Tel Fyr.
It was nighttime when Zaryth returned, unescorted, to the tower of Tel Fyr. She strode along the spongy hypha-bridges, her path illuminated by the soft blue glow from magical lanterns. The waters below were dark and still, with an occasional gurgle below from a slaughterfish, as if it were waiting for her to fall in. She took a deep inhale, the thick scent of spores and salty sea wind rushing through her nose. Tel Fyr was, first and foremost, her place of work and study. But it was also the closest thing to a home she ever really had.
For whatever inconceivably stupid reason, Nils declined to accompany her to the tower, claiming that he didn't need to know what was in the Dwemer book anymore. What an uninspired adventurer he was!
Obviously there must be some going-ons of a subversive nature to explain his sudden change in behavior, but Zaryth wasn't about to shove her nose into it. It simply did not interest her. She had not forgotten how Nils plainly mentioned to Sees-Through-Dusk that he was a Blade. Likely a slip of the tongue. This was either another one of his lies or the Empire had resorted to recruiting this incompetent excuse for a spy. but Zaryth never brought it up, and neither did he. It was ridiculous. At the inn Nils and that Argonian would not stop giving each other these looks, like dopey schoolchildren with a secret infatuation.
The Blades, as she understood it, were the Emperor's eyes and ears. She knew they had a presence in Morrowind, and there were whispers that they had operatives in every city, but Zaryth was certainly not impressed. Clearly they were not as clandestine as they were portrayed. They seemed downright sloppy. Perhaps one of them would find her in some dark night and try to slit her throat for knowing the names of two of their operatives. What a tragedy that would be. For them.
Whatever all of that was about, Zaryth could not bring herself to care. If they no longer needed her knowledge or expertise, then why would they need her to accompany them? Unless the Blades were investigating the underground trading of Dwemer artifacts, she couldn't think of anything they would need her services for. She wasn't too keen on performing acts of espionage against her own people, even if she didn't like most of them. Zaryth was more grateful than ever that House Telvanni managed to isolate themselves from the bizarre stage-play that was Morrowind's political situation. It was better this way.
Tel Fyr, Onyx Hall.
The Onyx Hall was completely dark when Zaryth entered. That was a bit odd. Divayth Fyr had come into the habit of spending his evenings in a cozy alcove of cushions and blankets he created for himself, relaxing with a bittergreen tonic and a book. Provided Alfe or Beyte did not bring up matters to occupy Divayth Fyr's attention, it was during these quiet hours of the night that Zaryth enjoyed conversing with him the most, when their roles as master and apprentice were put aside and they could simply discuss any topic they wanted. And, as she was in an unusually melancholy mood tonight for reasons which she could not discern, she would have appreciated his insight.
Zaryth was about to investigate the rest of Tel Fyr to see if she could locate him, but as she stood there in the dark she heard a faint, raspy breathing sound. Zaryth couldn't help but smile fondly. Had the illustrious Divayth Fyr fallen asleep in his little nook again?
Not wanting to wake him with the harsh fluorescence of a Light spell, Zaryth held up one hand. One by one tiny flames lit up on every candle in the room, illuminating the rotund chamber with the soft, warm glow.
She felt a sharpness in her chest.
There was someone in the room.
It was definitely not Divayth Fyr.
A disfigured creature that once resembled a Dunmer woman was crouched on the floor in the middle of the room. Zaryth was surprised she had not caught a whiff of the distinct smell of necrosis until now, but perhaps after spending so much time studying the malodorous patients in the Corprusarium it was something she had gotten used to. Her face was a swollen, blotchy mass but Zaryth recognized her as Tanusea Veloth by the undyed linen dress she wore. The healer from the Temple that had been brought here a few weeks ago and granted lodging in a room somewhere down the hall. Divayth found her notable by virtue of being a carrier of Corprus without visible manifestation of any of the advanced symptoms. At least, not until now.
Zaryth frowned, not because she was disgusted by the grotesque sight, but because Divayth would be disappointed to hear of this. Still, she knew it was time for her to be moved to the Corprusarium below.
This meant that Zaryth's mindset had to shift to the same clinical detachment she felt when working with the other victims. As pitiful as they were, she could not show compassion to these creatures without putting herself at risk. Uupse Fyr had mastered the art of soothing the victims into a prolonged nonaggressive state, but Zaryth preferred not to die tonight and thus she was not about to attempt this.
The first thing she did was cast a spell on herself to increase her resistance to disease. She had of course learned while studying under Master Fyr that Corprus was not transmitted by any known conventional means, but she did not want to get some kind of infection from accidental contact with its weeping pustules.
The Corprus monster that had once been Tanusea jolted up at the sound and stalked towards Zaryth. She was quick enough to cast a brief Calm spell to prevent it from attacking, but it was woefully temporary.
The creature fell back to a crouch, clutching its head and rocking itself back and forth.
"I am preserved. He has given me the sacred flesh." These words it repeated over and over like an incantation.
The calming effect only lasted about ten seconds before it got up again. Zaryth stood at the circular entryway into the tunnels, goading it into chasing her. Despite their... lack of intellect and constant state of agony, she knew all too well that corprus beasts were not to be underestimated, for they were just as fast and twice as strong as she was. She turned her back on it and broke into a sprint down the coiling tunnels, down, down, down until she reached the old bronze door leading to the cavernous Corprusarium. Breathless, she heard the thing shuffling effortlessly behind her. She heaved open the heavy door with just enough time to vanish into Invisibility as the creature came into view, stalking after her. It went straight through the door, stopping once inside the damp subterranean cave. On the other side, Zaryth shut the door with an abrupt burst of Telekinesis, securing the corprus monster inside as she cast a bit of Alteration magic to set the lock at a comfortable distance. Not a moment after she heard the clicking of tumblers into place, the creature began to bang violently on the thick slab of metal that separated Tel Fyr from the Corprusarium.
"Try to get past that," she called after it between pants, clutching the stitch in her side as she leaned against the wall, slowly sinking to the squishy mushroom floor. Well. Zaryth had never been the fastest runner, but she really pushed her limits with that exhausting chase through Tel Fyr. She had enough magicka left for a minor restoration spell, and she closed her eyes with relief as her muscles loosened their fatigue while her stamina recovered.
Upon meandering back up to the Onyx Hall at a leisurely pace, Zaryth pondered what she would do with her evening. She considered asking Delte or someone where Divayth had disappeared to, but the others had likely gone to bed by now. And honestly, she didn't really feel like speaking to any of the daughters right now. They got on her nerves most of the time.
As she entered the atrium of the Onyx Hall she yet again saw another shrouded figure in the dim candlelight. Her blood went cold. She couldn't see much, save for the distinct spikes and ridges of Daedric armor.
The flickering candlelight combined with the natural contours of the mushroom wall made its shadow particularly jagged and horrible.
A Dremora? For just a moment she was about to shout to Alfe to keep her summons under control, but then she was able to take a deep, relieved breath when she realized it was Divayth Fyr in his full regalia.
She sniffed. The room smelled of sulfur and bloodgrass.
"Deadlands again?" Zaryth asked, approaching him tentatively. He was still wearing some hideous mask, a contraption with four dark eye-slits and what looked like iron shaped to resemble rib bones protruding out from each side. He said the Daedra called it the "Face of Terror." The name was quite fitting. He didn't even look like a person when he wore that. Ever since he'd started to wear that mask a few months ago for his ventures into the Deadlands, Zaryth would always laugh at it for how ridiculously impractical it was. Now... it was just unsettling.
"Unfortunately. I will need to return later, to maintain a discreet eye on Dagon's machinations," came the muffled reply. He began to remove his gauntlets, setting a black spherical object on the table. Either he didn't notice or care when the ball began to roll dangerously close to the edge of the table but Zaryth sprung forward to catch it before it fell off. It was warm and oscillating, having a faint sort of pulse to it. It was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. With her fingernail she could feel the indentations where Daedric letters were carved, but it was far too dark to read any of the runes.
"Is this a sigil stone?" she asked, not bothering to conceal her excitement. He always brought back so many interesting things when he ventured into Oblivion. Divayth proceeded to remove his helm, eliciting in Zaryth a sigh of relief when she saw his wizened face again. She wondered if her reaction to the mask had something to do with a recent encounter with two other masked people...
Zaryth gave a slight shiver. Some memories were best left buried. This was one of them.
"It is. You can keep it if you'd like. I have no use for it," he answered, waving his hand dismissively. Zaryth did want it and she did keep it, slipping it into one of the wide pockets of her robe. She could feel it pulsating warmly against her leg.
Divayth Fyr began to fumble with the straps on his right pauldron. Zaryth moved in to help, being mindful of the hazardous spikes. Just by his stiff, almost hesitant-looking movements Zaryth could see he carried himself with a particular level of exhaustion, one that she recognized whenever he ventured into Oblivion for days at a time and used fatigue potions as an alternative to sleep.
"I still have not uncovered the finer details of his plan, but I know that sigil stones are being produced in mass quantities."
"That's a frightening thought. Does... each sigil stone mean a portal to Oblivion opening up on Mundus?" asked Zaryth, helping him now with the cuirass. Even the buckles were decorated with unnecessary iron studs and some elaborate clawed clasping mechanism. The Daedra even wanted to make the act of putting armor on and off a painful task. Divayth seemed grateful for the help, and she felt him letting out a long exhale. "Though they can't do much with sigil stones alone, can't they? The portals only last for minutes, if that. There's protections on Mundus in place for that specific purpose," Zaryth added to her previous thought, still trying to remain hopeful.
"Unless they've found out a way to stabilize a liminal bridge. I aim to stop whatever their plans are, before it's too late. Either that or figure out a way to send them all to the Void, permanently. Whichever I figure out first. I'm beginning to suspect that the Daedra are not alone in their endeavors, and that Dagon has been spreading his influence to mortals foolish enough to join his cause."
Zaryth sighed. As if they didn't have Dagoth Ur and the Blight monsters from Red Mountain to worry about already. She knelt down to carefully help remove his greaves, but her palm caught on the sharp edge. It hurt. Zaryth retracted her hand immediately, wincing at the cut. Alright, she was bleeding now. For some sadistic reason the spikes on the armor were razor sharp, and lacerated her hand fairly bad. But before she could begin to cast a healing spell, Divayth Fyr barely raised one hand and a shimmering blue light surrounded her wound, sealing it seamlessly.
"I could have healed that myself. I'm not some mundane, you know," Zaryth grumbled, working on the other side now. Divayth said nothing in response. Zaryth motioned for him to sit down so that she could help with his sabatons. He rubbed his face with his hands and then went back to watching her, probably just to make sure she didn't hurt herself again from this ridiculous armor. Unquestionably, he was the most powerful person she knew, and if he desired it he could spring back up to his feet and spend even more time in Oblivion. Which reminded her... she had forgotten to ask something.
"How long were you in there?"
"What day is it?"
Oh, for crying out loud...
"Fredas. Unless midnight has already passed –"
"It has," he said, glancing briefly at the positioning of two moons that could be seen out the small porthole-shaped window. "Loredas, then. Since I was just preparing to leave when you and your friend arrived, and that was on Sundas... Hm. What a lovely way to spend a week."
Zaryth's jaw dropped.
"Master Fyr... we were at your tower last Sundas. I only just returned tonight. You've... been in Oblivion for almost two weeks."
It was getting harder for Divayth Fyr to surprise her with his antics, but this was unbelievable. How was he even still alive, talking to her, and not a puddle of primordial ooze on the floor?
"Hm. Fancy that. No wonder I can't feel my legs. Ah, by the way, Zaryth, would you mind fixing up some bittergreen tonic? If it's not too much trouble, of course."
Ordinarily she may have made some wry remark about how she wasn't his servant, and he ought to hire one if he was going to continue to treat her as such, but no words were coming out of her mouth. This was incomprehensible. Two weeks. Among the Daedra. Without rest. How?
"Oh, speaking of... erm, what's-his-name – " he continued idly.
"Nils."
"Yes, that one. Is he here with you? We can see if Yagrum is done with the book. I can have my drink later if you want us to go to the Corprusarium first."
Zaryth paused.
"I'll make the tonic for you."
She turned abruptly and disappeared through another corridor in the atrium. Visitors to Tel Fyr could spend days getting lost just trying to find the kitchen amidst the myriad tunnels and passageways, but Zaryth knew the layout so well that she could walk around blind.
The kitchen was usually Beyte's domain, but she kept all of her utensils neatly organized and always ready for use. Zaryth crushed bittergreen petals with a mortar and pestle, still wondering how Divayth had managed to accomplish this feat. The vast majority of mortals, herself included, likely wouldn't be able to spend more than two hours in the Deadlands. Divayth Fyr had just spent two weeks. There was no such thing as resting in the Deadlands, either. Not with the infinite hordes of bloodthirsty Daedra crawling around everywhere.
When she was finished mixing the tonic, she began to wonder what the old wizard managed to find for food in the Deadlands. Hah. That was laughable. Most of the plants there were poisonous, and the ones that weren't would whip and strangle any passing by. Maybe it was one of those things that came with being a four thousand year old wizard, but Divayth simply couldn't be bothered with trifles such as remembering to eat every so often. She grumbled to herself and used her magicka to light a fire in the stove, placing upon the heat a pot of water. Maybe he just used this as an excuse to get everyone else to cook for him. It truly was a tedious task. Reaching into a basket Zaryth lifted a large kwama egg with two hands and dropped it in the pot. It was almost too big for the pot and the water splashed around on all sides. The enormous eggs of the kwama made for a filling and nutritious meal, but she wasn't thinking about any of that; the eggs were simple and quick enough to prepare. She wondered how many thousands of hours of a person's life were wasted simply by going through something as mundane as food preparation. Zaryth had so many more important things to do with her time, and she simply could not wait until she was as aged and respected as Divayth Fyr, just so that others would cook for her.
As Zaryth pondered the other menial tasks she would be able to relegate to apprentices when she was older and wiser, she realized that the egg ought to be done simmering by now. With frost magic she chilled the water in the pot and scooped the egg it into a bowl, though only part of it fit in the bowl with most of it protruding out. She walked back through the tunnels as fast as she could while balancing a boiled kwama egg and a cold drink on her tray.
This felt close to mortifying. What was she, his housewife? He had others to do this for him, and he could very well take care of himself, why did she even care?
Back in the atrium, Zaryth found that Divayth had already made himself comfortable in his favorite alcove, sitting with his legs outstretched and his back against the wall. It was nice to see him in ordinary clothes, now that all the armor was off, just a simple black tunic and trousers. He had a slight build, though not in a way that implied he was fragile. When she first met him, she had been surprised at how gaunt and angular he was, but the child she was imagined his bones must have been made of ebony because he commanded such a powerful presence. He didn't even look a day over sixty, despite his being ancient by any definition of that word. When Zaryth entered, she found him with his eyes closed, massaging his temples with his hands. But when he heard her footsteps, he stopped this, turning his head to smile at her.
"There you are. I had feared you'd stumbled over something in the dark. Was about to go searching for you, hah."
Zaryth sat down in his alcove, setting the tray on a cushion between them. Divayth's eyebrows rose as soon as he saw the kwama egg. It was like he didn't expect her to go out of her way to do something nice.
Though, Zaryth was a bit surprised at herself too. This was only a special exception. He had spent two weeks in Oblivion without rest, after all.
"You prepared this for me? You are most thoughtful, Zaryth. Have I mentioned that you are my favorite apprentice?"
He picked up the spoon and began to crack at the outer shell.
"I'm your only apprentice, Master Fyr."
Divayth put down the spoon a moment.
"Hmm. Yes. You are right. Pity about old Garalo, hm?"
"It's been almost seven years since he left."
"And two years ago it would have been five years. What I'm trying to say is... I'm not really sure, actually. Something about time being this subjective thing constructed by our flawed mortal perception of its linear passage. Fill in the blanks."
"You're tired."
"I... well, I might say that fatigue is yet another mortal limitation... and... I also live in a mushroom tower that predates the formation of Zafirbel Bay itself... oh! On an unrelated note I am lucky to have such a wonderfully compassionate apprentice named Zaryth Velani. What I am saying is you do not need to state the obvious."
"Eat your egg." Zaryth made a gesture towards the spoon he had put down.
"Yes, muthsera. If it pleases you."
Zaryth smiled. Sometimes she stopped to think about how strange it was that she could have this sort of banter with a four thousand year old wizard. But then it didn't seem strange anymore when she remembered that he was Divayth Fyr.
"So," he began, after swallowing a bite of egg. "Did you find – oh, Zaryth, of all the kwama eggs I have eaten I can truly say this is one of the most delicious. Mm. You should cook for me more often."
"I wouldn't count on it."
She didn't get it. It was just a kwama egg, like the hundreds of thousands of others in the thousands of egg mines across Morrowind. But he was savoring it as if it would be his last meal on Mundus. He was probably just very hungry.
"So, did you find the Rotheran index?"
"Indoranyon," she corrected. "And yes."
There was silence. Divayth continued to chew, but he was looking thoughtfully at Zaryth. When he swallowed, he spoke again.
"What, no tales of your journey? Not going to regale me with one of your usual exciting anecdotes? You know I always like to hear you talk of these things. My days of carefree adventuring are long over but an old wizard can be satisfied just by living vicariously, eh?"
Well. Zaryth was sorry to disappoint. She wanted to tell him to just eat his damn egg and go to sleep or something, but perhaps it was a bit unusual for her to act like this. Any other time she would be giving him a very detailed explanation of what had transpired. But she simply could not find the feeling for it. She clenched her hands into fists and then unclenched them.
There was no easy way for her to bury that memory deep inside her, like she seemed to be able to do for most unpleasant things. This was different. Every time she heard a twig snap underfoot or someone cracking their knuckles, she winced.
"I think you ought to get some rest instead. You're exhausted."
Divayth's mouth was full of kwama egg and there was a pause before he could speak again.
"Zaryth," he started. His voice was firm. "I can rest whenever I'd like. Right now, I would much prefer to listen to you."
After a beat, Zaryth spoke.
"I forgot to tell you. I found Tanusea Veloth earlier. Uhh, she wasn't doing too well. It looked as if she skipped stage two and went straight to stage three. I had to bring her to the Corprusarium."
"Oh. That is indeed a shame about Tanusea. She had a good heart. I am saddened by this, but... Aha! You nearly fooled me, clever girl. Let me make a revision to that earlier statement. I would much prefer to listen to you talk about Zaryth Velani."
Zaryth folded her hands in her lap and looked down, not wanting to meet those interrogative eyes. She may as well tell him what happened. There seemed to be no getting out of this one.
"I... we, that is... we were in the Grazelands, and just... out of nowhere, these two Ordinators had the nerve to start harassing us. They... well, they were being absolutely unreasonable, you know?"
"Are they ever reasonable?"
"No! That's the point! They're running around, proselytizing in Telvanni lands as if we were about to defer to their authority, and – and naturally I went and told them as politely as I could that they had no jurisdiction there, and then they, and then they..." Zaryth trailed off. She was staring down at her hands. Tears were building up, she felt like she was going to cry. She clenched her hands into tight fists and unclenched them again and again as if to make sure they still worked, trying to force the tears back down. She was shuddering, grinding her teeth together. She couldn't do this. She didn't know how to say any of it. The memory was still so fresh in her mind, despite her attempts to bottle it everything was coming up at once and there was nothing she could do to wipe it from her mind.
That excruciating pain ringing, screaming in her ears...
By now Divayth Fyr had set his half-finished kwama egg aside to give her his undivided attention.
"Tell me. What did they do to you?"
Though outwardly he still was stolid and unflappable as ever, Zaryth noted the subtle changes in his demeanor. His jaw clenched sternly, and the red glow in his eyes had intensified. And that low, implicit threat in his voice... it made the hairs on her arms stand up. His entire bearing had shifted into something deadly.
The stiff heavy gauntlets holding her back as she kicked helplessly against the impenetrable armor...
Zaryth was having difficulty keeping herself together when the metaphorical floodgate that kept her memories back was now open. Why had this affected her so much? She tried to choke down an ugly sob that she did not want him to hear, but she knew such efforts were futile.
Eventually, when she had calmed enough to be able to speak, she held up her hands directly in front of her face, palms facing her. Her vision was partially obscured by this so she fanned her fingers out, seeing her master still sitting upright, watching her.
"They... had my hands, Master Fyr, and... my fingers, they broke my fingers, one by one. It... it wasn't the pain, it's not why I'm... I mean, it was immeasurably painful, the worst I've felt in my life, but that wasn't it. It's as if... when they were holding me back, and they had my hands and I can't cast spells if I don't have my hands and if I can't cast spells I'm... I'm... I don't know, I don't know, it was all so... I just felt..."
These words between panicked breaths were slippery and uncontrollable, tumbling out of her like a mudslide. She didn't even understand half the nonsense she had just blurted out. Tears clouded her eyes rendering her partially blind yet again.
"Zaryth..."
Even Divayth didn't seem to know where to find any words. He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered a curse under his breath.
"You felt powerless, because they held you down and you couldn't cast spells. That is what you wanted to say, no?"
Zaryth nodded, numbly. Her face was tingling. She understood this was because she had been hyperventilating and not really getting enough air in. Now she was just tired. Not even enough energy to cry anymore. She took slow, shuddering breaths.
"If I can't use magicka, I am nothing."
Her voice was dull, defeated.
Zaryth closed her eyes, burying her face in her hands.
She wanted to disappear into nothingness right now. Or just sleep for a very long time, until these awful feelings went away.
"Do you know why they hurt you?" came Divayth's voice.
"I don't know, I said some foolish things. Does it matter? They were stronger than me, and they wanted to prove it."
Her speech was still muffled by her face being in her hands.
"Zaryth. Look at me. Why did the Ordinators feel the need to prove their strength? The scary masks and ebony maces are intimidating enough for most people."
"They're just antagonistic like that."
"Well, yes, of course they are. They are the fanatic enforcers of a totalitarian theocracy, after all. But Zaryth, believe me when I tell you this. They did this to you because they were afraid of you."
Zaryth blinked.
"That's... No. Why would they be afraid?"
"Why wouldn't they be afraid? People like you, ah... how to say it? You do not take anything as absolute. You question everything. Ordinators... like the ones you had that unfortunate encounter with, they only know to accept the will of the Tribunal as law. They have established this institution based on their unconditional devotion to the scriptures. They defer simperingly to Almsivi, whom they see as infallible, accepting their words as the flawless truth. Principally, they are exacting the will of their god-ruler overlords. When you question the power of these enforcers, you are shaking the very foundation of their beliefs. You are challenging the gods themselves, and you are unafraid."
Zaryth wondered when he was going to get to the point. Well, of course if she fancied getting her fingers broken again she could stand up to the Ordinators when she knew that they were spewing lies and filth, but what good had that done her? But as helpless and infantile as she had been rendered at that moment, she recognized that even she had been shown mercy. The Ashlanders had suffered a far worse fate. The dead bodies piled up carelessly, their eyes, oh, no, the eyes, she remembered looking at their terrified, dead eyes and realizing that the last image they saw was that awful bonemold mask staring unemotional, unyielding.
"There... there were Ashlanders too. Like... ten, twelve of them, I don't know. Dead. All of them. They killed them. They're just horrible..."
"That is... exceptionally despicable," said the older wizard. He seemed about to say something else, but he froze, simply staring in front of him as if in a daze. Zaryth waited several seconds before speaking.
"Master Fyr?"
Divayth snapped out of his reverie, placing a hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn.
"Mm. Where was I? Ah. You, Zaryth... you are worth far more than what you think you are. Of course you have an exceptional command of magicka. You learned from the best, after all. But that is not what makes you admirable. It's your cognition, Zaryth, the synthesis of original thought within the fibers of your brain. Why I made you my apprentice, despite your young age, it was... your beautiful inquisitiveness. You already understood that truth and reality are only matters of individual perception, and you had come to this revelation on your own. Some people have nothing more than a squiggly cluster of soft tissue and nerves inside their skulls. They will always feel threatened by you, because they are content to accept a singular set of narrow ideas. They are slaves, shackled by their own ignorance. Even many of House Telvanni's powerful wizard-lords, they pride themselves on being the most free-thinking of the Great Houses, but are still blinded by their self-serving endeavors. You are liberated from these basal hindrances and seek knowledge not for power or recognition but simply because of your fascination with explaining the inexplicable and knowing the unknown. Not unlike myself when I was at your impressionable young age, ha! I intend that as a compliment, by the way. If I had taken you in solely because of your magical capacity, a foolish master indeed I would have been for that inconceivable waste of potential. In fact, I do not believe that there is anyone else in the entirety of Zafirbel Bay or even the rest of Morrowind that I would rather have as my apprentice."
Zaryth was trembling. Her mouth opened up, her lips were moving, trying to form words, but she didn't know what to say to him.
Again, she wondered what the point of all of this was. Being told she was more enlightened than some decorated thug didn't really change her opinion about what had actually happened in the Grazelands, and if she were put in the same situation she would be just as helpless as she was back then, but...
No, addressing those issues didn't seem to be the point of his rambling. He must be unbelievably tired, she didn't blame him for going on about something slightly unrelated. It was shocking that he was still listening to her and not passed out by now. But even if nothing really changed, it still made her feel very happy.
She had never thought of herself in that way before. No one had ever... spoken so highly of her, not once. She always assumed she had acquired this apprenticeship out of sheer luck, being in the right place at the right time. It was what all the other Telvanni said.
But now she knew that wasn't what it was about at all. His words made her sound like she was this wonderful, special individual.
It was an odd thing, how much relief she felt just from talking about her experience. For him to listen to her without interruption... Zaryth wasn't sure what this feeling was exactly, but she felt understood, appreciated even. But she wasn't going to think about that... unpleasant incident. Zaryth could push it aside and focus on far more pleasant things, like the moment at hand.
She felt that she had a lot to be thankful for. This evening was one of them. And though they were doing little more than sitting and having a simple conversation, this was one of the best moments in her life.
For about an hour there was a bit more talk after that, little things. Divayth went back to enjoying his kwama egg with relish as he related to her many of the fascinating things he did during those two weeks in the Deadlands. Zaryth was quite impressed. With his clever disguise, the wizard had managed to wriggle his way into the Dremora chain of command, ascending in rank from a lowly Caitiff all the way to Kynmarcher at a meteoric rate. All of this, of course, was to become more familiar with the inner workings of Mehrunes Dagon's servants and perhaps catch a few of their secrets. Very few people understood the intricacies behind Dremora culture and hierarchy. Indubitably, few were daring enough to mingle with Daedra, or competent enough to fool them as he had.
"... After I managed to infiltrate the higher echelons of Dremora society, finally a Kynmarcher lording over my own Citadel, I received a formal challenge from a most notable adversary. Oh, he was remarkably fierce. Lord Zovirdax, though an impressive Valkynaz himself, rightfully feared my rapid accession and quite passionately declared that we could only settle this dispute through combat. Now, you must understand that when a Dremora is defeated, it merely floats around in the Void for a while until it... well, I'm not entirely sure what the process entails myself, but they always come back. The stakes were much higher for a mortal such as I, though perhaps Aetherius might make an exception if my life is ended abruptly, knowing what a tragedy it would be if Mundus is bereft of the sagacious wisdom of Divayth Fyr. Ah, but back to Lord Zovirdax. During our honor-duel I finally defeated him when I raised from the scorching pools a searing tide of lava higher than Tel Naga. Rather proud of that one, myself."
He took a sip of his drink and set it aside.
Zaryth was sitting upright, hugging her knees to her chest as she listened to him.
"Naturally I was forced to run from the deadly wave myself, which, as you may imagine, turned out to be quite a precarious exercise while wearing that armor. I only wanted a theatrical display of sheer power to keep my appointed taskmasters in line, which did produce the results I desired and efficiency increased tenfold for those working under me! It also accrued me some... unneeded attention. To my astonishment several formidable Markynaz ladies were soon demanding I mate with them. A task which I'm certain you understand I could not accomplish without them seeing my, erm, mortal limitations, so I had to politely decline these generous propositions so as not to risk revealing my true identity. This only invoked their hatred which led to more duels and further vilification of my character, but of course when among the Dremora it is better to be feared than loved, I'd say. Ahh, but I am so, so glad to be back. I do feel silly for causing any concern with the length of my stay, by the way. I'm afraid that after living so long, the division of time into units such as hours, days and weeks begins to sound so..." he stretched his arms and legs, laying his head down on a cushion now. "Short-sighted..."
Zaryth closed her eyes and started to count to thirty in her head, wondering if counting the seconds would make this happy little moment last a bit longer. After about twenty seconds she realized this was a foolish notion, and that by focusing on the seconds she was missing out on other things, like the lovely chat they were having.
But when Zaryth opened her eyes, she saw the venerable Divayth Fyr laying comfortably on his back, fast asleep. His left hand rested gently on his stomach, which was rising and falling slowly with each steady breath.
Zaryth felt relaxed just from seeing how comfortable he looked amongst the pillows and cushions in his alcove. She smiled. Even though he wasn't talking anymore or making her laugh with his stories, she was content.
"I'm... incredibly lucky, Master Fyr. Thank you."
She whispered these words so that she wouldn't wake him up, but then she realized that was absurd, because it meant she was just talking to herself. Oh, well. Maybe she could just say the same thing the next time she caught him alone. Though perhaps not. She didn't want to come across as sentimental or anything.
But right now, though this moment was tragically finite because she could not alter her perception of the passing time at will like her master apparently could, Zaryth was undeniably happy.