Wow… my longest chapter yet! Hope it didn't turn out too corny… or emo. Also, I noticed how often I finish chapters with Martin. Duh. So sue me.

Anthir truly loathed climbing the stairs that led to Vivec's private palace. There were over two hundred of them. He never counted, but he was more than certain the number is more or less accurate. And even though the stone steps were wide and not too tall, making it slightly easier to climb the ridiculous height, he could swear this was only to appease Vivec's ego. The only construction that stood taller than the palace in the entire city was the Ministry of Truth, and even that was only because the bloody ministry was a moon frozen in mid-air. Anthir raised his eyes to it only to see that it has not changed at all over the years. Still the same piece of lifeless rock, hollowed inside to form corridors and cells.

After a tiring ascent, he finally reached the palace door. He could already feel himself sweating and was really glad he wore only a simple linen shirt and matching trousers. They were supposed to hide him from any suspicions, as guards seeing anyone walk around after dark would instantly be alert, but in such light clothing he could sneak around a bit. And he did not mind sweating all over plain linen.

He stood between two triangular stones, the flat sides that were facing him carved in Dunmeri writings that described one of Vivec's great deeds for all he cared. Experimentally, he pushed the surprisingly simple wooden door.

They were open.

As they smoothly moved to make way, Anthir stepped inside the palace. The four candles set around the central circular pedestal were not lit, cloaking the entire round chamber in darkness. Once the door was closed again, normal eye would not see a thing. Anthir waited a short moment, allowing his eyes to get used to the dark, and carefully proceeded inwards. He kept to the left wall, almost hugging it as if he was trespassing on restricted areas. Who knows, perhaps he was. Something in the very back of his mind nudged him, reminding him where the door to the inner chambers were. It also reminded him not to worry, as along the outer walls there was nothing, not an obstacle.

Anthir treaded lightly, the simple boots he chose for this generating absolutely no sound. His trained eye of the thief noticed a slight change in the texture of the darkness; extending a hand, he felt cold, rough wood. Door to the inner chambers. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should have taken the Cowl of Nocturnal with himself, but quickly dismissed the thought. The king of Cyrodilic thieves, unknown in Morrowind, would have been instantly arrested. The Hortator would not.

The second door was open as well. He stepped inside and closed it behind himself. The walls at his sides were forming a narrow yet tall corridor, adorned with woven tapestries with scenes he could not recognize in this darkness. His best guess was that they were religious, judging by where they were hung. He proceeded onwards cautiously, moving along the center this time; he was afraid that touching the tapestries might cause unwanted sounds, however quiet they might be.

Nothing. Not a light, no muffled footsteps of a guard that might be patrolling the palace at night. Was Vivec this confident? No one would dare break into the palace of a god for sure, let alone assault said god. It was possible that there were no guards inside for that very simple reason.

But then again, Vivec was more than well aware of his returned mortality and waning powers. Even though the world would need a while to understand, even now, seven years after the destruction of the heart, the Chimeri lord would be cautious. He would call his Ordinators to secure this palace.

So why has he not?

The hand he held before him to check for any possible obstacles met solid wall. But to his left, where the corridor turned rather abruptly, was a silent light that flickered somewhere by the floor. It most likely came from under some door. It could have meant that Vivec was not at all asleep yet.

Stepping very carefully and even slower than before, Anthir went to where the light came from. The more he neared, the more it revealed. It indeed came from under a door – a door made of simple wood, very plain, without as much as a single carving that would befit a god. Even opposite the chamber the wall was completely bare.

Holding his breath, Anthir pushed the door.

They were unlocked. Inside, by a flickering candle, sat Vivec in his long red robe. He was supporting his chin on one of his hands, the Dunmeri one, which in turn was resting on the table where the chandelier stood and cast what little light it could. One of the god's legs was swung over the other. His golden side was almost entirely obscured by shadows, and so he looked very sinister, devilish. The slight grin did not help.

He waved for Anthir to come in. Bewildered, the Nord obeyed, remembering to close the door behind himself.

"I have been expecting you," Vivec said softly.

"I noticed," the man muttered as he came closer and seated himself unceremoniously in a chair that was barely visible in the dim light.

"You wish to talk," the god announced. "Talk, then. What is it you need?"

Anthir did not respond at once. He paused, letting words dance and fight in his mind until they formed a coherent sentence, one that would not – hopefully – offend the god. Although sometimes he really wanted to offend him badly, perhaps even more than just that.

Finally, he said: "I want to know who you are and what you want, Vivec." This was not the best way to put his thoughts into words. Moreover, any other way would have been better than this, but he had no other idea. The simplicity and straightforwardness of a Nordic warrior won.

The god tilted his head to a side, revealing a bit of his golden half in the flickering light. "You know who I am, Lord Nerevar. Of all people, you should know."

Anthir snorted. "I thought I know you," he corrected the elf. "But, just like anyone else, I am no longer sure what is true and what is not."

This brought a smirk onto the two-coloured face, one that – in the light of a single, dancing candle flame – sent a chill down the Nord's spine. This was another side of Vivec, one that was hidden when they met in this palace only days ago. And one that, just like the good side, has always been in this mer. This is him, Anthir concluded. Anticipation of Black Hands Mephala, husband-wife to Molag Bal, god of poets, assassins and perverts.

What has he gotten himself into…?

"Very wise, Moon-and-Star," Vivec said smoothly, his eyes that seemed to glimmer fixed on the thin face of the man before him. "Indeed, I am not what people think I am. Ask then; what do you wish to know of me?"

There came another, long pause. For moments that kept stretching and stretching the two of them sat almost motionlessly, illuminated by the candle that kept shrinking and was the only indicator of passing time. It was too hard for Anthir to choose the first question; he had a hundred, maybe two. They span and danced in his mind, fighting and uniting and fighting again. Dozens bubbled up to the surface of his thoughts, then sank to make way for others. Vivec waited patiently, his face turning to a blank mask once more as time passed. When almost one third of the candle's wax melted and ran down the silver chandelier, the Nord finally asked:

"Why are you doing this to me?"

The two eyebrows, each set on a different face yet part of the same mer, moved closer as Vivec narrowed his eyes. "Doing what exactly, Lord Nerevar?" he asked slowly.

Anthir took a deep breath and let the air out with a silent hiss he did not intend to utter. "Everything. All of this." He said, his heart beating like a war drum. In fact, he was not entirely sure if he is at peace or at war with this peculiar god. "You keep helping me and then betraying, lying," he went on, talking somewhat faster now. He felt himself panting as anger and suicidal curiousity took over him. "Have you murdered Ner- have you murdered me back at Red Mountain?"

Vivec was silent. His expression softened, and for a brief moment Anthir had the feeling he is saddened, but knew better than to believe the eyes when it came to this elf.

"Have you?!"

"I have," the mer whispered and saw the dark eyes of the Nord before him flash with living fire. "Let me tell you the story…"

He turned to the candle, his golden half now before Anthir. With his Dunmeri side out of view, he looked so… good. So kind, so loving, like a patron god should be. The man said nothing, only kept staring, his chest heaving up and down heavily as he struggled to stay calm and not jump at the other's throat this very moment.

"It has been long ago," Vivec said in a low voice, his unfocused eyes staring at the dancing flame as he recalled those fateful days of the First Era. "Sotha Sil found a way to use the heart to gain godhood, the same way Dagoth Ur became godlike." Here he paused, gazing sideways at Anthir. The Nord only nodded, intending to hear as much as he can before he bursts with fury. "Nerevar forbade us to do so. The power of Lorkhan's heart was corrupting… we craved it…"

This sounded like a rather lousy excuse. Shaking his head weakly, Vivec sighed through his nose and went on: "It was Almalexia's idea. Antcipation of Prince of Plots and all that…" Another sigh, this time heavy and audible. He shook his head once again. "Nerevar wanted to summon Azura. Almalexia poisoned the candles, Sotha Sil the robes, and I gave him a cursed incantation…"

The words trailed off into silence. Anthir narrowed his eyes even more, staring at the golden mer. Could it really be the real Vivec? The way he spoke of this murder made it sound like he regretted. Thousands of years of immortality and endless divine powers, and yet now, when he is all alone with the man he once slew cold-blooded, he seemed like an open book with tearstains all over it. Could this be?

The elf suddenly looked up at Anthir. "Each of us took it differently," he announced no louder than before. "I never took it seriously. I'm a poet, not a serious man… I toyed with divinity, challenged gods and mocked mortals."

"But you killed me," the Nord reminded him, and the words came out as a sharp hiss.

"And it haunts me," Vivec whispered, his eyes travelling down to rest on his lap. "Day and night, Lord Nerevar." Here he bit his lower lip before going on: "Some that believe this story say I did it because I wanted Almalexia for my own…"

"… Did you…?"

The mer looked up at him, something glittering in his eyes which Anthir could recognize only as shame mixed with apology. It was almost terrifying, to see those feelings in the eyes of a god who stopped for no one and nothing.

"I had her," he said. And nothing more, as if this was the only true answer which was meant to say it all.

Anthir did not know if it said it all. He did not see it.

"And she wanted to kill you like she killed Sotha Sil," the Nord said slowly. "And she wanted to kill me. Even though she was once mine, and then yours."

"She took her godhood seriously," Vivec explained, his eyes falling closed for a moment. He turned to face the man, his golden half disappearing in shadows once more. Only the dark side remained visible, but there was nothing but pain written all over the painted face and shining in the one deep eye. "Of us three, she carried the mantle of a god most proudly, and perhaps was the most godly of us all." Here he shrugged, his somewhat thin shoulders distorting the shadows as they moved. "She could not bear the thought of loosing it all. She knew that sooner or later it will come to this, we all knew ever since Dagoth Ur awoke under Red Mountain."

"And yet she lost her senses," Anthir added almost absent-mindedly, the words forming on his tongue on their own and getting out before he could stop them. "She went insane and wanted to be the only god left in Morrowind…" And then, after he took a calming breath: "And poor Sotha Sil paid for it…"

Vivec shook his head slowly. "In a way, he was no saner than she was, locking himself away from the rest of the world and shaping a new, better one on his own. A world of steel, metal and steam. He saw it all coming, and took it calmly…" He trailed off into silence.

New questions arose in the Nord's mind, questions that bit even harder than the ones that were already there, that were shouting and demanded to be asked. Out of them, the man picked one. Staring deep into the eyes of the mer before him – the Dunmeri one clearly visible and gleaming in candlelight, and the Chimeri one hidden in shivering shadows – he asked:

"And are you insane?"

The god laughed softly, his shoulders shuddering slightly. If Anthir had not heard the quiet laughter, he would think the elf is sobbing. But the answer came soon. "Me, Lord Nerevar?" he looked up at the Nord before him with a gentle smile on his weary face. "The madness that has claimed my sister and my brother has not come for me," he replied smoothly, more than certain of what he is saying. "But that is only because I have never been like anyone else."

Anthir could not help but tilt his head to one side a bit and try to survey the god from another angle, as if it would help him understand him at least a little better. It only distorted the fragile shadows even more. The only thing left was to ask the next question that came to mind: "And what exactly do you have in mind?"

One corner of Vivec's lips moved a bit further upward, changing the gentle smile into a truly sinister smirk. "Many legends about me cross the lands," he said softly, clearly enjoying whatever game he was playing this time. "Surely you did not believe all of them to be true. Ask whatever you wish to know; I will answer your every question."

The Nord could only hope this statement was sincere, as the words that formed in his mind might either earn him an honest reply that will finally make this thing stop bothering him, or earn him something in between a slap across the face to a dagger through the throat. But he did not think of it; before he could reconsider, he asked:

"Are the legends about you and Molag Bal true?"

Vivec burst out laughing. For a split second Anthir froze, worried someone will hear and rush over to the chamber alerted. But then he remembered that they are all alone in this huge palace; and even if they were not, the mer most certainly made sure that no one interrupts their little meeting. For now he just kept laughing, much to Anthir's irritation, as this reaction meant nothing. Was he laughing because the Nord was foolish enough to believe such an absurd story? Or was he laughing because the guest had enough courage to ask? Or maybe something else?

The god wiped a tear out of his eye with the sleeve of his crimson robe. With a wide, cheerful smile on his face he asked: "You were wondering a lot about it, were you not?" This got a nod. Vivec returned it, his expression unchangeable. "It figures, Lord Nerevar, many do. And so few actually accept the fact that it is all true. Well, not entirely… I colourized it a lot when writing the sermons, but the basic idea is there." Seeing the other's eyes widening ever so slightly, he said: "Yes, Lord Nerevar. I belonged to him. I gave birth to his children."

Anthir shook his head, but there was no use denying it. Something inside him, perhaps some inner instinct he inherited after the original Hortator, told him that this time Vivec is not lying. What reasons would he have to lie about this, anyway? It happened so long ago…

Also, he knew far better than to ask why did Vivec use the past tense.

"I can see there is more you wish to know," the god nodded with a smirk. "Ask. I will answer."

Easy for you to say, 'ask'…

"It's just…" he began uncertainly. Then he just sighed. "There are so many stories about you and your countless lovers that I started to wonder if there's anyone you haven't slept with, Vivec."

Again, the Chimer laughed loudly and very sincerely. "Oh, Lord Nerevar… always the same, strict and unbelieving, yet curious and restless…" With his eyes slightly narrowed and lips curved in what just became a gentle smile, the god looked just like Anthir feared he sooner or later would. Lustful. Inviting. Seductive.

Inwardly, he gulped.

"I have had many, that's true," Vivec said, his voice as beautiful and deep as it was back at the meeting. This only increased the other's fears; it was now clear to him what the mer wanted. "But once you live as long as I did, you realize that your loved ones go and you stay."

"Molag Bal did not go," Anthir said weakly, silently forming a plan of getting out of there before this goes too far.

"Oh, but Molag Bal is a different case…" Vivec shook his head. "I will not speak of him any further. But, coming back to your question… yes, there is someone I never had."

And so it went too far. The Nord knew better than to just get up and run, as leaving this matter as it was now would solve nothing. The elf raised a golden hand slowly and brushed a loose strand of dark hair off the man's forehead gingerly, staring into the brown eyes. "I never had Nerevar Indoril," he whispered with a soft smile.

Anthir instantly shook his head and grabbed the hand by the wrist to push it back gently. He felt like he should say something right there and right then, but the only word that came was a 'no' that repeated itself in his mind over and over, muffling any other thought. Vivec's smile vanished instantly and he pulled the hand back on his own; it was released and the dark hand gripped his wrist where Anthir was holding it just a second ago, like a prisoner that holds his wrist where the cuffs sank into the skin. He bit his lower lip, but managed to say:

"There is a hole in your heart, Nerevar…" The words came out as nothing more than a whisper. The Nord averted his gaze, staring at the candle that was now only an inch long, its melted wax covering the silver chandelier like sap covers the bark of an injured tree.

"A hole that is bleeding and will not heal on its own…" Vivec tried again and saw the man before him shudder. Colour drained from his face, as if he was ill, in fever. But he still kept quiet, so the golden hand touched his shoulder gently and was not slapped away this time. The tall Nord remained still.

"Let me heal that wound…"

Anthir shot bolt upright, standing up so abruptly that Vivec withdrew his hand and held it as if it was burnt. The man stared him down, nothing but fury painted on that thin human face. "And betray me like you always do?" he asked, panting in growing anger. "Like when you murdered me? Or lied about Martin?!"

The mer got to his feet slowly, like prey that shows the hunter it is unarmed and cannot fight. "How much do you know of Tiber Septim, Nerevar?"

This caught him off-guard. One thing he did not expect at that very moment was a question regarding general Talos…

Taking a deep breath to calm himself down at least a bit, Anthir said: "He reclaimed the Amulet of Kings and with it proclaimed himself ruler of the Third Empire of Tamriel," he recited as if reading a historical book. Nodding more to himself than to the elf before him, he added: "Conquered all of Tamriel, including Morrowind which you gave to him willingly along with the Numidium in exchange for religious and governmental autonomy. Later became the youngest Divine, Talos, and the Eight became the Nine."

Vivec was nodding his two-sided face all through this short speech. "Very good. All that is true. But did the scholars ever tell you how exactly did he ascend to become a god?"

No, they have not.

"I assumed it had something to do with the Numidium… the Mantella…" Anthir said, but quickly trailed off, the mer's expression telling him how wrong he is.

"The Numidium was but a golem," he explained calmly, glad the other seemed slightly soothed by his confusion. "Steel and stone. Steel and stone cannot create gods, and neither can crystal, which was the Mantella. Not on their own."

This made sense, Anthir concluded in his mind. The heart of Lorkhan created false, living gods because it was part of a real one. The Mantella was artificial. It never had the power of the heart, and most likely could not even match it.

"Then how did Tiber-"

"Me," Vivec interrupted and caused the other to freeze in complete, deafening silence. "I helped him. One cannot become a true god in life. I should have known better." He shook his head weakly. "I realized it back then, and I told it to Tiber Septim. With my help, and the powers of the Dwemer that were in his hands, he ascended to Aetherius."

The Nord's shoulders sagged ever so slightly. "You do not mean that you…"

"I killed him," Vivec confirmed. "I sent him to the heavens where the Divines greeted him as an equal."

Anthir could not believe his own ears. Half of his world crumbled around him. Lies, all lies!

But what he said out loud was just one word, one name that would not leave his mind and that hurt each time it was spoken: "Martin…"

"I lied about him," the god said truthfully, lowering his eyes in slight shame. "I told my people I have slain him just like I have slain his ancestor Tiber, so that they would think of him as a god."

"… Why…?"

Vivec's shoulders trembled as he laughed, but the laughter was sad, and so was his face. "You do not understand, do you, Nerevar?" He looked into the man's eyes to see only blank confusion. "I am mortal. Last of the three Almsivi. When I die, someone will have to take care of my people in my stead. Making them believe Martin Septim became a tenth Divine will make it easier for them to accept the faith and accept the Divines as their new guardians."

Anthir felt as if he was going to throw up. A huge lump of ice settled itself in his stomach and apparently felt very comfortable in there. He, on the other hand, felt sick with confusion, disbelief and anger all at once. According to what he said some time ago, he should now grow a tail. Not only did the Dunmer start to accept the Empire, their most sacred and respected god-king actually wanted them to. And wanted to be replaced by deities most thought blasphemous. It made no sense. None at all.

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to choke back the urge to vomit onto the table. Vivec once again laid a hand on his shoulder, and felt how hard it was shivering. With honest care showing on his split face, he asked: "Nerevar… what is wrong?"

But there was no reply. The elf blinked slowly, and only once, and then nodded to himself. "I see. He was the one, wasn't he?"

Anthir looked at him with watery eyes, pale as snow.

"The one who left such a painful wound in your heart."

"He was," came the barely audible answer. At this very moment the Nord only wished for this to stop, for the mer to stop tormenting him and for his heart to stop bleeding. Oh, Sithis, how he wanted it to stop. He would give everything to have someone by him who would heal the heart and let him rest, knowing that it all will be alright, but there was only one person he would accept as such. And Martin was not there.

"Nerevar…"

"Let go," Anthir said, pushing the hand away surprisingly weakly. Vivec did not oppose; he pulled the hand back and held it up by his chest, all pride drained from him and all masks stuffed aside.

"Nerevar, please…"

"No." With this, the Nord turned to leave. This was too much for him to bear. With quick steps, he headed for the door. Vivec extended a hand to grab him, but did not do it, the 'no' echoing in his mind like a thunder. He has seen it coming; still, it hurt all the same.

Anthir increased speed and was soon running along the corridor, headed for the palace's main door and intending on getting there as soon as possible. He should have never come here. He should have stayed in his secure little chamber in his soft bed, and never, ever ask the questions he asked. It was too much; his head hurt, along with his heart, and his stomach was twisting itself at all angles, making him wish he could just throw up. Before he reached the door, there were tears rolling down his cheeks. When he rushed down the steps, jumping two at a time, his face was all wet.

Vivec wanted him. But this was no love, he told himself over and over, hoping he could really believe it. He wanted to believe that the mer does not really love him, only desire him. And as much as he craved the warmth, the touch and the blissful oblivion in another's embrace, Vivec would never have him. His heart clung to someone else.

Tenth Divine or not, Martin Septim was still his lover.

His Martin whom he would bring back. There was nothing in the world he wanted more, and if bringing him back meant manipulating all of Morrowind and bending them down to his will one way or the other, so be it. Vivec made him understand what he truly needs and what he truly wants, and he would not be himself if he gave it up. He will do it, whether they want it or not.

Sithis was watching him from somewhere above and he knew that the dark god approves. Restlessness and ruthlessness were what he favoured in his followers. And they were only assets that benefited him when it came to fulfilling one's own goals.

Before he got to his chamber, the strength given to him by pain and anger alone started to wane, but he still got to the bed. When he collapsed onto it, still dressed in the sweaty linen clothes, he almost instantly fell into a deep, steady sleep.

And he dreamt of the Divines, and of his Martin that was now among them.