AN: Ye Gods, it has been too long since I have written anything! So hello again! For those of you that have been following my account for a while, you may remember the characters in this novel. That's because this is a rewrite of an old fanfiction of mine Abagaianye. There are a few alterations, including the fact that story is, in fact, a story in a story. Now, that may seem daunting, but all you need to help you out is this key below; it explains all the perspectives written. I'll make sure to write it every chapter as a reminder.
Key
Italic writing = Third person not in the book
Normal writing = Dareio's perspective written in the book
CAPITAL LETTERS = "Anonymous Dunmer's" perspective written in the book
Thank you for taking the time to read this, and enjoy!
Epilogue (Part One)
"Does anyone ever consider an author's position as they read a story?" Dareio asked his Dunmeri friend languidly as he observed the movements of the clouds above them.
"How do you mean?" The other replied.
The sky was a watercolour blend of honey oranges, darkened pinks and fiery reds as the sun began its retreat from the growing darkness of the night. If he was in his more comfortable state of slight tipsiness, Dareio might have come up with descriptions of how picturesque it looked, or how, if he stared at it for long enough, it started to hypnotise his subconscious into an otherworldly dream. But, this was not the case, for he was very much aware of the fact that he was very much sober.
"Well, authors have to sit down and write their stories someplace, at some time in some location," the Altmer elaborated on his point. "I wonder if people ever think about how they're feeling as they write, or how much of their personal thoughts influence the story or what kind of issues or events they're living through as they write?"
"If it's an auto-biography, perhaps," The Dunmer replied, bluntly.
Dareio paused, slowly turning to look at his ash-skinned friend. He didn't talk until the Dunmer realised what this pause meant, and met his white gaze with the Altmer's orange stare of played-on contempt. "You think you're so smart," Dareio feigned a grumble, before cracking into a smile. He was always tried his best to get his Dunmer friend to smile back, or perhaps laugh with him, but it seemed almost impossible. Despite how hard it was to get him to smile, Dareio was satisfied with the softening of his friend's features; it was a sign that he was making something of an impression.
There was a pause between them, a lingering feeling in the scent-thick air as the crackle of the fire filled in the silence; Dareio's smile faded into neutrality as he stared into the campfire in front of the two, and the Dunmer shuffled up against a tree stump behind him and folded his arms. The first to talk was, not surprisingly, Dareio. "We need to get everything that's happened onto paper," he blurted out suddenly.
"What?"
"I've been thinking about it for a while now," Dareio admitted, gluing his eyes to the campfire. "I've kept telling myself, 'You ought to start recording your adventures down, Dareio, my good mer, otherwise you might never get the chance to.' And I think now is a good chance, after all that we've been through!"
The Dunmer tilted his head, his permanent hint of a frown unchanging. "You know, maybe the Gods have kept us alive because we haven't written a book, and are planning on keeping us alive until it's written. I'd say that was a better explanation of our incredible luck than anything else."
Dareio couldn't help but look at his friend with slight bemusement, a brow raised and his lips slightly pursed. His friend always confused him with his way of thinking, somehow finding and bluntly applying morbidity and humility in every topic under the sun and moons, though not being too negative about everything. The Altmer figured now that, after witnessing so many counts of murder and being surrounded by death his whole life, it wasn't so much of a surprise that the Dunmer thought this way. "I don't think the Gods would ever take a fancy in reading our adventures. Not even those crazy demi-god people of yours."
The Dunmer huffed through his nose, turning it up slightly in a muted disapproval. "They vanished over two centuries ago, and I do not recognise them as gods to be worshipped. You know both these things, Dareio."
A wicked grin spread on the Altmer's lips. "I know you know I know."
The Dunmer rolled his eyes; he pretended to hate Dareio's fancy flourishes, pointless paradoxes and ridiculous riddles. "Fine. But what are we writing this down for? I'm sure we can remember it more than vividly in our minds."
"But that'd be selfish!" Dareio was quick to reply, giving a firm nod to enforce his enthusiasm behind the point. "We need to let others learn from our experiences. And give them something sensational to read in their spare time."
"If you're sure they'll read it, then I guess it'd be alright-"
"Furthermore," Dareio continued ardently, trying his best to shift any doubt from the Dunmer's mind that writing down their story would be a bad idea. "I think we need to order everything officially for ourselves. We have different perspectives, and I think we ought to share them and get everything out in the open between us."
The Dunmer let out another huff through his nose. To him, the idea that openness had to be a necessity between friends was stupid and self-defeating. Surely, as friends, they could trust each other enough to share what is necessary without being spurred first. Regardless of his preference, however, he figured that he owed it to the Altmer to, at the very least, describe the way he saw the events that unravelled around and between them. "Fine," he replied plainly. "You're writing though."
Dareio frowned. "I just said that we ought to share our perspectives! Just having me as the sole contributor would defeat the object!"
Knowing that if he tried to dodge out of this one he'd never hear the end of Dareio's whining, the Dunmer simply sighed, before adding: "Alright, I'll put in my side in too. But your handwriting is better than mine, so I might ask you to write down what I say. Is that acceptable, your majesty?"
The twist of sarcasm in his friend's words made Dareio fake a cringe, but it was quickly replaced with a smug smile, having achieved what he wanted. "Absolutely. Now, fetch me some paper, some ink and some quills, slave!"
It was surprising how much pretence played out between the two, considering the fact that they were friends. As the Dunmer grumbled and got up to get some paper, Dareio gaze cast to the sky again. As the darkness grew in hues of indigo and deep-ocean blue, he reached across to a wooden slatted crate, poking his hand into a lantern and letting a flame flicker from his fingertip to light it. By the time he had shook his hand out (something he made sure to do after a certain incident) and closed the little, iron door to the lantern, his Dunmer friend was holding out a wodge of parchments, a quill, and a full inkwell. Wordlessly excited, the Altmer set the items on the crate, dipped the quill into the ink and, leaving a space for a title, began to neatly write:
By Dareio and A
"Don't do that, you idiot!" The Dunmer seized Dareio's wrist to stop him from writing.
On the receiving end of a mild (for Dunmeri standards, anyway) glare, Dareio frowned lightly. "Well, why ever not? You're going to help me write this too!"
The Dunmer's voice was gruff and low. "You know what I'm like about disclosing personal information, Dareio."
To wind up his friend, Dareio took his time to let out a sigh, before letting out a feigned-reluctant, "Oh, alright then," and completing the sentence to make:
By Dareio and Anonymous Dunmer
A smug grin spread on Dareio's lips. "There. Happy now?"
The Dunmer stared at Dareio with an expression of extreme impersonality. "The only true happiness is in death." However, when he noticed the Altmer look a little concerned, he added: "That was a joke."
Dareio held a look of alienated concern. "You're really strange; did I ever tell you that?"
"A few times," The Dunmer replied. "You're weird too."
"Oh, thank you! I'm quite sure that's the loveliest thing I've heard from you all day!" Dareio strained for a tone of gratitude, before hovering his quill above the page, near the top. "Right, what should we call this?"
They both stared at the page for some time, little shadows from the inconsistencies of the page flickering in the lantern-light. They were both a bit too prideful to admit how much significance they held in the title of the book (this was, after all, just an account of their experiences), but the dragging silence made it increasingly obvious that they did not want to mess this up. Dareio hadn't even thought of a general theme by the time his friend plucked out the quill from his hand and wrote down a title, but once his friend had written it down, he jumped to the opportunity of prosecuting it.
"What kind of a title is that?" Dareio squeaked slightly, jabbing at the title without touching it to save smudging the ink. "How does this have any bearing on what happened to us?"
The Dunmer blinked slowly, before gradually tilting his head up to look at the Altmer. "Trust me on this."
Dareio went to dispute the argument, but quickly shut his own mouth when he realised the full meaning behind what his friend had just said. He retracted his hand, staring dumbly at his friend for a second, before looking back to the title. He supposed, on second glance, it wasn't as bad as he made it out to be, and that he really only objected for the sake of arguing with his friend, not that he was going to admit it. "Fine," was the only thing he had to say on the matter. And as the Dunmer glanced back to the title he had just created, the two just stared at the ink sink into the parchment, the finalised mark of initiation of their adventure.
WAR OF THE COWARDS
