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Clearing the Air
Teldryn woke up in a warm pile of blankets and furs, his first vague thought being that he never wanted to move from this spot. The scents of dried lavender that the bedding had been stored in, wood smoke, and food cooking drifted in the cool air inside the hall. He stretched cautiously, feeling the sharp ache of strained muscles and a tight sensation in his healing shoulder. Yawning, he turned to peer at the bed across the narrow room.
Ceirin had been terribly sick on their trip down the mountain and had passed out shortly after managing to keep down some medicine. All that was visible of him now was an arm flung out of the blankets, a tousle of long sandy hair, and one ear tip. If his arm was any indication, his color was better than the awful greenish pallor he'd had last night.
They had exited the temple to realize the source of the tremors. Red Mountain had erupted again, plumes of hot ash billowing up into the sky, reddish orange lightning flashing madly. The discontented rumbles sounded up through the ground and into their feet, even over that distance. The temperature had dropped, and as the wind picked up, a blizzard of ash and snow whipped across the Sea of Ghosts to sting their eyes and scour their faces raw.
Struggling to support Ceirin's weight on either side, Teldryn and Frea had stumbled towards her village, every step an exercise in survival. When they had finally made it, he had stayed awake long enough for food, medicine, and bandages. Ceirin hadn't even done that. Frea, he thought, had stayed up a bit longer to talk to her father, but he wasn't sure.
Now, he wiggled back into the bedding, enjoying a moment of laziness and listening to the sounds of the hall; men and women talking, children playing quietly, a dog barked, someone was shoveling outside. That sound had been what woke him up. A rummaging sound of blankets moving and a sleepy groan told him it had awakened Ceirin as well.
"Morning. Feeling any better?" He yawned again and belatedly realized he had no idea what time it was. The eruption kept things dark, it could have been midday, or evening for all he knew. He wasn't sure of the date either.
He watched his employer shift the blankets away to sit up very slowly, rubbing his eyes.
"Hm. A bit. Headaches gone. I just… I feel a little odd." His stomach growled, "And I need some food." Ceirin ducked his head, letting his hair fall over his face to hide his embarrassment, as he started pulling clothes on for the day.
"Well, no armies of draugr or evil tentacle books today, alright?" Teldryn figured it would be better to keep it light, as he rose to go about his own dressing, but he wanted to hear what the shaman had to say about what had happened to make Ceirin so sick, where he had gone.
"I hear you. And Teldryn…I meant what I said before. I'm glad you came back. I don't think we would have made it out with just two of us."
"Now, don't go getting all emotional on me. I despise that. I'll be forced to quit." Teldryn drawled. He chewed the inside of his lip, hoping he hadn't offended Ceirin by brushing off the acknowledgement. Things had turned out alright and there wasn't any sense in dwelling on what might have happened. He let out a breath in relief when all it did was make his altmer companion laugh.
"What I wouldn't give for a bath." Ceirin sighed as he pulled his shirt over his head.
Teldryn made a hissing sound meant as a warning against the topic.
"What?" Ceirin dropped his voice, "I mean, I know Nords don't bathe as often, but…"
"Don't ask for water right now." Teldryn gave up trying to be subtle, realizing it was going over his patrons head.
"Why not?" Ceirin's brows came together in a puzzled frown.
"The ash, you s'wit. Or did you think it magically missed all the lakes and rivers?"
"They have a well, don't they?" Ceirin was looking concerned but also still confused.
"They have a well. Which may or may not be contaminated if the ash is toxic or if those tremors released poisonous fumes. Solstheim is a bit far off for that, but it's not impossible. Fresh water is the first thing people need to hoard if the ash fall gets worse, so don't go asking them for anything extra."
"Ah, alright… I won't." The altmer agreed, reaching to finger scrape his hair back in a tie. The shorter pieces still fell around his eyes but he tucked them behind his ears, despite the static that lifted the fine strands at the ends. The overall look was ridiculous.
Teldryn winced then to think of what his own hair; helmet flattened, sweat drenched, dried again inside the helmet, and then slept on, must look like. He cautiously reached up to feel at it, then pulled back at the unwashed texture.
Ceirin caught him and made a face. He held out a brush and another tie. Teldryn frowned. His patron arched a brow at him and brandished them again. How bad was it? He was torn between gratitude and anxiety that there weren't any mirrors present.
By the time he had fought his hair back with the brush and managed to figure out a way to tie it in a thin half tail that wouldn't slide loose; which he was certain looked awful, Ceirin was seated and getting ready to pull on his boots.
"If they are worried about poisonous fumes, they should check my socks."
Teldryn snorted laughter and nodded his head.
"What is wrong with your socks?" Both mer jumped to see Frea standing in the doorway.
"Never mind." Ceirin blurted, shaking his head.
They collected their things and followed her to the hearth for a quick bite to eat and then outside to where her father was waiting to speak with them.
The ash was letting up. The wind had changed direction that morning and the residents of the village were clearing out with shovels and brooms. Even from their spot high up on the bluff, the waves rolling in to the coast below looked fearsome. Still, seeing it all in day light, even as stormy as the sky still looked, it wasn't as bad as Teldryn had feared. The snow hadn't helped, but the Skaal, like the dunmer, had lived through worse and knew what they were doing.
Storn greeted them solemnly, led them into the small shaman's hut he shared with his daughter.
"Please, tell Storn what has happened." Frea motioned, and they all seated themselves around the fire.
They spoke for hours. Ceirin and Teldryn explained about Raven Rock, the standing stone there, how they had been told about the temple ruins by the wizard, and found Frea there. She added her parts and the three of them, often interrupting each other, finished the rest of the story.
Storn sat and listened to all of it, only making small comments or asking for clarification on certain points.
They asked about the book, but Storn would only shake his head. He said such things were outside his expertise and suggested they check with Neloth, the wizard, if they needed such knowledge. It was clear he disapproved of the Telvanni, but he would not tell them why.
The book was given back to Ceirin, wrapped and bound securely in a protective leather cover. The shaman cautioned him against looking at it again until they knew more. He did not think Ceirin had suffered any permanent harm, but he also seemed to know more than he was telling. Teldryn shifted his shoulders, unhappy with the incomplete answer.
After the discussion was finished, they took a break to go and share the evening meal back in the hall. The Skaal held to the old tradition of eating the main evening meal communally. It was crowded. Many of the villagers had spent the day cleaning up the ash and had not had time to cook anything for themselves. Both Teldryn and Ceirin were the subject of some staring and a few whispered giggles, mostly from children who had never seen mer before.
Afterwards, seated outdoors by the central fire pit, over mugs of warm mead and the fragrant smoke from someone's pipe, Storn offered them some final advice.
"You must go to Searing's Watch. Learn there the word that Miraak learned long ago, and use that knowledge on the Wind Stone. You may be able to break the hold on our people there and free them from control."
They turned to safer topics after that, intending to stay one more night and head out early the next morning if the weather held. The Skaal were generous hosts, after their own fashion, and they were supplied with food, bandages, an updated map, and even waterskins.
After the crowd thinned out, folks having had their bit of news or gossip for the evening and headed home, Ceirin and Teldryn stayed out by the fire and watched the lingering flickers from the direction of Red Mountain while they passed a last bottle of mead back and forth between them.
"Is it like this where you're from?" Ceirin asked, waving a hand toward the volcano and scuffing a bit of remaining ash with his boot. The mead sloshed inside the bottle as he did so.
"I grew up in the city of Blacklight." Teldryn pointed across the sea. Even under the cloudy conditions, a faint glow from city lights could be seen. "This wouldn't even have raised three bells."
"Bells?"
"Warning bells." He explained, "One bell is that there will be ash fall but it won't be too bad. Two is tremors and ash, probably no building damage but you'll have to clean up."
He gestured around to indicate what they had seen the village, then went back to ticking the numbers off on his fingers.
"Three bells means stay inside, preferably in a doorway, until it's over, expect minor building damage and a lot of ash. Four is everyone digs everyone else out, collapsed buildings or ash, it doesn't matter. Five bells is run for it; they have evacuation routes for that, usually people try for the harbor. There's six bells, too, but that's for a tsunami. In that case, if you haven't evacuated, you're fucked anyway." He was leaned back; legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
"What was the worst you ever saw when you lived there?" The altmer handed him the bottle.
"Five." He took a swig. It was good mead. More of an herbal flavor and less cloying sweetness.
"False alarm, as it turned out. I must have been eight or nine. I just remember my parents grabbing me out of bed in the middle of the night and carrying me, blankets and all, out into the street, and people running."
Ceirin made a quiet kind of hm noise. "I guess people get used to it."
"Were you born in Riften?" He asked Ceirin. It wasn't the question he wanted an answer to, but he never opened with what he really wanted in a negotiation, and they had reached a comfortable agreement to take turns according to whoever had the bottle.
"No, in the Summerset Isles. Alinor. Well, technically, outside of it, but in that territory." He sighed, and then when Teldryn simply shrugged, he added. "It's the capitol."
"Huh. Why'd you leave?"
"That is a long story. The short answer?" He eyed Teldryn hopefully.
"If you must." He nodded, "But I'll get it out of you eventually."
"The short answer is I didn't like living there anymore so I decided to travel." Ceirin spread his hands to the warmth of the fire.
Teldryn took another sip of mead and decided to ask.
"And it had nothing to do with you being this.. dragonborn…?"
"What? No!" Ceirin scowled into the flames, earrings glittering as he shook his head. "No. I didn't even know about that. That… happened later, in Whiterun, years ago. Two, maybe three, now?" He picked up a stick and prodded at the logs, pushing them over in the coals to burn down.
"What happened? How'd you find out?"
Ceirin sighed and gave him a very serious look, "That had better not be empty." He pointed at the bottle.
Teldryn held the mead away. "Are you going to answer?"
"Fine."
"Fine." Teldryn handed him the bottle.
Ceirin raised it up to drink. There was barely any left.
