Chapter 21

Henantil yawned and blinked his tired eyes at the rising sun in the distance. The merchant ship he had boarded rocked back and forth on the choppy sea, and slowly pulled alongside the Alinor docks. He stepped down the wooden deboarding ramp and began walking in the direction of his house to retrieve Falinir's shoes.

"Henantil?" said a soft voice from behind him.

Henantil turned to see Warundil's well-dressed servant and replied, "Yes Mindil? Does the High Wizard wish to speak with me?"

"Right away, sir," said Mindil as he gestured towards a waiting horse carriage.

Henantil held back a sigh of frustration and boarded the fancy carriage. He really didn't have time for this. He needed to catch up to Loac and Falinir before they got away. Mindil climbed into the coachman's seat and snapped the reins to quickly depart for Warundil's manor. They pulled to a stop at their destination, and Henantil quickly walked up the ornately carved steps. Mindil held the door for him and led him to the High Wizard. Warundil was seated in a tall chair by the fireplace. Henantil noticed he wore an angry expression and held a crumpled news scroll tightly in his hand.

"You wish to speak with me, High Wizard?" asked Henantil nervously.

"I see you have returned empty-handed," said Warundil with a cold stare.

Henantil quickly replied, "They slipped away into the woods, but they're still within my grasp. I plan to track them down with a dog. I just need Falinir's shoes and..."

Warundil angrily thrusted the news scroll at Henantil's chest.

"Read it!" ordered Warundil sternly.

Henantil's eyes darted back and forth as he read through the whole damning article. Then he looked up at Warundil with a timid expression.

"You've failed me, Henantil, and your incompetence has cost me my reputation. You are hereby banished from Summerset Isle," said Warundil.

"Banished?!" gasped Henantil. Such a fate was worse than death to a sophisticated Altmer.

"Mindil will escort you to your house to pack a bag, and then you will board the next ship to Cyrodiil. I never want to see your face here again," ordered Warundil.

"No! Please! Please have mercy, Your Highness! I can still find them!" pleaded Henantil. He dropped to his knees at Warundil's feet.

Warundil turned away and said, "Be gone with you."

At that, Henantil hung his head low in submission and followed Mindil back to the horse carriage. In silence he rode to his house, and walked inside. Mindil handed him an empty wool sack, the only luggage with which he could pack a few of his belongings. Henantil looked around at all of his exquisite possessions. Almost everything would have to be left behind. He longingly touched his beautiful furniture. His sofas were upholstered with the finest silk. In the dining room, velvet-lined chairs surrounded his ornately carved gold-inlaid wooden table, set with gold silverware for four. Upon the smaller tables in Henantil's sitting room sat every number of rare curiousities- Ayleid artifacts, rare gems, and jewel encrusted weapons, all set out as a display of wealth and status. In the corner of the room, even Henantil's chamberpot was plated with silver and rubies. And upon the wall hung Henantil's favorite possession- a beautifully detailed oil painting of himself, commissioned from the most skilled artist in Alinor. In the painting, he wore formal mage's robes as a symbol of his skill in the arcane art of magic. His windswept hair flowed back upon the robe and he wore a proud smile. The superb detail made the portrait almost look alive, and the gold trimmed frame perfectly completed it.

All of these possesions gave Henantil his status and worth in Altmer society, and he had worked his whole life to attain them. Leaving them behind meant not only discarding his life's work, but throwing away his status as well. These things were more than just mere possessions. They made Henantil who he was. With them, he was an elite member of society. Without them, he was nobody and nothing.

Upon the floor in his sitting room sat Falinir's trunk. Henantil scooped gold septims out by the handful and into his bag. The bag was now full. He stood up and glanced around again at his exquisite house. It was likely the last time he'd ever see it. Then Henantil did something he hadn't done since he was a small child. He wept.

"Am I really destined to live out the rest of my days among lowly humans?" he thought to himself. He imagined the disgusting unsophisticated humans he had encountered back in Anvil. The mere thought of it was too much to bear. He felt frantic and dazed. How could this have happened to him? The tears flowed freely from his eyes. He could not live in exile. He had to do something to fix this situation and restore Warundil's shattered reputation. He had to carry out his mission and bring Loac home. A simple story that she had been drugged or magically charmed against her will by Falinir could explain away her recent bizarre behavior, and perhaps replace the people's disapproval of the High Wizard with sympathy and renewed faith. It was a slim chance, but it was all he had. It would be tricky to convince Loac to go along with the story though. Threatening to kill Falinir if she didn't play along might be effective, thought Henantil to himself. Falinir could be kept as a prisoner indefinitely to make sure she behaved. Having Loac see her precious Bosmer in shackles would certainly ensure her obedience.

Henantil unlocked his basement door and walked down the stairs. On the floor were Falinir's shoes, just where he had left them. He grabbed the shoes and went back upstairs. He dried his eyes and stepped out the door. Within the hour he was on board a ship headed for Anvil. His face was filled with utter determination. He would track down Loac and Falinir or die trying.

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Note from the author: There's a wonderful new illustration to this story- Check out GenocidalSmasher's gallery over on DeviantArt. Thank you Genocidalsmasher! :)