is he?”

            “Got a mace to his knee. Likely concussed, too, so make sure he doesn’t nod off.” Alandro rolled his eyes as he started moving. “Never learned how to step back—though they were brutal regardless. Even the Devil of Dagoth back there got hit pretty hard.”

            Vivec swallowed as they walked. “They must truly see us as a threat now. The Nords seem to have taken a page from Boethiah’s book with this.”

            “Suppose some of them must have brains, after all.” Alandro glanced back behind them. Sil hovered beside Voryn, still radiating fury as he limped along. “Don’t suppose you could heal up Voryn’s arm, Seht?”

            Sil shook his head. “My reserves were depleted in the fight. It’ll take at least a day to get my magicka where it would need to be, since I’m not a skilled healer.”

            “I can still cast just fine,” Voryn spat at Alandro. He huffed. “Dres is going to be in shambles. We can’t count on them to aid us now. The cowards are probably already drawing up an alliance with the Nords.”

            “They can’t do that!” Vivec protested.

            “They certainly can. And if Dres goes, Hlaalu will follow the gold like they always do.” Voryn spat on the ground, still incensed. “We’ve lost because of them.”

            “We haven’t,” Nerevar slurred out, head lolling against Vivec’s. “Azura…Azura is still on our side.”

            “Azura has done fu—”

            “Voryn, that’s enough,” Alandro snapped. He stared over his shoulder at Voryn, who looked as though he might argue. But finally, he huffed out a breath and looked away. Alandro kept his eyes on him for a moment longer, then sighed. “First things first. We get back to Ald’ruhn and regroup. Then we can decide how fucked we all are. All right?”

            There was no reply, but Alandro seemed to take that as an affirmative as he fixed his star-bright eyes straight ahead. His type of practicality was rarely worth writing about, if Vivec was being honest, but he had to admit, it was a great boon in times of upheaval like this.

            Nerevar’s head lolled forward as they walked, and Vehk was quick to jostle him. “Ah, ah. No time to rest yet, Neht. There’s still very, very much that we must do.”

            Nerevar rolled his head to look at him, open eye starry and half-vacant. “Vehk,” he slurred out with a dazed sort of fondness. “Do you know of the Tsaesci?”

            Vivec glanced up at Alandro. The Ashlander nodded. Keep him talking, was the silent encouragement.

            “I’ve heard their stories,” he replied lightly. “I know that they believe all waters lead to the gates of life and death, and that some say they’re serpents given the form of men.”

            “I met one,” Nerevar said, head lolling forward. Vivec coaxed it back up. “I met one. Before I came to Vvardenfell, in my travels. He showed me how to wield a sword like they did—no armor, you know. No shields. Just their blades for defense and offense.” Neht laughed, a half-delirious thing. “Said he could see my fate in my eyes, and that I’d travel to the edge of the world. I…” His eye slipped closed.

            “There must be more than that,” Vivec goaded as Alandro snapped his free hand’s fingers. “That’s a poor fate-telling, if he left it there.”

            Nerevar blinked a few times, rousing himself. He looked to Vivec, though it was clear he wasn’t quite seeing him. His gaze was faraway, though whether he was looking back to the meeting with the Tsaesci or all the way into Moonshadow was anyone’s guess.

            “I must be careful,” he said, voice soft and distant. “Because the edge of the world is made with swords.”

            Vivec smiled at that. “Of course it is,” he said. “They are the bottom row of the world’s teeth.”

            “Ald’ruhn up ahead,” Alandro said. “Vehk, you’re the quickest. Run up and send word for healers.”

            Vivec nodded, starting to pull up Nerevar’s arm. But suddenly, the Hortator’s grip tightened, and he kept him in place as he stared at the younger mer. His gaze was still elsewhere, but somehow it pierced right into Vivec’s eyes.

            “You believe we’ll succeed,” he said, voice serious and quiet. “You know what we’re doing is right, Vehk. If you don’t, we can’t go on.”

            Vivec met Nerevar’s gaze. Carefully, he reached up to loosen his grip, though he kept his hand tight around Neht’s.

            “We are the true heirs of Veloth,” he said softly, though with no small amount of feeling. “Resdayn’s freedom is our destiny, and we will find a way through.”

            Nerevar seemed placated by that, and he let his arm slip from Vivec’s shoulders. Vehk released his hand, then turned to run for help.

~

            There had been no further attacks, and under Grandmaster Almalexia’s instruction, the survivors were at work recouping after the ambush. They’d lost fewer than anticipated, though many were injured. The city wasn’t in shambles, but it was far from the haven it had been just a few hours before.

            Vivec had indeed gotten to her first, letting her know what had happened, and healers were sent to the inner council room to tend to the Hortator and Voryn. Alandro had needed no healing, and Seht very little—Hlareni, hearing they were back, had been quick to offer her own healing to him. They spoke in whispers in a corner of the room as she worked, two fair heads ducked together.

            As for Almalexia, she paced the room like a caged Durzog. “They cannot be allowed to do this without retaliation,” she spat out, bristled in indignation. If she had a sword in hand, there was no doubt she’d be slicing the air in fury. “Attacks like this must be repaid in kind. We shall find the nearest Nord encampment and…”

            “As satisfying as that would be,” Alandro interjected, “we can’t.”

            “I actually agree with the Grandmaster,” Voryn—arm healed and wrapped tightly in a sling—said, getting to his feet. “Are we to be sent scampering off after this insult?”

            Alandro rubbed his forehead. “You House mer will be the death of me,” he muttered, then huffed.

            “But it makes sense,” Almalexia shot back, golden eyes blazing. “They weren’t expecting us to best them here, even if you three had to retreat. Their morale will be low, this is the perfect time to strike.”

            “If we catch them off-guard, we may even have another Hofstaag,” Voryn added.

            “We are crippled,” Alandro snapped, hands slamming onto the table. “Minimal losses are still more losses than we were anticipating. And if you two bloodthirsty s’wits could see through your need for vengeance for five godsdamned seconds and think rationally for once…”

            “And if you could stop taking the coward’s way out—”

            “Call me a coward again, Dagoth, I dare you.”

            “By Azura, they’re loud,” Nerevar mumbled. “Vehk, tell me there’s no weapons out.”

            “Not yet.”

            “Then we’ll let them get it out of their system.”

            Vivec had set himself beside Nerevar as the healers worked on him, poised and ready to jump up if any aid was needed. But by all accounts, he seemed to be healing well—though he’d need some time to recuperate, and that was time they likely didn’t have. Now, though, the threat was passed, and they could gather themselves to think.

            Nerevar gave a long sigh as the healer respectfully bowed her head to the Hortator, declaring him well enough for now. He looked over to Alandro, Almalexia, and Voryn, still fighting, then to Seht and Hlareni, who seemed to have stopped their whispering to watch. Finally, he turned his gaze back to Vivec.

            “I was foolish,” he said, head falling back with a sigh. “We were so focused on not offending Almalexia that we didn’t consider reinforcements.”

            Vivec’s mouth twitched. “You’re much more important than you were, muthsera,” he said, coaxing a soft laugh from Neht. “You still think yourself a merchant caravaner, but you’re more than that now.”

            “So what am I, then?”

            “You’re the Hortator. A beacon for the masses, a new Veloth for the new children of Resdayn.” Vivec smiled. “I said that the Nords see us as a threat, now.”

            “I did hear that, in my daze.”

            “That’s because they now see you as we always saw you. And the Chimer love you as we love you.”

            Nerevar’s eyes shut, and he let out a long sigh. “Mm. Still, some days I feel out of my depth with this. There’s still a part of me that’s just Nerevar Mora, stepping off the boat in Seyda Neen to a motherland he’d never seen before.” He opened his eyes, looking to Vivec. “I know you write about how I’m…destined for this. But anyone could do what I do, you know. You could have been the Hortator, if you’d tried, with your clever words.”

            “But I didn’t,” Vehk said, voice soft. “Neither did Voryn, nor Alandro, nor anyone else. You did. And because of that, you must be the one to guide us through.” He glanced up as another slam came from Alandro’s hands hitting the table. “And, I think, the one to break up what’s about to be a deadlier fight than we just had.”

            Nerevar nodded. He gave Vivec a smile, patting his arm, then carefully heaved himself up to his feet. The movement finally made the three bickering mer quiet, and all eyes turned to the Hortator as he limped his way over to drop into one of the seats around the table. Vivec went to his own. A moment later, Seht came to sit beside him. Alandro, Voryn, and Almalexia glanced at each other, then each found a seat as well. The room went quiet, waiting for Nerevar to speak.

            Neht leaned forward, looking at the others around the table. “Grandmaster Almalexia?”

            “Yes, sera?”

            “Vehk said you took charge during the attack.”

            Almalexia dipped her head. A few coppery curls had escaped her braid, pooling on the table as she did so. “Yes. I’ve been trained in battle and strategy since I was young, and both Indoril forces and your own are well-trained.”

            “You have our gratitude,” Nerevar said, very seriously. “And because of that, I’d like to formally offer you a seat on our council.”

            “Nerevar, you’re concussed,” Voryn hissed.

            “I’m not; I have a clean bill of health now,” Nerevar said with a thin smile, then he looked back to Almalexia. “We need someone who can take command like you did. As I’m sure you know, we were nearly overpowered in our own ambush, and I don’t like the thought of freedom for Resdayn dying with me. In the event that I, or Alandro, or Voryn, or any of us end up in a battle we can’t win, we need someone else who can take up our cause. You, Almalexia, have proven that you are more than capable of leading in our absence.” Nerevar smiled at Almalexia, who stared back at him. “If you’re amiable, of course.”

            “I…yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I…I accept, most humbly, Hortator.” She bowed her head. “House Indoril will fight to our very last breath to ensure the Nords are driven out.”

            “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Nerevar gave a long sigh, fingers interlocking together as he looked down. “We need to plan our next move, and we need to do it now.”

            Voryn settled back in his seat. “I still think we should do what our newest councilmember suggests: strike back.”

            “And I think that’s a good way to have the Chimer end up extinct,” Alandro shot back at him. Nerevar held up his hands, and both mer quieted.

            “Vehk brought up a good point when we were chatting earlier,” Nerevar said, clasping his hands again and resting his chin against them. “We’re known now. We are the face of this revolution, and the Nords know that. I imagine that’s why they sent the fake invitation from Grandmaster Elvasea—they wanted to get all of us in one shot and kill the uprising.”

            “Well, we know their game now,” Voryn said. “So they can’t do something like that again.”

            “Perhaps not, but…even so. We’re too obvious.”

            “Are you saying we should split up?” Alandro asked. “I don’t think that’s wise, either.”

            “Neither do I,” Vivec said. “We must be seen as a united front. If we scatter, that shows that we’re frightened.”

            “And communication will be a nightmare,” Voryn added.

            “Perhaps we could disguise the council,” Almalexia said, a touch breathless in her eagerness to contribute. “I recall at the start, you all pretended to be a merchant caravan.”

            “Yes, but they know that trick,” Alandro said.

            “Not to mention that a whole pack of Indoril soldiers following us might be suspicious,” Voryn added dryly.

            “Obviously I would direct them elsewhere,” Almalexia scoffed. “They can take orders from me remotely, or Hlareni could stand in for me—she’s done so before.”

            “You’re still a Grandmaster, though,” Sil pointed out quietly. “They might not recognize you on the battlefield, but they’ll still know who you are.”

            Voryn nodded. “I imagine they know all the Grandmasters of the Great Houses. That’s why they could target Elvasea.”

            “Doesn’t that put you in danger, Voryn?” Vivec asked.

            “I’m not the Grandmaster of House Dagoth. My mother is still firmly holding on to that title.”

            “Knowing her, she might keep it even when she makes it to Oblivion,” Nerevar said, sending Voryn a smile. He sobered after a moment. “But no, disguises won’t help us at this point in the game.” He bit his lip, staring hard at the center of the table. He stayed silent for a very long time, but no one interrupted; Nerevar’s silence rarely ended in disappointment, after all. “We need to go into hiding.”

            “What?” The entire council spoke in unison, all gaping at Nerevar. He didn’t look up.

            “We must work together and we must be unified in the eyes of Resdayn,” he said. “But we cannot put targets on ourselves. The best thing we can do is to hide in the shadows until the Nords let their guard down.” He looked around the table. “Once they think we’re all talk, that we’ve been defeated, that is when we strike. And we will end this, with our allies at our side.”

            There was a moment of quiet puzzlement, but Alandro figured it out first. “You want us to hide with the Dwemer.”

            “Yes, exactly. The Nords will never think to look below ground, and Dumac will be glad to hide us as needed. They want the same thing we do.” Nerevar sat up. “And we can use the time to strengthen our bond with them, to show them that we’re indispensable allies and that they should—no, they must join with us to drive the Nords out of Resdayn.”

            There was a murmur of agreement, but Voryn sat back in his seat, frowning. “But we can’t all hide. We have our allies and our agents, but we’ll lose the trust of the Chimer if no one is above ground. Vivec can spin all the honeyed words he wants, but they’ll ring empty if there’s no one they can trust.”

            “Well, it can’t be Nerevar,” Sil said bluntly. “They’ll kill him.”

            “Voryn, too,” Vivec added. “You’ve attracted no small amount of notoriety as the Devil of Dagoth.”

            “I can stay,” Almalexia offered. “I’ve proven that I can lead, and I have the trust of Ald’ruhn and the Grandmasters.”

            “That’s why you can’t stay,” Nerevar said. “As Grandmaster, you have a target on your back as well, Almalexia.”

            “Don’t tell me we’re bringing all the Grandmasters down with us?” she asked.

            “No, but you’re a member of the council now. We can’t lose you when we’ve just gained you.”

            “I’ll stay,” Alandro said. “Nords can’t wrap their minds around Ashlanders; I imagine that’s why I didn’t get hit as much as you two did. They probably think I’m nothing but a merc.” He crossed his arms. “But the House mer up here know me well enough—maybe they don’t trust me like Voryn or Ayem here, but I can get by. And, of course, I can hide out among the clans.”

            Nerevar looked to Voryn, who nodded. He looked back to Alandro.

            “That’s wise, I think,” he said, then gingerly pushed himself up to his feet. “It’s settled, then. Voryn, Sil, Vehk, and the Grandmaster will come with me down to Dumac’s city. Alandro will stay here and manage things above ground.” Nerevar gave a long sigh. “We’ll come up with a full plan tomorrow, and I’ll send word to Dumac in the morning. For now, I think we ought to rest.” He started to walk out, then paused. “Almalexia?”

            “Yes, Hortator?”

            “I’d like to hear a more thorough account of what happened here, if you have the time.” He chuckled. “Though you will have to forgive me if I fall asleep during it.”

            Almalexia was on her feet in a moment. “Of course, muthsera. It’s just as well, Hlareni should be compiling the account of the battle. Come join us.”

            “Oh! I…well, I…” Hlareni looked to Sil as he got up, deliberating, then sighed. “Yes, of course.” She looked to Seht once more, then followed the two out.

            Voryn’s dark eyes followed Nerevar as he left the room, then he stood up as well. “Well, if we’re not sorting anything else out, I’m going to rest. Sil, you ought to as well with your magicka reserves so low.”

            “I was planning to,” Sil said quietly, then looked to Vivec. “Are you coming, Vehk?”

            Vivec’s eyes were on Alandro, a question brewing in his head. It took Seht repeating his name to get his attention. “Hm? Oh, not quite yet.” He looked up at him; for all of his talking with Hlareni, it seemed as though he hadn’t quite recovered from the shock of the day. Vehk smiled—the boy was, of course, far too grown up and mature to ask for him to stay the night, but he could gather the request well enough by the way Sil rubbed his arm. “But I’ll be by your room shortly, hla’daesohn. I just want to speak to Alandro for a moment.”

            Seht nodded, then made his way out. Vivec watched him go, then took a breath and strode over to Alandro. The ashlander’s gaze was far away, no doubt already trying to strategize their next move. He looked up curiously as Vivec approached.

            “Yes, Vehk?”

            “Let me stay with you,” Vivec said.

To his surprise, Alandro’s head tilted back, and he laughed. “Oh, absolutely not.”

A familiar burn crept up to Vivec’s face. It’d been a while since he’d been chided by Alandro, but that didn’t make him feel any less like a scolded child. “I’m an Ashlander, same as you. You know full well I’m a netchiman’s son.”

            “And you have a tongue that could rival Mephala’s daughters.”

            “I sang for an ashkhan, once.”

            “And you would do it again, then be gutted when you spoke a little too sweetly afterward.” Alandro shook his head. “I don’t know how young you were when you left your clan, but young enough to not know just how distrustful we can be. You, Vivec, reek of deceit.”

            Blood rushed to Vivec’s ears as his heart pounded. But as he opened his mouth to argue, Alandro held up his hand.

            “You have a gift, Vehk,” he said, voice soft and honest. “Your words are the reason we’re in this position, and that’s a good thing for our cause.” He rested his hands on the other mer’s shoulders, meeting his gaze with star-bright eyes. “I know you’re from the Ashlands, and you understand our home like the Ashlanders do. But you speak, you think like a House mer. You manage to exist between the two, and we need that. And if you stay with me, if the Nords find out who you are, they’ll put an arrow in your throat to shut you up.” He sighed, then gave a wry smile. “Do you remember a few years ago, when I told you to focus less on your wild accounts?”

            “Very well. You called it nonsense.”

            “And it was then. But it isn’t now.” Alandro’s hand moved to grip Vivec’s jaw, keeping his their eyes locked and deadly serious as he did. “I don’t pay lip service to you. Never have, never will. And believe me, I know how easily wounded your pride can be. So when I say this, know that I mean it wholeheartedly, as an equal and not a scolding babysitter: we need your words. Especially when Nerevar can’t be seen; you’ll be able to keep him visible even as you hide.” His eyebrows rose. “Am I clear?”

            Vivec swallowed. “Yes. Very clear.”

            Alandro smiled, and he gave Vivec’s shoulders a hard clap as he stood up straight. “Good lad.” He chuckled as he started to head to the door. “Besides, someone will need to step in for Seht when he tells old Kagrenac he’s doing things wrong. Sleep well—you’ll need it.”

            Vivec agreed vaguely, mind still reeling. Alandro was always upfront, but so rarely with anything but a critique or correction. Even if it was just to keep Vivec out of his hair…no. No, it wasn’t. Nerevar and Voryn would lie, but Alandro never would, especially not to spare feelings. He meant what he’d said.

            We need your words.

            His quills needed sharpening before they left.

~

            The next day, Nerevar’s request went to Dumac. The day after, they had their answer. And within the week, their plan was finalized: Nerevar, Voryn, Vivec, Sil, and Almalexia—along with a small entourage that included Hlareni—would make their way to one of the nearby Dwemer lifts, where they would be greeted and escorted to Dumac’s underground palace. The journey was a short one, but still required any identifying armor and insignias to be hidden away.

Both Voryn and Almalexia seemed less than pleased to don common merchant clothes, their own finery hidden away in the wagon. Sil and Nerevar, on the other hand, looked more than comfortable in their plain clothes. Vivec found the dichotomy both expected and hilarious.

Alandro had agreed to ride with them to the lift, clad in his own traditionally obscuring Ashlander clothes. He and Nerevar spoke in quiet voices as they led their caravan, no doubt arranging their next move. Hlareni had fallen in step with Sil, who tried to split his attention between her and Voryn, who in turn was speaking rather intently about the young mer’s coming of age—which, he warned, would likely happen when they were underground, and while that made things difficult if he wanted to join House Dagoth, he would be able to make a case for him when they came back out.

Vivec, meanwhile, found his way toward the back of the caravan, where Almalexia—tattoos covered and hair bound back—was keeping watch.

“Are you familiar with the Dwemer, Grandmaster?” he asked. Her steely concentration broke, and she gave him a smile as she turned to look at him.

            “I am not, but you are. As I recall, you were…raised in one of their machines because they were kind to you?”

            “Ah, that was the last draft of my birth. As of yet, I haven’t quite rectified how the Dwemer dealt with my egg.” He shrugged. “But, after my hatching, I admit I am not as familiar with them as Nerevar is. Sil’s been down a few times, but his talk of metal beasties and automatonic guardians always leaves my head spinning.”

            “I do believe that’s the first bit of truth you’ve said to me, sera,” Almalexia said, shaking her head.

            “Ah, no, no ‘sera’, no ‘serjo’, no ‘councilor’ or ‘master’. We’re both council-members now, and that makes us great friends by default.” He gave her a wide smile. “Just Vivec. Or Vehk, if you prefer, provided I can call you Ayem in return.”

            Almalexia’s brows drew together, clearly mulling over the familiarity. “I…yes. Yes, I’d like that, Cou—” She caught herself with a smile, golden eyes bright as she met Vivec’s gaze. “Vehk.”

            He nodded, very pleased to hear his name on her lips, and clasped his hands behind his back as he kept his eyes on her. Her own attention drifted, watching for threats, but her gaze kept coming back to him. Finally, she gave a huff that wasn’t nearly as irritated as she meant for it to be.

            “Is something the matter?”

            “No, quite the opposite.” He shrugged. “We’re going to be spending quite a lot of time down in the dark. So it’s of the utmost importance that I memorize just how very, very beautiful the sun is when it gets caught in your hair.”

            A flush crept to Ayem’s golden cheeks, but she put on a haughty expression. “Is this how you speak to all your friends, Vivec?”

            “No. They wouldn’t appreciate it the way you do.”

            “You don’t know that I appreciate it,” she said, trying to sound stern. “I find it overly forward, actually.”

            “Ha! Now who’s telling lies? If you believe that, then it shouldn’t be hard to believe I was taught by Fa-Nuit-Hen.”

            “In your egg.”

            “Yes, in my egg.”

            Almalexia shook her head, but a smile had already escaped. “You are a flatterer and a liar, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a mer with your boldness in either.” She looked over him for a moment. “My father would have had your tongue cut out.”

            “But you are not your father, Ayem.”

            “No.” Her mouth turned up in a smile. “No, because I’m far too curious. I can’t wait to hear the next ridiculous lie that comes from your lips.”

            “I’ll do you one better. I’ll give you a truth,” he said.

            “Oh? And what is that?” Ayem’s head tilted, clearly waiting for something ridiculous as she smiled at him. His eyes traveled over her face.

            “I meant what I said when we sparred,” he said, voice soft and far too earnest to be mere flattery. “I think you match the stars in their beauty.”

            Almalexia blinked, and she quickly looked away. But there wasn’t a bit of anger in her body; she may think him bold, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like what he said. But he left it there—any more, and he would need to start editing.

            It was just as well, because they’d reached the lift. A couple Dwemer already waited at the lever, waving at them. Nerevar took a moment to pull Alandro to him in a tight embrace, giving him a few whispered instructions or, perhaps, a few words of farewell, just in case. Then, he went to the lift. Voryn followed, giving Alandro a few parting words of his own along with a clasp of his hand. Hlareni and Almalexia both gave quiet nods and thanks. Seht was close enough that Vivec caught his farewell; Alandro reached up to ruffle the boy’s hair in the way he hated.

            “Try not to say ‘I told you so’ too much when you run circles round those architects, all right, jul? I expect you to come out on your own metal kagouti when this is over.” He pulled a small package from his bag, pressing it into Seht’s hand. “And here. Just in case I don’t see you for your birthday; it’s a big one, after all.”

            Sil looked down at it. His ever-stoic face shifted slightly, and he swallowed. “Thank you, Alandro.”

            Alandro squinted, a smile hiding beneath his mask, then ushered Sil toward the others. His star-bright eyes landed on Vivec. Like just a few days before, he set his hands on the other mer’s thin shoulders.

            “I still mean what I said,” he said quietly. “Right now, our best weapon is going to be your pen. Send as much writing as you can, and I’ll get them around.” He squinted in another hidden smile. “Make them all love Neht as much as I know you do.” Vivec nodded, serious and silent, and Alandro chuckled. “No witty quip? It is Vehk going down with them, right?” He looked over Vivec’s face for a moment. “Well. Since I’m less confident than Nerevar that I’ll get out of this alive, I may as well be honest.” He squeezed Vivec’s shoulders. “You’ve come a long way from the daggerlad that tagged along with us. I’m glad to have been fighting for Resdayn with you, and I hope we meet again to continue that fight.”

            Vivec swallowed. “I hope so, too,” he said, voice wavering more than he’d like. “Three protect you, Sul.”

            Alandro gave Vivec’s shoulders one last pat, then stepped back. It took a moment, but Vivec pulled his gaze away from the Ashlander to go join the others. Alandro gave a wave to the group, and the Dwemer accompanying them pulled their levers.            

And with that, the council—minus one—delved down into the dark.

Divayth Fyr scratched at his overlong silver beard and peered over the darkened lenses of the spectacles he had crafted to shield his eyes from the abundance of sun in this place. “Yes, I’d imagine so. This particular plane seems to have perfectly even day-night cycles—such that it would, in theory, always be an equinox.”

“Ridiculous we should end up here, my friend.” Yagrum snapped his fingers absently and a humanoid shape burst from the sand beside him bearing a tray of drinks. He took one, the nearest being something served with a pink paper umbrella and a matching straw poking out of the green shell of a local delicacy—what they’d been calling a ‘coconut.’ It was a form of palm fruit filled with sweetened water. “It’s almost like we needn’t work at all.”