With standing orders from the healer to rest, or risk maiming her leg forever, Aneril was forbidden from taking on any missions until her knee was fully healed. She chafed at the thought of sitting still and doing nothing for a whole week, knowing that Naemon's lich was wandering somewhere in Greenshade, but Vareysa brought up two valid points. One: the Dominion's army could deal with the lich even with one agent down, and two: Aneril could either choose to do nothing for just one week, or the rest of her life. It was sobering reminder, though Vareysa's flippant tone made it more of a friendly taunt, and Aneril had to refrain from sticking her tongue out at her companion.
They stayed in Seaside Sanctuary a day longer, before Major Cirenwe chased them back to Woodhearth, which had proper facilities for Aneril to recuperate in. Along with the other wounded, they hitched a ride aboard Jimila's ship, and sailed smoothly to Woodhearth's docks within the day. Though Aneril was offered a bunk in the guard barracks, she declined in favour of the inn, aware that Vareysa still drew a fair share of side glances from Dominion personnel. Still, the expense was worth it – Aneril much preferred the privacy of their own room, instead of the communal quarters the guards shared.
There wasn't much to do, and truth be told, the exhaustion coupled with her injury made her more than happy to just lie in bed, napping the days away. But though she spent much time curled up happily on clean sheets, she did hobble around town with Vareysa as well, her companion taking care to hold her by the arm so she wouldn't fall. An unnecessary precaution, but Aneril appreciated the concern all the same. Besides, Vareysa never prodded her into doing anything vigorous, so there was no harm in stretching her limbs on a leisurely stroll. Or, as they were doing now, sitting languidly on the shore, waiting for some hapless fish to get caught on their lines.
The sand here was coarser than the beach in Grahtwood, but it was only here that they could find some peace and quiet, seated by the border of the forest, some distance away from the docks. Barring the occasional rustle in the bushes behind them, they were able to relax and leave their blades lying by the cloth mat.
"So, question," Vareysa said, checking her line again. "Do you have a family name?"
Aneril cocked a brow. "You took this long to ask?"
"Well, do you know my family name?" Vareysa shot back, raising both her brows in challenge.
Aneril held Vareysa's stare, then rolled her eyes and conceded, "No."
"And you're still not going to ask? I'm heartbroken," Vareysa lamented. She stopped fidgeting with her fishing rod and leant back on her hands. "It's Nilven. Vareysa Nilven. What's yours?"
"I don't have one."
"Ah, I figured. The few Altmer I met back home didn't have one either."
"Yeah. It's rare for us to have a family name. Those who do are usually nobles, or are rich. Usually both," Aneril explained. She glanced briefly at the corner of the mat, where Shur'azan had just returned to deposit another seashell into his growing collection. "It's more common to bear the name of your Kinship – a clan. Kind of like your Great Houses."
Vareysa nodded. "Some Dunmer bear the name of their houses too."
"Mm. Most often, we'll just introduce ourselves by our singular name. But if I had to be more formal, I would use 'Aneril of Lillandril'."
"Ah – your home?"
"It's…where I was born and raised, yes," Aneril replied slowly.
"It sounds nice. 'Aneril of Lillandril'. Rolls off the tongue pretty well," Vareysa said with a smile, and Aneril huffed.
"I guess." She shrugged, looking out into the waters. "You said you were raised in…Balmora?"
"Yup."
"Do you belong to a Great House?"
"Ah, good question!" Vareysa waved a finger. "My mother's family is Redoran – the House of warriors whose expertise is combat and the inability to take a joke." She chuckled when Aneril looked at her curiously. "Gravity and taking life seriously and all that nonsense. Anyway, the family's pretty loyal to the House, but my mom never gave a rat's ass about the whole thing, so I guess I'm not as well?"
"Then it kind of works out, doesn't it? Since your job is to…eliminate House members?"
"Sharp," Vareysa commented. "Well, the Tong doesn't execute House members exclusively, but they make up a bulk of our writs. And, while I never tell anyone about my work, there's always a chance I've killed a member of the family. So it hasn't really endeared me to the relatives."
"Hm." Aneril looked to her. "But have you?"
Vareysa's lips curved in a sly smile. "That's for me to know."
Aneril sighed, turning back to the sea. "Sometimes, it hits me that I'm actually working with you."
Vareysa chuckled, knocking their shoulders together. "So, your turn. Do you belong to a clan?"
A blink, and her chest felt a slight bit hollow. "I…don't know anymore." Aneril lowered her gaze, then glanced over to find Vareysa listening attentively. "I just…haven't heard anything about home for a long time. Nearly 50 years."
"Huh. You were living in Auridon with the Fighters Guild, right?" Vareysa waited for her nod. "No letters?"
"Never read them," Aneril muttered. Her hand clasped onto her forearm unconsciously, gaze growing faraway in thought.
"You left home and never looked back," Vareysa said – part guess, part observation. And Aneril gave her no answers.
She fell into an awkward silence, then looked up when her fishing rod twitched downward, and grabbed her pole. Aneril tugged it up much too quickly out of eagerness, but the hook flung the fish out of the water regardless. Her catch hadn't been fully hooked, so it flew off the line and landed on the sand with a wet smack, flopping helplessly.
"Lucky," Vareysa said.
"Yeah. Shuri!" Aneril called, and the tiger in the distance turned around.
Shur'azan trotted back at a leisurely pace at first, but when he caught sight of the fish, he pumped his legs as if on a hunt, and pounced on the catch immediately.
"Gods," Vareysa laughed. "You'd think we were starving him or something."
Aneril sighed, "Such a greedy little boy."
After spending five days in Woodhearth watching squads of Dominion troops march out of the city, Aneril was about ready to tear off her splint and follow the soldiers to Marbruk, where they'd been reassigned in preparation for the coming threat. Only common sense and good counsel kept her strapping on the splint every morning, but even her counsel grew restless and playful after the days of enforced relaxation. So it was only a matter of time before Vareysa turned to Aneril, and recounted a story she'd heard at the bar, about an old Ayleid ruin where a group called the Merethic Society had set up a museum of antiquities.
A ruin was a dubious place to establish a museum, but Aneril's curiosity was piqued, and her legs were aching for a good long walk. Thus she and Vareysa decided to pay this museum a visit, and headed out of Woodhearth at noon. Though they'd set a slower pace than normal, they still made good time up the path, walking a much longer distance past the Serpent's Grotto, until the dirty white structures of an Ayleid ruin came into view. Other than the wooden sign hammered into the soil outside the heavy stone entrance, there was no sign telling of a museum's existence within. But they enter regardless – with Vareysa taking the lead this time, and they were met with the leader of the Merethic Society, Endarwe.
His greeting was odd indeed, "Welcome to Endarwe's Museum of Wonder and Antiquities. Normally, I'd tell you to avoid touching anything, lest you defile my sanctum, but the necromancers that came in before you have already ruined everything."
"Necromancers?" Vareysa grimaced. She turned around and took Aneril by the elbow. "Yeah, bad place. Thanks for the warning. Now, if you'll excuse us…"
Aneril started to move along with her, but they were quickly stopped by Endarwe, whose defeated mien was being overtaken by urgency.
"No, please! You look like fighters, you could help me," Endarwe said. "Those necromancers – dreadful people. From the Worm Cult, I believe." He looked perplexed when Aneril let out a long-suffering groan, but continued, "They destroyed numerous priceless artifacts, ruined décor, and killed my employees. Then turned my employees into their employees by raising them as undead!"
"Tragic, truly," Vareysa said. "Now we'll just give you some space…" She tugged on Aneril's arm, then narrowed her eyes in warning when Aneril didn't budge.
"I suspect they want to raise the centerpiece of my collection, the Ayleid Warlord Ceyran! Ceyran worshipped Daedra, and was generally an unpleasant fellow. Excellent as a museum attraction, terrifying as an undead."
Aneril's gaze slowly turned to meet Vareysa's, and as her partner started shaking her head, Aneril said, "I guess we can't let that happen, then."
Vareysa's head fell onto Aneril's shoulder as she gave a loud groan. "Aneril, have you forgotten that your knee is still recovering?"
"I'll be fine." Aneril placed a palm on Vareysa's cheek, and pushed her away before she could protest more. "Where is the body?"
"It's um…farther inside," Endarwe said, looking relieved.
"Right…"
Aneril listened to his directions, then instructed Shur'azan to stay with Endarwe. Taking Vareysa by the arm, she hobbled over to the first flight of stairs leading down, and said, "You take point. I'll cover you from the back."
"This is a very bad idea," Vareysa replied, drawing her daggers anyway. "You should stay behind."
"They're Worm Cult, Vareysa. I've seen them in action before." Aneril flexed her fingers, which sparked briefly with dragonfire. "You'll need some help, at least."
"Fine," Vareysa sighed. "But if I see you get off your crutch, I'll break your other knee so you can't walk until you're healed."
"That made no sense at all."
"Right. Like your current plan."
"Shut up," Aneril said, though she couldn't deny the faint laughter bubbling beneath the surface. Vareysa smiled briefly at her – still reluctant, but she ventured in ahead of Aneril.
The halls of the ruins were dangerous, patrolled by Worm Cultists and their undead abominations. Aneril worried that Vareysa would be unused to taking point in a direct assault – her specialty was subterfuge, after all. But the assassin took her new role in stride, always leaping in as an invisible figure to strike two targets, and send the rest into panic. While Vareysa let her cloak down and became the focus of the cultists, Aneril would step around the corner and fling searing lances of flame at their foes, bringing them down quickly.
The fights went smoothly, but were frustrating to Aneril, who had to lean on the crutch under her arm, and stay stagnant while casting her spells. Though it was a perfectly sound tactic – one often used on the warfront – she was used to charging up front, setting herself up as their enemies' target, so they wouldn't notice Vareysa. To stand behind and watch others go after her partner was…uncomfortable. But she did her best to compensate, throwing out a constant deluge of fire spells to keep the cultists off Vareysa's back.
With patience and diligence, they cleared the halls without suffering much damage. Vareysa's armour bore a few more scuffs, and Aneril's crutch had cracked when she smacked it on a cultist's head, but they were in good shape when they reached the final chamber. Towards the back of the chamber, there was a flight of stairs leading up to an altar, where a black-robed mage stood over a body wrapped in cloth – the Ayleid Warlord, Aneril assumed.
After a bout of silent argument with their hands, Vareysa pantomimed strangling Aneril before helping her down the flight of steps leading into the chamber proper, where Aneril wanted to be, in case Vareysa needed backup. While Vareysa vanished, Aneril hung back, completely unnoticed by the necromancer struggling to reanimate the warlord's corpse. The cultist seemed to be having great trouble, and finally let out a cry as she poured a vast amount of energy into it. But her spell backfired, and the bright blast of energy threw the cultist back – along with Vareysa, whose cloak fell away as she tumbled down the stairs.
"Ugh, shit!" Vareysa cursed as she hit the floor, scrambling back onto her feet. "Fucking ass bloody motherf–"
Aneril limped forward and threw a barrier spell at Vareysa – blocking the sharp shard of ice the cultist had thrown her way. As the cultist turned to glare at Aneril, Vareysa vanished again with a crack, reappearing behind their foe and sinking her blades into the unprotected neck. Or she would've, if the cultist hadn't moved.
The mage screamed when the daggers sank deep into her shoulders, and she whirled around on her feet, setting off another magical blast to blow Vareysa down the stairs again. Except the assassin had a grip on her robes this time, and they tumbled down the steps together. Vareysa managed to roll herself on top of the cultist when they landed on the ground, but as she lifted her daggers for a killing blow, the mage slammed her staff into Vareysa's temple and bucked her off.
Hauling herself onto her feet, the cultist conjured a barrier to fend off Aneril's spells, then let out an angered cry as her arms glowed a cold, dark blue – the skeletons lying on the ground around Aneril pieced themselves together, and rose to unlife.
Shit, shit! Panic poured over Aneril as she stumbled back with her crutch, shattering skeletons left and right with fiery claws and breath, while Vareysa tangled with the mage. Aneril was fortunate – with the mage kept busy by Vareysa, the skeletons were little more than fodder without explicit direction, and quickly fell under Aneril's frantic spellcasting. Their numbers were large enough to leave Aneril feeling drained of magicka at the end, but she still stood unharmed, if a little weakened by the exertion.
Aneril took a breath, then looked over to find Vareysa plunging both daggers into the mage's gut. Vareysa's lips parted in a wicked smile, but she savoured her victory too soon – the cultist's wrath erupted, and she blasted Vareysa back with such a force of energy that Aneril's blood ran cold. Vareysa tumbled painfully over the ground, and was left groaning as she tried to push herself up, when the cultist worked another spell. The cracked pillar beside Vareysa shone with a blinding blue, then shattered and collapsed on top of her, bringing down a good chunk of the rocky ceiling with it.
"Vareysa!" Aneril cried, limping forward in a forced run as her crutch clattered to the floor behind her. She glared at the cultist who turned to meet her with a bloodied grin, and sent forth two arrows of flame before her foe could react. The magic pierced through the cultist's chest, and she gurgled as more blood spilled past her lips, before she fell back onto the floor, lifeless.
Aneril didn't stop in her panic, hurrying to the heap of crumbled stone and rock. "Vareysa!" Aneril called as she bent down, ready to start clawing the Dunmer out of the rubble. "Oh gods, Vareysa, please–"
"Hey," came Vareysa's voice behind her, as a hand gripped her arm. "I'm here."
Aneril spun around so quickly, she could keep upright only because Vareysa was holding onto her. Relief flooded her veins as Vareysa flashed her a crooked grin.
"What, forgot I could teleport–?" Her words disappeared against Aneril's shoulder, when she was yanked in for a tight embrace.
Aneril could feel nothing but the woman in her arms, her own heart still pounding in her chest. She took a breath, smelling that subtle floral scent in Vareysa's hair, beneath the musk of exertion and the choking dust of age-old stone. Then she felt Vareysa chuckling against her.
"You know, I was going to say that my luck's been shit lately. But I think it just took a turn for the better."
The words took a few seconds to sink into Aneril, then she released Vareysa from the hug. Not that her companion shared her urgency – Vareysa grinned up at her, and gave her one last squeeze about the waist, before letting go as well. Heat rose to Aneril's cheeks, which she tried to hide on the pretext of wiping dirt from her face. It was needless, since Vareysa walked off to retrieve Aneril's crutch, but it made her feel better nonetheless.
She took her crutch from Vareysa gratefully, and they climbed the stairs together to have a look at the Ayleid's body. As they stood beside the altar, a confused spirit rose from the body, and denied being an Ayleid Warlord. Instead it claimed that his name was Nanwen, and he was a digger from Endarwe's excavation team, who had been caught in a cave-in. He mentioned that the team never found an Ayleid's remains, and asked to be led back to Endarwe. Aneril and Vareysa shared a frown, then picked their way back towards the entrance with the spirit in tow.
They found Shur'azan waiting by a naked mer's body, then drew their weapons when a black-robed cultist approached them. The stranger raised his hands, then lifted his hood to reveal that he was Endarwe in disguise, ready to make his escape by blending in with the cultists, using the robes he'd stolen from the unfortunate one who'd crossed his path. Endarwe glanced at Nanwen's spirit, and his face paled.
"We found him where you said the warlord was," Aneril said, voice low in threat.
"Of course you found Nanwen! What did you think you would find? An Ayleid warlord's body? Intact? I've looked for years and never found one!" Endarwe threw his hands up in exasperation. "But my museum collection needed a centerpiece, and Nanwen was crushed in a cave-in. So I…dressed him up." He didn't even deign to act embarrassed. "I realised that, if the Worm Cult managed to raise Nanwen, my secret would be known. Which is why I sent you to stop them. For what good that did me. I hope I can trust you to keep your mouth shut."
"So you sent us to risk our lives to cover your own sorry ass," Aneril growled, hands curling into fists.
"Yes, well. I'll pay you for–"
Vareysa looked at Aneril, not bothering to listen. "If I do anything now, I think I'd kill him. So will you do the honours?"
"Gladly." Aneril turned back to Endarwe, an evil smile on her lips. His expression had turned confused, when her fist rammed into his jaw, sending him to the floor unconscious. "Asshole," she spat, adjusting the crutch under her arm. "Vareysa, grab his coin pouch."
They grabbed his pouch, tossed a handful of coins at his inert body, then took Shur'azan and left the ruins behind. They made it to Woodhearth just as night fell, and soothed their ruffled feathers with a meal sponsored by Endarwe's pouch. At Vareysa's insistence, they stayed at Woodhearth for the next day, paying another visit to the healer for one last spell on Aneril's knee, before they left for Marbruk on the second morning.
By then, Aneril's leg was free of the splint, and she felt an old desire spark to life in herself – the desire to explore. She mentioned the maze-like ruins she'd seen during the Wilderking incident, and Vareysa agreed to take a detour from their route. After a day and a half of walking, they reached the ruined city of Greenheart – still abandoned since the turbulent ascension of the current Wilderqueen.
They did find, however, an old Bosmer couple by the entrance of the city – a husband who'd brought his dying spouse to see the flowers they'd admired in their youth. But there were none nearby, the grounds still withered and dry from fire. Aneril offered to search for some in the vicinity, and off they went on a hunt in the outskirts of Greenheart, where just two flowers remained. She took the seeds as the Bosmer had requested, but they returned only to discover that his husband had passed while they were away. He smiled and took the seeds gratefully, before settling beside his late husband to spend a few last moments with him.
They left him alone to his peaceful mourning, and made for the ruins. Climbing up the gentle grass slope, they reached the maze without trouble, but stopped in their tracks by the archway of its entrance when they saw a stone guardian standing just inside. But the guardian waved them in, and they stepped in carefully.
"Do you know how to read?" the guardian asked. And when they replied in the affirmative, if a little confused, he continued, "I am called Sumiril. I am one of the 'hollow'. We live to serve the Wilderking, who was our god and our creator. I ask if you can read because I have this book, which is supposed to tell the true story of the Wilderking, and of my creation."
He conjured a book in his hand and offered it to Aneril, who took it. "Can't you read it yourself?"
"I can, but I'm afraid to." The guardian tilted his head. "I am not like other Hollow. I can question my existence. I can believe or not believe. What if the book reveals something about the Hollow? Our purpose. I might crack and splinter from within."
"Alright," Aneril said, opening the book. "Sounds simple enough."
There was only one passage written in its pages, telling a story of a boy named Ostion, who wielded an impressive power to shape the land, but was alone. Aneril's heart sank at its familiarity, but she didn't stop to think when glowing letters appeared along the path before them, and the guardian urged them to follow. They walked deeper into the labyrinth with the letters' guidance, and were led to many altars which teleported them deeper and deeper into the maze.
With each teleport, more passages appeared in the book Aneril held, recounting how others wanted to test Ostion's powers by sending him to Valenwood, where he fought with the land itself, trying to bend it to his will. Ostion and the Valenwood grew to love their battle, for they were no longer as lonely as before, but in their clash, they forgot about the people around them – and Sumiril, who'd been kind to Ostion, was killed in the conflict. Ostion asked the Valenwood to raise Sumiril from the dead, and it agreed. The two were merged and became one, and Sumiril was their first creation – a hollow raised from the dead.
"Huh. So this Ostion was the Wilderking. You think he was the same one we met?" Vareysa asked.
Heart feeling flat, Aneril shrugged and closed the book. They walked to the maze's exit where Sumiril stood, waiting for answers.
"The Wilderking was once a mortal," Aneril told him. "His name was Ostion."
"Mortal…like you?" Sumiril mused. "What happened to me?"
"You were one of the many who died during Ostion's battle with the Valenwood. Ostion regretted your death, and so he melded with the Valenwood to remake you."
Sumiril took the news quietly, standing stone-still for a few moments, before nodding slowly. He offered his thanks with a bow of his head, and walked back into the maze. Aneril stared after him, then sighed and started down the slope leading away from the maze, towards the main road.
"So…that was fun," Vareysa said tentatively, peering at her brooding expression. "You alright?"
Aneril nodded. She kept walking in silence, but when Vareysa seemed to hover over her, she relented. "He doesn't even remember how he came to be."
"Yeah?"
"Then…do you think the Wilderqueen does?"
Vareysa thought it over. "Aranias?" When Aneril nodded, she said, "I'm sure she'd remember, in some way. I mean, she would remember you at least, right? Since you helped her ascend and all that…"
"I'm sure she does," Aneril replied. "But even as I left her behind in the tower…I could already feel Aranias slipping away. I don't think she lives within the Wilderqueen anymore. And what's left is just…memories of someone else, you know?"
"Makes sense, yeah." She waited for Aneril to continue, but was met with silence. "You…got quite attached to her very quickly."
Aneril heaved a sigh. "She was young, and being manipulated. I wanted to help her, but she's just gone now." She stopped walking, hands raised in helplessness. "It felt like a damned sacrifice. She sacrificed her own life to keep the peace in Valenwood. She didn't even get the chance to come to terms with her own life."
"You're upset that she didn't live on, as herself," Vareysa ventured, and Aneril nodded vaguely. "It was out of your control, Aneril. And I'm sure Aranias lives on in the Wilderqueen…somehow. She is helping you now, isn't she?"
Emptiness carved its way into her chest, and Aneril dropped her hands, shrugging. Vareysa smiled gently, and reached forward to take her hand, leading her up the road to Marbruk.
"Come on, Aneril. You've done your part for Aranias, as she has done for you. I'm sure she'd want you to move on, and keep helping others as you've helped her."
Aneril kept quiet, pondering Vareysa's altruistic words that she would've dismissed at other times. But for now, she was content to accept them, and the comfort they offered. Aneril glanced up at Vareysa, who had her eyes to the front, and she squeezed her fingers around Vareysa's, seeking warmth against her cold skin.