Snow in a Maiden's Heart

Chapter 1: The Enigma of Questions

How had her life come to this?

It was a question the young maiden so often asked herself, a thought that many would not adhere to, but for some unknown reason, it became a warring thing for her sanity to defy. The question lingered in the back of her mind for days, perhaps months without making itself known. But every so often, it would wait until she was alone and slip her mind into a rumbling parley of feuds and vendettas, that she could not so easily escape from. It was a question that so rarely found a true answer. There were many reasons why her life may have resulted in the way it had, to be sure, but the true reason was something she could never quite bring to reality.

Yet, as she glanced into the honey-coated wine of her silver cup, the bitter taste of snowberry lingering upon her tongue, she sensed that perhaps, for at least that night, she might find some reprieve from her troubled mind, if she ever could. But she knew, by the unbound mirth of her companions, huddled close to the flickering embers of a vibrant flame, that she would not find reprieve from her mind among them, for they were too deep in ale to even see the stars through the cracked panes of glass surrounding the Chantry's chapel. She needed to be alone to either think for herself, or to drink her sorrows away where they could not see her.

Slipping into the shaded corners of the high-vaulted Chantry, Iry smuggled a corked ewer of Alto Wine from the nearest stand of assortments and turned to see a parted silver door beckoning her from the other end of the chamber. Lit, it was, in the flickering shimmer of reflected light and laughing shadow, presented by figures embraced in the afterglow of a heavily wooded hearth. Sensing the need to leave, Iry proceeded to tug the restraint of her robe tight across her chest, for her fingers, usually swift and nimble, were too numb to properly form a tighter knot. The leather continued to slip through her fumbling, until she eventually managed to form a sufficient enough tie to keep the creased skirts of her heather-rimmed robe together. From there, with little sound but the occasional stumble, she slipped away from the drunken spoils and headed into the airy halls of an extinct empire.

The halls she walked were halls she had spent many a-time observing in silent study, hewn out of livingstone and clustered crystals of glistening ice. The Snow Elves where an ancient race to be reckoned with, she often remembered, when standing in the temple dedicated to their most honoured sovereign, Auri-El. It was so often simple for her to forget how important he must have been to the Snow Elves, but as she stepped through his Chantry, she began to truly recognise the once subtle depictions his followers had made for his pleasure.

The might of his power had been rendered mundane in the temple's unmoving foundations, crumbling but never bowing to the force of nature. Depicted in prayer across ceilings and shrines was his very name, laced in silver ink from a scribe's delicate fingers. His wisdom was foretold in vast scriptures of ancient knowledge, housed in archives that not even she could begin to uncover. Even in her debauched stupor, her mind remained fixed on the weathered forms of beauty and as the wind began to unfurl along the outer walls, the true beauty of the temple became known. The pale luminescence of the moons seeped through the glassy panes of the hall, casting an iridescent sheen across the marble sentinels and undulating their gleaming surfaces as if enchanted rock.

After trying to memorise the splendor she witnessed in detail, only realising shortly after that the world had become somewhat distant and unfocused, she left the halls and searched for a place she knew all too well, wandering down spiral stairways, passing gold, star-burst shrines and the cracked archways of a sundered palace, until she drew into a vast frozen world, easily viewed from what used to be the temple's Inner Sanctum. Pieces of the ceiling lay scattered around the once mighty chamber, some indented into the sanctum's studded floor. The young elf observed the stone as she wandered, staring at the still intact throne dedicated to the once living Arch-Curate, but memories of he and his motives were never a pleasant thought for her to ponder on.

She drew away from the Inner Sanctum, as beyond lay the intact remains of the temple's grand balcony, overlooking the entirety of Auri-El's kingdom.

Mounds of snow and ice cracked beneath her leather-bound feet as she steadily climbed the stairway to the overlook. Yet before peering over the edge, she gently coaxed her hood behind her pointed ears and steadied herself against the balcony's balustrade.

The night was quiet and the question returned to her mind.

"Was it adventure, that brought you so far?" she thought Masser would ask, as He, the grandest of the twin moons, gradually rose over the ice crested pinnacles of the Forgotten Vale, ready to pass into the deep glistening sky of Aetherius.

"Or was it the fortune promised in your lullabies as a little one, sung by bards with little coin to their name?"

"Perhaps it was for freedom," whispered the wind, layering the mountain peaks in fine ashes of winter frost. "Perhaps the young lass could not stand the life her father wished for her, and journeyed to the frozen land in search of longing and comfort?"

"Yet, far is she from home now, the little thing," mourned the second moon, Secunda, as it took its rightful place by Masser's side. "Far, she is, from the riches of the Imperial City, far from the warm hearths of a grand stone keep. She is far from the noble populace parading through the courts of the highest aristocracies, far from their those that begged to affiliate with her name."

"Do you think she misses the attention? Misses the way noblemen would whisk to her feet, pray for her gaze to strike them?" the wind pondered, curling the unsteady downpours from the Vale's mighty waterfalls until the water began to rain across the snow-beaten shores along the valley.

"Nae," Iry whispered against the feud in her mind, hushing the voices if for a moment, "I do not miss that."

"Then why do you ask the same question, little thing," Masser and Secunda asked in unison. "Why do you seek a lie when the answer is laid as clear as crystal?"

"I... I do not know."

Unsatisfied with her answer, or perhaps with the tone in which she had phrased it, the wind took on a sudden, sullen turn, hissing against the wintered vale. Its sturdy current drew flakes of snow from the mountaintops, stirring the edges of Iry's robes as something near alive. The Alto Wine was knocked from its stand, slipping from the balustrade before Iry's fingers could snatch it.

She waited for the inevitable crack. She stared at the white-kissed snow, expecting the bitter-sweet colour of berry to stain it. But there was no crack. There was no shatter.

"Is everything alright?" a voice of refinement did inquire, circling his gauntlets around the ewer's slender throat.

The balustrade's surface cracked under the sharp clutch of the young maiden's fingers. Part of her did not dare to peer up and answer the question. Part of her wished to simply drink deeper into the luxuries the wine offered, until she was so deep that Aetherius itself would look to be nothing more than a muddled landscape of light and clouds.

"Partaking in one of life's grandeur's, I see," the elf smiled, placing the wine gently between them. An orb of light floated slightly above his head, casting her face in cerulean light and shadow. "Though I fear your companions may have taken a little too much ale for one night."

Iry remembered her friends sat by the fire, contented to allow their intoxicated minds to wander on any conversation that took their fancy. Torr, she knew, would drink no matter the occasion. She had expected as much. Bane, however, her oldest friend from way back when, partaking in such things, was something she had not expected. Perhaps, the thought of relevant safety that they had not had for so long, influenced their merriment in such dark times? Why the unbound dremora did not often take the fancy of being intoxicated with a strong brew of dried herbs and juice was beyond her. She rarely saw him even eat, if he could.

For some odd reason, the thought of her companions enjoying themselves in warmth and comfort brought a longing to her chest, one that it seemed wine could not simply ease in all its wonder.

"I always saw you as a mer dedicated to study, never one to divulge in such things," the man continued, bracing his broad, bare arms over the balustrade's frosted edge. The Forgotten Vale lay silent and tranquil among the evening, with nary a speckle of snow raring from the heavens while in his presence.

"We all need a drink now and then to forget, Gelebor," Iry whispered, softly picking at the frost beneath her gloved fingers.

"Ah, and what is it that you are trying to forget, if I am to be so bold?"

"Tis many things," she said, reaching out and uncorking the wine before taking a brief swig of its contents. Her soft features creased at the sour taste. Alto Wine was never something she was particularly fond of. "Too many to spoil one night."

"Ah, I see."

Baring tall and proud, he peered down over the overlook as a silent observer upon the land, nestled safe in the alcove of the mountains. He frowned at sensing the subtle shift of the white-smothered evergreens while the frozen lake lay dark and still among the wake of the moons. Gelebor observed the marvel of Auri-El's craft in nature as if his hands were the molds of its creation, and his voice the force that shook the very mountains into place.

From the distance, a tiny glow of a vale-deer could just be seen, daintily slipping under the broken arch of a once mighty pillar, life thriving from it in a tangle of wilting mountain flowers. Beyond, wolves howled to the sky, but nothing was more curious to the Snow Elf then the small forms of shadow lurking beyond the Vale's boundary, for he knew there would be a time when those forms, like he, could no longer be an observer to the world, and he feared what outcome that might bring.

Sighing softly, the Snow Elf brought his gaze away from the Vale and instead tilted it to the sky.

"You know, I often came up here to think after what happened between yourselves and my brother," he whispered, observing the stars above their heads in a manner most curious. His focus shifted from one tiny sparkle to the other like candlelight, perhaps searching the heavens for Auri-El, hoping to catch a small fraction of his lord's divine grace, or perhaps he searched for a sign given to him by his brother, if to bring some small amount of peace to his mind.

Eventually, when Gelebor's thoughts returned to the present, he looked across to Iry, and was surprised to find that there was sorrow in her soft face, no doubt caused by his words. The thought of such a thing was absurd to him, as his brows met and frown set deep.

"Do not feel guilt for the departed, my friend," he said, coaxing a stray brindle hair behind one of her ears. A piece caught the sharp corner of his gauntlet, tangling itself in a hook, perhaps to keep his hand in place. The action seemed to soothe her worry, though, as her pale blue cheek leaned eagerly into his touch. "What happened to Vythur was something that could never be prevented, even if he never saw the doom his path would lead him to. I just wish Auri-El might have saved his soul before it ever came to this. All of this death was so unnecessary."

"Do you regret what we did to him?" she asked, keeping her gaze far from his reach.

The Paladin retracted his hand from her cheek, as if burned by her touch. He drew his focus to the valley, utterly still, until his hands flexed against the wall. There were parts of his armour that were chipped, broken and fractured, Iry noticed, allowing his skin to gain access to the world outside of the silver. But the skin was scarred in jagged lines, soft and crooked, from battles the young dunmer lass could only imagine. "No matter what caused his madness, be it the Betrayed or the scorn of Auri-El, he was still my brother. I prefer to remember him as how he was before the Betrayed came to the Sanctum. He was a kinder soul back then, still arrogant in his ways but... never cruel."

Sensing the growing sorrow from her fellow mer, Iry gently brought the wine to his reach. After a curious glance, the elder mer took her offer greatly, passing her the shrivelled cork before taking several large swigs of the sweet smelling substance. If the wine burned his throat, he made no reaction to it.

"So," he said, eying the oddly curved decanter rather humorously, "this is what passes for wine among the common Nords, hmm?"

Iry smiled, throwing her arm out to present her opinion to the entirety of the Vale. "That, my dear Gelebor, is the Nordic's finest! You will not believe what the Nords use for water in Skyrim."

"Ah, now I find myself curious," Gelebor chuckled, a deep throat sound that sent her heart aching beneath her breast. "What is their substitute for water?"

"Isn't it obvious?" A moment, she waited, the momentum of her jest threatening to spill, then two, until she finally exclaimed, "Mead!"

The Knight Paladin snorted, curling his lip up in a rather bemused manner. "Mead, you say?"

Iry waved a hand half-heartedly, unconsciously leaning her weight against the taller mer's muscled side. "They find drinking milk an insult to their honour."

"My, how do you manage to travel through Skyrim with such peculiar people?"

"Truthfully, I have no idea. And they think we elves are strange. Hah!"

Gelebor smiled. "It truly is a mystery."

The laughs they shared in that simple moment seemed to quake the very earth beneath their feet. The Dunmer maiden began stumble, threatening to fall back upon the jagged marble behind her before her balance returned, if by the aid of her fellow mer.

But as the mirth of their discussion gradually passed into the shadows of the eve, Iry's mind found itself wandering back to that question, one that she had hoped would have left her to rest if for a little while. Peering up at the mer by her side, she slowly began to realise how trusting she felt towards him, despite knowing her fellow companions a little longer. Gelebor was so unlike any elf she had ever met, refined and wise unlike many elders she had the displeasure of knowing throughout her short life.

Perhaps it was due to him being of a dying breed. She had met many common elves in her time, from her Dunmer kin, known by the colour of their skin - often referred to as dead or kindled ash; to the Bosmer, tanned as the woodlands they harboured in all their natural splendor. She recalled her interactions with the Orismer, if they could be counted among the elven populace, for they were brutish in combat and life as any thug she had the misfortune in coming across, with tusks forming unsightly ridges in their appearance. And then there was the Altmer, sun-kissed from their head to their feet, with a superiority to rival no other.

But the only species she knew that could be claimed as Snow Elf or Falmer was that of the twisted, blind beasts that lurked within the bowels of the grand, metal kingdoms that once belonged to the lost race of Dwemer, perhaps the children of Gelebor's long missing kin.

Yet as she looked up upon the snow-haired elf, as flecks of frost seemed to cover the exposed skin of his arms and the rose-coloured tips of his long, pristinely angled ears twitched in anticipation of her next spoken words, she could not help but notice that despite their physical differences, they were alike in so many ways.

He valued respect, honour and tradition. He held a set of morals that so few in Skyrim could fathom. And he was kind. That in itself was a rarity. From their first conversation alone, she knew he was different.

Met, they first had, within the far reaches of the Forgotten Vale, when Iry had first taken on the quest of aiding a wayward vampire steeped in royal blood, if to see where such an adventure would take her, especially with the Archmage of the College of Winterhold leading their expedition. Their search for an answer to their plight led to their venture into Darkfall Cave, where she eventually met the Knight Paladin, whom was tentatively tending to a wayshrine formed in a starburst cut. They had struck up an accord upon their meeting - Iry and her fellows would receive what they had tirelessly searched for, if they dealt with Gelebor's long estranged brother, Vythur, whom had locked himself within the Chantry of Auri-El's Inner Sanctum for over a thousand years.

Little did they know that the reason for their quest was from the Knight Paladin's elder brother, whom had lost his sanity to the vampiric strain gifted to him by one of his own initiates. Iry Velori had never meant to end the life of the ancient mer, but, regretfully, had little choice but to fight until the Snow Elf's body fell still against the cold stone of the Inner Sanctum. She remembered him so clearly, like a curse, as he had lain ungracefully upon the ground amongst the forms of his fallen, twisted brethren, not far from where she now stood.

She knew the end of their quest proved difficult for the Knight Paladin. No matter what he intended to believe, the creature Iry aided in murdering was still in some way his brother, and losing family, no matter what the circumstance, was always a feat that could never truly be recovered.

"Ever since I left Cyrodiil, I've had this question inside my mind," Iry began, twiddling her fingers around the half-chipped wine cork, straining to make her voice heard. "Tis a peculiar sort of question, this question, one that seems to plague me to no end. I was told, once, back when I was an apprentice within the College of Winterhold that, 'Your mind learns through riddles, lies and conjecture. You seek that which is lost to you, for it, like you, is lost in itself. You seek meaning, shelter in knowledge, but without a clear mind, you will never find peace'. Tis been on my mind ever since."

"The man who told you this sounds very wise."

The maiden gave a gentle nod. "The wisest."

Noticing her lapse into quietness, the Snow elf tried to encourage her continuation, but it was as if he was met with a sullen wall of courtesy, stubborn in nature yet a little yielding. That was, until he asked, "And that is what troubles you so?"

"Not just that, but one of them," she said, bowing her head. "I left my home to be away from the burden of responsibility, from my family and from the influence my family name held among the Imperials in Cyrodiil. I came to Skyrim to begin anew. That was the idea. Maybe twas not the best idea, but it suited me just fine. Bane, you see, came with me from Cyrodiil with an envoy of hired mercenaries. My father trusted him, even though he was practically an abomination walking upon the land. It took a little longer for him to earn my trust, but eventually he did. You see, Bane and my father had known each other for many years, and I suppose Bane having spent the majority of his unbound freedom within Skyrim for over a hundred years had its benefits when venturing there. But we parted ways for a time while I searched for the College of Winterhold to begin my studies in the Arcane. Once I had made my stay there, he found me in the Arcanaeum. I still have no idea how he got into the College without arousing suspicion, but I suppose that is one of the many mysteries no scholar would ever be able to unravel."

"And what of the Betrayed that walks amongst your group?" Gelebor asked, his tone rising in curiosity.

"You mean Torr, yes? My very sarcastic, very close guarded mer friend?" The Snow Elf nodded. "Remember when I mentioned an envoy of hired mercenaries on my way into Skyrim? Well, the mercenaries, Bane and myself were drawn away from any roads near the border after a storm had come in hard from the north. We took refuge in a nearby cave, but I should have known something was not right with it. The walls were too wet, like a torch had burned the ice away and there was this terrible tremble from the stone, as the underground shook beneath our frozen feet. It was a cave that held within it the lost fragments of a Dwemer outpost, and where there was Dwemer, the Betrayed do not stalk far behind. In the middle of the night we were taken, dressed in rags and locked in cages of gold and iron. I was separated from everyone else, and Torr happened to be my only company."

"He was imprisoned with you?"

"Yes. What was more surprising was finding out that he knew how to speak fluent Tamrielic. He never did tell me how he learned it, nor did he say how he learned to be different from his brethren. What I did find out was that any hint of difference in his race was instantly shunned. His spine, if you ever see it beneath his armour, is curved, yet he can almost stand to full height and walks like we do. His muscles are not as thin as those of his brothers and his skin seems to have adapted well to the light of the world above ground. He may still be blind. He may still hold the scrunched appearance that will forever mark him as an outcast, but his heart and intellect are the main features, I believe, that drove his brothers away from him. He isn't bloodthirsty like them and is better in wielding magic to that of a bow or poorly crafted axe. In a way, I am glad he was shunned from his people, for if he hadn't helped us escape from that hell of a cave, I fear I would not be here with you today."

His eyes were on her for quite sometime, quiet in silent study on a creature that he had wondered about ever since he saw him. Then came a question she had not expected, and caused her to shift from one foot to another rather uncomfortably. "You care for him a great deal, don't you?"

"He saved my life, Gelebor," she said without hesitance. "I can never repay that debt, nor that of Bane for doing the very same on many other occasions. They are both family to me. Tis rare that I ever find comfortable companionship among my friends."

"I understand. Close companionship is a rarity among this world, it seems. But once found, it is a treasure worth hoarding." He seemed pleased with her answer, no longer observing her with a worry she could practically sense in the air. Gelebor let out a wary sigh, clouding the air before his next breath. "And what did you do after that, if I might ask? How did you end up finding a lonely snow elf among Auri-El's forgotten vale?"

"Tis not so simple to answer that question," she muttered softly. "There were many choices that I had that may not have led up to this. There were many possibilities. I had the option of making a home here. My father had arranged for me to buy a piece of land in the Pale from the Jarl in Dawnstar, and from there I could begin whatever life suited my fancy. Life, if seemed, had other ideas for me, and so I found myself adventuring with enough coin to retire for five centuries, if I so chose."

"That does not sound like such a terrible life to me," he said.

Her shoulders slumped. "I left my home to be free of responsibility, and I find myself servicing the role of scholar in Ancient Falmer Artifacts and Dwemer Lore for the College of Winterhold, a vampire hunter among the Dawnguard if Isran can find redemption in my choice in becoming that which he despises, and I have a responsibility to my friends. For the choice to have a free life, I have not done as well as I had hoped."

Iry felt a weight on her shoulder. When she looked up, she was met with a soft smile and a warm, proud-baring gaze, and the hard silver of his hand against the thick fur pauldrons of her robe. "My friend, but you are free. The burden you have acquired over time is a burden you founded yourself, and not necessarily an ill one. No matter where you go, be it far into the snow-capped mountains or into the vast oceans beyond this land, responsibility will always find you. But that responsibility is yours, no one else's, not thrust upon you by the heiring titles of a sire, nor the respect of those that follow that title. You did create a life here, that is your own. Do not weep for the life you hear in mere stories, for your story is far greater in the making."

Her eyes shifted between his in the night, glazing over with sorrowful relief that threatened to fall, yet did not. "I... Thank you, Gelebor. I had never thought of it like that."

The elder mer merely smiled, releasing his hold from her shoulder and wringing the cuff of his armour with his other hand. "Anytime, my friend," he said, peering back towards the Inner Sanctum. "I fear I have overstayed my welcome. You came here to be alone with your thoughts, I assume? No doubt my missing presence would have no effect of your debauched fellows for the night, but perhaps my return might kindle some recollection, hmm?" He gave a small bow. "Farewell. May Auri-El grant you a fair and peaceful night."

The Knight Paladin of Auri-El turned to leave, but just as he managed to take a step out, he felt a pull in the crook of his left elbow. There, clutched in the corner and holding him in place was Iry's hand, with her fingers curled tightly around his arm. The elder mer faltered in his steps, looking back at her with one eyebrow arched.

Iry's mouth parted. She stared at the action her hand had made, as still as the icicles that surrounded them. Obviously she had not meant to cease his leave, and yet...

"Y-you do not need to leave, if you do not wish to go."

Gelebor lightly licked his lips, searching their linked touch for some type of answer.

"If you wish to speak more," he said tentatively, "you need only ask."

"I know that," she replied, curling her fingers further around his arm. "I... I suppose I have missed your company. The months my friends and I have travelled without meeting you here were hard. The Forgotten Vale is so often far from our travels. I rarely ever get to see you."

"I understand."

She frowned, tilting her head to one side. "You do?"

"Of course," he stated, but his defensive tone caused her fingers to shrink a little from his skin. "You fear that my isolation is in some part your doing, and feel guilt towards our parting. Do not fear. This isolation is my choice and I am more than capable of coping with it. I had spent many years in solitude before we first met, after all."

"Tis not just that. There's something more." Iry glanced between the engravings on his silver-plated chest, searching the symbols on his armour for any way to relay her words in a more clear manner without heat rising to her cheeks. "I'd wish more, but that'd be selfish of me."

Gelebor frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I miss your company. And more than just your company," she muttered, breath hitching at the end as hope welled within her arching chest. Gelebor's hands slowly fell around her, hesitant and still in the beginning, just barely touching the small of her back.

The ancient eyes of ice and snow landed on a maiden's, tinted heather, warily. While hers, innocent and bright beneath the frayed strands of dark hair, searched for the affection she, for so long, yearned from him. She chewed the dryness from her lip, thinking of the words she wished to say, before clearing the stuttering nerves from her throat. "We have been here before, Gelebor. You know how I feel for you."

"Ah." It was all he could utter. The sound in many ways could be interpreted differently. Many would see it as rejection, but Iry sensed the hesitation in the arms that wrapped her in his warmth. She saw the nervous flicker in his eyes in the dim light of the moons, and the bare whisper that could call her soul from her body to blend with his.

This cannot be real.

Emboldened, Iry narrowed the distance between them, placing one hand on the cold metal of his chest plate and the other on the ivory satin of his cheek. She whispered his name, overlaid with promises of bliss and affection. So tempting, she was to the elder mer, so deliciously tempting.

He leaned down, if by a little, to test the waters of their union, to see if what she truly proposed was not a manner of his own delusional imaginings. The hairs on the nape of her neck shifted when his breath whispered upon her skin, wracking shivers through her body that the Snow Elf took to being the frigid tinge in the air. But, when she leaned in, the soft scent of lavender reaching his long drawn nose, he realised, fingers imbedded into the soft velvet of her tangled hair, that their hearts pumped with the same feeling. The nights had been so long for her as of late. Her body ached for the comfort of his hand, and his longed for her breath.

He pulled away on the realisation of his thoughts, forcing her feet to stumble backward and expression to twist from one of longing to that of bewilderment.

"I-Iry," he stuttered, holding her in place at arm's length, "you are intoxicated. T-this is not wise-"

"You do not feel the same, do you?" she asked, and he could see the shine in her eyes dim.

The Snow Elf gently cupped her cheek, stroking the sharp indent of her cheekbone lovingly with the soft surface of his thumb. "My dear, how could you believe that the fault is with you? You are a remarkable woman. Any mer would be fortunate to hold your affections."

"Then why not you? Is it because I am a vampire?"

His thumb stilled against her jaw and tilted her chin up. Frowning slightly, he said, "You know I do not hold any judgement towards your decision. What you are has no effect on my opinion towards you. Any part of you, no matter what, is valued to me."

"Then, what is it?" she asked, her voice near to breaking. "Each time I try for your affections, I am rejected once again."

The arch between his brows twitched momentarily before his face fell ever more sad. "I never meant to cause you pain. You know that."

"Do I?" she asked, her voice far away, tainted by the ache in her heart and the tears threatening to fall down her cheeks.

"For over a thousand years, I have pledged my life in servitude to Auri-El, to protect this Chantry and its wayshrines until I die," Gelebor explained, silencing her quivering lips with a single kiss. It lasted barely a moment and was no heavier than the beating of a month's wing upon a flower petal. Iry tried to follow his lips when they parted, but Gelebor kept the young Dunmer in her place by her shoulders, refraining her from pressing the matter further until he had an attempt to speak. "There has been nothing else but my sacred duty since the Chantry turned to ruin. You... you must understand. I cannot violate my duty for the sake of small acts of affection or comfort. You are free to come and go from the Chantry as you please. I hold no such choice. If word got to me that something had happened to you, that you had fallen in battle or were stricken with an illness... I am not sure I would know what to do, or if my duty to Auri-El would remain."

Rubbing a cold hand against his brow, he continued. "Your affections would only be a distraction to my duty. That is not something I am sure I can allow. And I am an old mer. I have seen too many years pass to be with one such as you. I have lived my life and made my choices without regret. You must do the same."

understanding, in its heavy force, gradually fell upon her. The future that could be had between them would never be complete. Responsibility and duty prevented it. He would be forever bound to the vale until his life came to an end. She had the freedom to come and leave, but she could never stay for truly long periods of time. Her calling was that of the College, of the young mages that sought her guidance and the duties she had pledged to the Dawnguard. There would be love and there would be heartbreak. Gelebor only wished to prevent the latter from happening.

"I-I understand," she whispered, but her hands began to tremble against his armour. He felt the vibrations, brought his hands out to hold hers. She stared at them, then pulled away. "I apologise. T'was selfish of me. I should have realised. Auri-El means everything to you."

In that moment, she had hardened her heart to a cutting edge and he fared the worse for it. Gelebor reached out once more, bracing his arms around hers, but she slipped away, stepping backwards until her back hit the balustrade. Snatching the ewer from its stand and taking the last few sips of wine, she threw the bottle over the balcony and relished in the distant crack of shattered glass.

From there, she did not look back. Shrouding her face from view, she began to descend the balcony's steps towards the Inner Sanctum. Before her feet touched the bottom step, she felt the weight of a force holding her back. The arms of her friend wrapped around her stomach, tugging her away from her intended destination until her back was flat against his armoured chest.

Breath but a caress over her right ear, chilling and gentle, he whispered, "But, so do you. Matter, I mean. Truly, I cannot express the feelings I hold for you. But they are dear to me, as is you companionship."

Iry gently turned to face him, smoothing her hands along his arms for a few moments before stroking his jaw. She looked up, eyes close in search of an answer, but the answer she wished was one he could not so easily provide. The solemn shift of regret was all she could find.

He leaned down, softly nuzzling her hair.

Broken and shivering, she shrunk further into his tight embrace as if the stars themselves would take her away from him. "Then, what should we do, Gelebor?"

Hiding her face in his armour, a mass of brown hair and hood shaking against the silver, he combed soothing fingers down her back, humming a near-silent tune that had brought him comfort on many nights alone.

Beneath the entanglement of armour and tears, he heard her whisper, "Do you even care for my affection?"

There was a sudden twitch in his hold. Gelebor's arms tightened up to the point that it was nearly uncomfortable. He then took a step back, observing the young maiden's startled face before him with little more than absolute shock in his own, before slowly shaking his head. "Do not believe for a moment that your affection holds no meaning to me, Iry. Do you understand?"

"Then why do you toy with me? Am I no more than a moth to you? Constantly chasing light without a care, only for the light to disappear and reappear so many times t-that it becomes unbearable a-and confusing! Why can't you give me an answer, Gelebor? If you do not want me, then tell me that. Do not toy with my emotions any longer. Tis misery. Please, tell me. What should we do?"

The elder mer spied the red smear of wine staining her ashen lips, warily licking his own in turn. The question for a moment was lost to him, as he fought the temptation to taste the wine from her skin. "Tempting, you are."

A dull gleam kindled in the old mer's eyes as his gaze trailed down the young Dunmer's cloaked form. It was as if he had never truly seen her womanly until then. And yet, as his focus roamed her curves, imagining the subtle beauty held beyond such magely garments, a sense of honour refrained his hands from moving. He could not touch the places he knew would mask the smear of red from her lips with a set of white, nibbling teeth. He knew the light, nimble caresses that would send her fingers raking the bare of his back in pleasured bliss, but could not practise it. He knew the promising kisses that would free the moans from her deepest fantasies, and have his name sung to the heavens before the night's end. He knew how to fill the void both mer equally and unconditionally shared. But, could he?

"Yes," he said with a calm he did not feel, staring narrowly into the ground beneath their feet. "What should we do?"

...

Thank you to everyone who has read this little chapter for a small short story I am doing for an original character of mine and the NPC Gelebor belonging to Bethesda's Elder Scrolls universe. This is just a rough draft that I've been working on for a while. I hope it is okay. I'll be updating it every so often, but only to correct spelling mistakes or to add a little bit of detail to some less detailed areas.

This short story was designed to be a one shot, but I am thinking of distributing it between three or four chapters. I fell in love with the character of Gelebor in Skyrim and cannot believe the lack of love there is for him! I just knew I had to write something with this character in. But until the second chapter is written, thank you for reading and please leave a comment! I love reading feedback from readers.