Chapter Eight
Here And There
Caius was helping Nenya pack.
"Which potions do you want?"
"All the ones in that drawer; can't be too careful. Especially when a wet fish could do a better spell than me."
Caius smiled. It was true, although Nenya seemed to have her own peculiar brand of magic, the fact that things just seemed to get up and make way for her.
"Had to nip over to Vvardenfell last week," he said, with the air of one about to pull some kind of trick. "Strange to be back in the Balmora house again." He gave Nenya a sideways glance. "I see you, er, kept it nicely."
"Oh. Yes, I suppose," said Nenya. Was that a blush tingeing her cheeks?
"Everything looks very clean. It was kind of you to wash the linen and stock the larder. I'm sure my old crockery didn't need to be exchanged for silverware, but it was a very generous thought."
"Well," said Nenya awkwardly, looking like a child caught raiding an orchard, "it's nothing really. I was in town and had some spare money. It was just an idea."
He could have let it be, but Caius couldn't resist the chance to push a bit further. Nenya trying to give a house a woman's touch was like being hit in the face by something that didn't know quite what it was, but was putting a hundred per cent of effort in anyway.
"The, er, coloured paper lanterns were very… ambient," he went on impishly, thoroughly enjoying making her blush. "And the little roof-garden really brightened things up…"
"Had a spare couple of hours," mumbled Nenya, cheeks flaming. It was obvious it had taken at least a week. "Look," she said quickly, "I know it's not really your style – I'll take it all away if you want. I just thought it would be nice for you to have something to come back to."
Caius was immediately repentant. "Oh, you skullthick Nord – I didn't mean it," he said gruffly. "It was nice to have something to come back to, especially when I didn't expect it."
Nenya flushed again, this time with satisfaction.
"I can't wait to be back on a ship again," she said animatedly, turning the subject to the impending journey to High Rock. "It'll be at least a week before we dock in Northpoint; plenty of time to get used to it again."
"I still don't fully understand what you're going there to do," Caius said, passing over a couple of potions which she tucked in a bag.
"Neither do I, really. Bomba 'Lurrina said she'll explain more on the way. She's ever so interesting, you know. Different from the Morrowind Khajiit. I've never met an Ohmes-Raht before."
"I don't suppose you get many Khajiit in Skyrim, either."
"No…" Nenya trailed off, obviously lost in thought. She wrapped a loaf of bread in cloth. Then, very resolutely not looking at him, she said, "I'm going back."
"Sorry?" said Caius, nonplussed.
"I've decided I'm going back. To Skyrim. I can't live here forever, Nerevarine or not. They'll have to start dealing with their own problems. I want snow and pine again."
Caius had halted at this alarming news. "Back?" he said, his voice a slight pitch higher. "But don't you – I mean, isn't there – aren't there things you need to do here? Sixth House bases, and things?"
Nenya scowled. "I've cleared out all the Blighted ones. Of course I'll come if they desperately need me, but for Shor's sake – I don't even come from here! It's not all my responsibility! I'm twenty-five years old, Caius, do you really think I should be doing this?"
"No," said Caius quietly. "I have never thought you should be made to do this."
They looked at each other.
"Did I ever tell you about Fjordan?" Nenya asked after a moment.
"No," said Caius uncertainly.
"He was my foster-brother in Kynesgrove. We grew up together. When I left he'd gone with my foster-father to hunt down a wereboar that had been terrorising the farms. I've never been able to find out what happened, because I haven't had a chance to go home yet. I know I've got responsibilities here, but I didn't take them on by choice. I've already spoken to Crassius – he says he's perfectly able to take care of my Hlaalu duties while I'm away."
The name Crassius and the phrase 'take care' wormed its way through Caius' mind, taking him back to their unpleasant conversation the day before.
"As for the remaining Sixth Housers," Nenya went on, "well, what are Ordinators trained for? I'm sure they'd jump at the chance to crack a few heads–"
"Did you sleep with him?" Caius blurted out.
Nenya's jaw dropped. "I beg your pardon?"
"Crassius," Caius insisted stubbornly, his eyes fixed on the wall next to her head. "Did you sleep with him?"
"What the – what did he tell you?"
Caius stared doggedly at the wall.
"Of course not," Nenya said emphatically, sounding both embarrassed and caught off-guard. "He knows you don't like him. He's being his usual manipulative self."
Caius' cheeks were red. "He took advantage of you when you needed his support to be Hortator," he mumbled.
Now Nenya looked awkward. There was a Pause.
"It's not like I wasn't angry," she said finally, picking at a fingernail. "But between the survival of a nation and a random girl having to swallow her pride, where do the priorities lie?"
"I should have stayed. I could have, I don't know, put rats in his basement or something."
The tension in the room was getting worse. Neither could look the other in the eye.
"He never touched me apart from that one kiss," Nenya said quietly, coming to sit clumsily on the bench beside him. "I'd rather forget about it."
Oh god, Caius groaned inwardly, intensely aware of her closeness. He should never have brought this up...
The silence stretched on. When he couldn't stand it any longer, he grabbed the first subject that came to mind. "You know... your hair's longer. Than it was, I mean. Before... you know."
She looked surprised at the topic change, tugging at a handful of straw-coloured tresses as if she'd only just noticed them. "It's been a while since we last saw each other, I suppose." She twisted her mouth. "I should probably hack it off again soon. Gets in the way of the hammer."
"I like it," Caius said awkwardly, and immediately wished he hadn't. There was another silence.
She coughed nervously. "Anyway, I have something to ask you." She said, fidgeting with her gauntlet buckle. "Will you… come to Skyrim with me?"
Caius gaped.
"I mean, you wouldn't have to stay long," Nenya gabbled hurriedly. "Just a bit of a break from everything, you know…"
Don't do it, Caius' conscience told him. Don't say yes. It's a platonic request; you'll make a colossal fool of yourself. You'll be no better than Crassius. Say no. Just say no…
He cleared his throat.
"I'd love to," he said.
Nenya beamed.
Wayrest had not changed much in the last three decades.
The flower-beds were as lush and colourful as always, the privet-maze behind the palace neatly clipped. Early summer rested balmily on the red-tiled roofs. The Wayrestians themselves were the same as ever – aristcratic, gossiping, complacent and wealthy.
From a stained-glass window in the west wing of the Palace, the Queen looked out over her dominion with pretty eyes of cornflower blue. Her fingers idly adjusted the coral-pink muslin of her dress, and lightly touched a ring on her finger - an odd thing, old-looking, strangely ill-matched with the delicate pastels of her garments. She turned from the window to face the man at the door, who was twisting a handkerchief in his hands.
"I employed you as a spy, not a conversationalist," she said pleasantly. "Do not be above yourself. Tell me plainly; can I use the Dark Brotherhood to disable my stepbrother?"
The spy wilted like a leaf under her gaze.
"I do not believe so, your Majesty," he said tentatively. "King Helseth's ties with the Dark Brotherhood are complex, and he is already involved in a number of contracts with them. It will not be possible to separate them for some time."
"Then we shall find another way," she declared, smiling at him prettily. A bead of sweat formed on the spy's brow.
He paused hesitantly. "There is… another organisation we might look to. The Morag Tong are a mainly Dunmer sect – the guild from which the Dark Brotherhood originally stemmed, though they are now bitter enemies. You could speak to them about a, ah, writ for King Helseth."
Queen Elysana looked interested. "How ironic!" Her laugh was like silver. "He fled to them for sanctuary, and now they will be his undoing! This pleases me. Your counsel is good."
The spy visibly sagged with relief.
"With Helseth gone, I am next of kin, step-sister or no," Elysana said slowly, rolling the words round her mouth like chocolates. "In theory, the Mournhold throne should fall to me. After all, Helseth was my rival here, and he was Dunmer… why should it not be the same in the other provinces?"
The spy was temporarily shocked out of propriety. "My Queen – it would never happen! The Dunmer are fiercely protective of their customs. Barenziah would sooner retake the throne herself-"
Elysana regarded him incredulously, and her expression spoke thumbscrews and branding-irons. The spy shrank back against the wall. The queen looked away with haughty boredom, curling a golden ringlet around her finger.
"We will see," she said sweetly. "Leave now, and send up the groom."
He left. Half an hour later, while the groom received orders to ready a carriage for a journey to the east, two of Elysana's personal guards caught up with the spy and took him to the castle cellars. He did not come out.
East of Wayrest, past the cultivated silt plains and fertile valleys of the Bjoulase delta, the river veers north and the land becomes rugged and barren – the outlying slopes of the Wrothgarian Mountains. This region is sparsely populated and unforgiving in general, but the southeastern spine is the craggiest, highest and wildest part of the entire range, and thrust on an outcrop of rock looms the stronghold of Shedungent.
Though she has resided there for over fifty years, Shedungent was not built by Nulfaga, nor even in her lifetime. High Rock is clannish and its rulerships change as often as the wind, leaving only scattered remnants as clues to kingdoms past. Only the faint oily hue of light around the main castle doors, telltale residue of a powerful binding-spell, hints at the activity inside.
Nulfaga is locked in a nightmare, believing she is in a dream. In a crumbling ruin, believing she is in a palace. In a cage of deceit, believing she is free. The black-robed carers are her angels; they listen to her rambling tales until her old throat is dry, they sit and soothe away her loneliness, they call her 'Nanan', an affectionate term for 'grandmother' – such sweet familiarity! So sweet that it brings back the memories of her dear Lysandus…
Nulfaga begins to rock, the matted mess of her hair hanging down her back like a tattered flag. She cannot hear it, but she is moaning like something lost.
A black-robed woman approaches. Her mouth is very red. "What is it, Nanan?" she inquires, the falseness of her concern utterly unapparent to the cripple before her.
Nulfaga rocks, her withered fingers compulsively plucking at the fraying sleeves of her dress. "Sit with me, little helper, little nurse," she croaks.
The woman sits cross-legged in front of her, like some perverse mockery of a loving family.
"Tell us a story, Nanan," she says, the fanatical glint in her eye hidden by the shadow of her hood. "Tell us of the Mantella, and how it was made."
Nulfaga told her. She might as well have whispered it directly into Helseth's ear.
In Mournhold, the sun was setting.
Looking at Barenziah's eyes, one could see the same measure of concentration and intensity that was present in her daughter. What was burning and clicking and turning behind those eyes, red like poppies and blood and magma? What thoughts lurked behind that perfectly controlled exterior?
In fact, Barenziah was thinking how the windows in her parlour could do with some nice curtains. (Some things really are as simple as they seem.) The Dunmer didn't generally go in for window-decoration, and she'd gotten used to them during her time in Wayrest. So many things that she'd got used to were now gone…
She grieved for Eadwyre. Like her first husband, Eadwyre and she had shared an unspoken understanding – but unlike Symmachus, Eadwyre had a good-natured humour that lightened her heart and made her forget, for a time, the memories that haunted her. Life in Wayrest had been happy, at least for her. She had been in love, the people had mostly accepted her, and she cherished her children with a quiet devotion which, although they responded as much as their distant upbringing allowed, the extent of which they never quite guessed. The only snag in the otherwise perfect scenario had been Elysana.
Sweet daughter of Eadwyre and his deceased wife Carolyna, girl of the golden ringlets, darling of the court… Wayrest saw Elysana as beautiful and charming, if somewhat lacking in intelligence.
Barenziah saw something else.
She saw the loathing glances toward her own children. As Elysana grew, Barenziah discovered her involvement with one Lord Woodbourne, an ambitious young man who was later convicted of the betrayal and murder of Lysandus, King of Daggerfall and son of the witch Nulfaga. She heard, through various eyes and ears, of Elysana's ambition for the Wayrest throne and subsequent blackmail, manipulation and assassination of several councillors. Elysana's true personality was clearly the exact opposite of the sweetheart her nation adored.
After the second rise of Numidium and the 3E 410 disaster known as the Warp in the West, the competition between Helseth and Elysana began in earnest. The fight between the heirs was ugly, and culminated in a rash blackmail attempt by Helseth – the threat to reveal Elysana's involvement with the traitorous Lord Woodbourne to the kingdom. The stunt backfired; the overwhelming majority of Wayrestians considered Elysana an innocent victim, and were far more likely to side with their own kind than a Dunmer outsider. Though some undoubtedly had their suspicions, their voices were drowned out and the tide turned against Helseth. He fled to Mourhold, and since the elderly Eadwyre had died the year before, Barenziah followed.
Morgiah, having denied any ambition for the throne, had been ignored and forgotten – not only by Helseth and Elysana but by Wayrest as a whole. She had in any case arranged for herself a marriage to an Altmer king in Firsthold, and was no longer a subject of local interest.
This period of her daughter's life was mainly a mystery to Barenziah, peppered with tantalising clues that she couldn't quite link together. That Morgiah's study had taken her to strange heights and depths she knew, but the extent of those remained elusive. At the centre of it all was her marriage to Reman, the Firsthold king. This was an enigma for several reasons. Firstly, Morgiah had never met the man in her life. Exchanged a few short letters, perhaps, but she was certainly not one prone to girlish infatuations from afar. Secondly, marriage in Firsthold would mean life in Firsthold, away from all her family and the only place she had called home. She would be queen by the marriage, of course, but would that really gain her so much? The Altmer were so fiercely protective of their bloodline and culture that they put even the Dunmer to shame; they would never embrace her. Indeed, Barenziah knew Morgiah had been unpopular with the Firsthold citizens. It was not even as if she would have much influence – the power of the throne would lie with Reman, not any foreign trophy he might fancy to wed.
So why?
Barenziah had only tidbits to go on. She knew, for example, that Morgiah had not gone to Firsthold directly or travelled there alone. Then there were the frustratingly obscure letters that had been exchanged for years between her and a mysterious correspondent in the Dragontail Mountains, a region she would have to pass through on her way to Summurset Isle – unless she went by boat all the way from Wayrest, which she hadn't. Coincidence? Barenziah thought not.
Then there were the whispers, few and far between, that Reman had made some sort of bargain with Morgiah – either she had something he needed, or there was something she could do… and in return, Reman would take her hand in marriage.
But it all came back to that blank, unanswerable question – what could Morgiah gain from Reman that she'd be prepared to marry him for?
Barenziah had exhausted this topic many times. She did not think Morgiah had been in love with Reman, although over the years a mutual tenderness seemed to have developed between the two. The Firsthold Altmer had certainly never accepted her, naming her the Black Queen and once even staging a revolt to force her abdication. Was there something about Firsthold itself? The city was home to one of the greatest and least-explored libraries in Tamriel, and Barenziah knew well of Morgiah's thirst for learning, but would Morgiah really have married a man she didn't know just for a library?
The Queen Mother of Morrowind touched her hand to the window. It faced west, and the sun shone red through the glass.
The answer was there somewhere, back west, back before Helseth and Elysana's deadly duel of wits. It was there, and she was going to find it.
A/N: This chapter is kind of all over the place, but it was necessary to show the states of the various secondary characters. I wanted to bring Elysana in fairly soon - she provides a vital link between the Hlaalu royal family's past and present, especially where Helseth is concerned. Plus, Daggerfall veterans might be interested to see her again :)
I also needed a chance to get inside Barenziah's head and explain to the reader exactly how much she does and doesn't know about Morgiah. As you can see, she has hints, but not the full story. I hope that by the time this story is finished, you'll have all the backstory on Morgiah you need, and all these questions will be answered. The only thing is; can I do it before Oblivion comes out, and no-one is interested in the previous games anymore :D
Ok, comments. Thanks so much again for reviewing, and to the people on the official site forums who always have something nice and constructive to say. You are all brilliant and keep me going!
Bob the Quiet: I suppose everyone gets a different impression of the characters. While Crassius seems relatively harmless in the game, I like to give people layers, and I thought the idea of his lechery hiding a sharp political mind was quite interesting. I don't think Crassius would ever do anything really shockingly nasty, but I don't think he's above manipulation for personal gain or having a bit of fun with people... ie Caius. Poor Caius. Those two have a very interesting dynamic - the fact that from the outside, they're both Imperials and seem quite similar, but actually their morals and methods couldn't be more different. Crassius is a grey area, is what I'm saying.
Sheepdawg: Thank you very much! I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long :)
Andy W: Thanks for the reassurance - I wanted to make sure it's all clear, and I know from experience that when you come back to a fic you haven't read in a while, it helps just to have a pointer to refresh your memory. And by the way, I'm thrilled to meet another Gormenghast fan - I read Titus Groan and Gormenghast pretty much every year and I owe a lot of my writing style and technique to Mervyn Peake. I actually meant Morgiah to come off as a strange amalgam of Fuchsia and Steerpike - imagine that, if you will :)
Funcokler Xerow: Helseth certainly is extremely sneaky and rather ambitious to boot. I hope this chapter shed more light on him for you :) By the way, might I inquire as to the nature of your pseudonym?
Guarhunter: Nice to see you back! Yes, the King of Worms will gradually be, er, worming his way (sorry! couldn't help it) into the story from hereon in, and become a very major character. After all, it could be him that the title of the story refers to, if you choose to interpret it that way. Thank you so much for your reviews - yours are always very interesting and helpful, and you seem to pick up on the little things I slip in on the offchance someone will notice them! Oh, and by the way - congratulations on finally getting Daggerfall, I doubt I'll see you for months now!
Anyhow, see you all soon :) thanks for reading!
xx