Author's Preface:

This is the fifth entry in the Tales from Cyrodiil series. It takes place in that miniverse, and involves very specific alterations regarding the canon. In brief, the Hero of Kvatch hasn't performed most quests other than the main one, and while most of the Cheydinhal DB Sanctuary and the original Listener is alive, Lucien LaChance is not.

Lorok nagged me for a while to write a story with an Elven protagonist and no Orcs or Vampires, so this story is sort of for him. I was also curious as to whether I could even write a paladin character. Heaven knows there are way too many DB fics out there now, so at the very least it should be a nice change. This story also will acknowledge some Morrowind lore. There isn't a paladin class in default Oblivion (many mods add it and many people play it as a custom class), but the word better describes the character I want to write than "crusader."

As for the way this story starts, well, the phrase in medias res was probably coined just for me.

Chapter 1

Her head hurt profoundly. She was fairly certain her eyes were closed, but the little flashes of light she kept seeing militated against that hypothesis. There were voices, too. One of them sounded like an Orc, and the other one sounded like it drank rocks for fun.

"This one thinks perhaps she may be dead," said the rock drinker.

"Naw. I can see her breathing," said the Orc.

"Ah, yes, the ebony cuirass with its articulated plates. Perhaps you have taken a fancy to Elves rather than Khajiiti, my large friend?"

"I told you," the Orc said, with mild good humor. "M'not a pervert. Besides, I never met a Dunmeri without a temper. They're almost as bad as you. Got any potions left?"

"This one will do it herself, yes. You are too slow, and our friend in the ebony armor looks like the sort whose reflexes are liable to be dangerous."

"Gnaaaah," she said, and opened her eyes to stare directly into a pair of yellow ones. It was dark in the cave, but they glowed. The Khajiit blinked down a short muzzle at her.

"Ah. It appears you are not dead after all. Here." The cold rim of a bottle suddenly lay against her lips. She swallowed, and felt the fizz of magicka as it went down. Her head cleared suddenly. She stiffened, but the Khajiit was already back out of reach. Varanu Ashazzarnitashpi – for that was her name – sat up, feeling about for her sword. There were lots of rocks. Many of them were different sizes, but she had a strong suspicion they were the same general shape as the new dents in her cuirass. The potion notwithstanding, she felt bruised all over. That, and the dragging sensation in her limbs, did nothing to improve her mood.

"That's gratitude for you," said the Orc.

"That's easy for you to say, Orc," Varanu said. She was normally a soprano. Her voice came out as a ragged not-quite-alto croak. "You're not the one who just spent however long it's been - "

"A few minutes," said the Khajiit.

" – Unconscious in a pile of rocks," she went on. Her gauntleted fingers closed over the hilt of the ebony scimitar at last. She tugged hard, freeing it from under a stone as big as her head. She could just glimpse the outline in the dim. It seemed heavier than usual.

"Um. Yeah," said the Orc. "Actually you were mostly unconscious under the pile of rocks. Just finished moving them off you. That's some pretty good armor you got there. Enchanted?"

"That's right," said Varanu. She raised one hand and muttered the appropriate word. A bright green glow sprung up around her. The Khajiit twitched, ears flat, as her pupils shrunk to slits. The light gleamed on her armor, which was black and spiky, and the Orc's, which might have been some kind of ebony if it hadn't been velvet green. She noted in passing that his face was covered in patchy burn scars, but that interested her less than the garish green warhammer strapped to his back. It glowed. Hold on, Varanu thought blearily. Lots of scars… Over-shiny mismatched equipment you can't buy in ninety percent of the shops in Cyrodiil... And they're not smart enough to stay out of places like this.

"Gods preserve us," she spat. "I'm in the hands of adventurers." She staggered upright, kicking rocks away. They clattered down the steep hallway. Some things were blurred out of her memory, but she remembered killing everything she had found in the cave. A few zombies and one or two ghosts, and I performed the Rites to keep them from coming back. Then I must have missed the trip line in the dark when that lich surprised me. She looked around and spotted the crushed bones sticking out from under a boulder that blocked the corridor down to the lower branch of the caverns. Ah hah.

"That's no way to talk," said the Orc.

"Why not?" said the Khajiit reasonably. "It is what we are. We did come here looking for treasure, no?"

Varanu laughed harshly. "Then you're out of luck, serjo," she said. "Even the pair of you won't get this armor off me."

"Out of luck? Us?" said the Orc.

The Khajiit rolled her eyes. "This one passes over for now the fact that you have called her a thief, yes. We were told this cavern held a treasure of some value guarded by the Undead."

"Not that I ever found," Varanu said. "Just broken coffins, and if I ever find out who did that I can assure y - " She stopped as she realized the hand with which she had been gesturing was giving off steam. She held the gauntlet up in the eerie light of her spell. It gave off another blue whisp. "Oh, Sotha's fingers." That explains why I still feel so lousy.

"What?" said the Orc.

"Another reason for you to get out of here while you still can," growled Varanu. "I've got the bloody astral vapors. And I didn't get them off any of the bonewalkers I laid to rest, and liches don't carry it. There's a dread zombie somewhere in here."

"Oh, that," said the Khajiit. "This one advises you not to concern yourself with it further. It was trying to get at you through the rock pile when we happened upon you. Quite a noise, yes." She waved a gauntleted hand at the hallway. A pair of naked legs, pocked with rot, was just visible at the edge of the light spell's nimbus. They still gave off a faint blue smoke.

"Hmph. Well, don't say I didn't warn you if it turns out not to be the only one. Thanks for pulling the rocks off me," she added grudgingly. Varanu shook her dusty hair back from her face. How long had it been since she cropped it last? A month? It was an awful tangle now, soiled with blood and dirt. She reached up and extracted the flat glass vial on its chain around her neck, then unstoppered it one-handed. She'd gotten good at that, so she wouldn't have to sheathe the scimitar.

The two adventurers showed no inclination to leave as she knelt beside what was left of the lich and sprinkled it with the blessed unguent. She spoke the prayer to Arkay with her eyes open. She always had. It didn't matter whose votary you were, somebody was always sneaking up.

"Let the light be carried and the circle be closed," said Varanu at last. The bones crumbled to dust. She got up with difficulty and stumbled over to repeat the rite on the dread zombie.

"You don't look like a priest," said the Orc, when she was finished. Varanu forced herself upright the second time through sheer force of will.

"That's because I'm not a priest," she said. "Nor a healer. Nor a monk, nor anything else that requires you to try to do a shred of good without enough armor to stop yourself getting killed by the first idiot you run into who is stealthier than you."

"A paladin, in other words," said the Khajiit. "Yes?"

"That's right," said Varanu. "Who are you, anyway?"

"The Orc is Bhed gro-Gamghaz," said the Khajiit. "And this one is Thrissi the Luckless. If Arkay's knight has no objection, we will finish our exploration of the cavern."

"You won't find anything, but be my guest," said Varanu. She turned toward the cavern's entrance, still carrying the scimitar. "Stay out of trouble."

"Ha," said the Orc.

Varanu was halfway back to Anvil, staggering under the increasing weight of the vapors, before she recognized the names.