A/N: Good day all! I'm SO SO SO SO sorry for the massive gaps between updates. It's the PhD. It sucks life out of me. Here is the next chapter though. Ready and raring to go. There is some MAJOR plot in this one. Moving things along at last !!celebrates!! Anyway, I'm rambling. Please enjoy and recall I write faster when I have reviews to buoy me on. The usual disclaimer applies. I own nothing that Bethesda owns but everything in this fic that they don't.
Dedicated and thanks in a large part to the support received from my co-author Joe.
-Happy Reading-
"Snuff the wicks" Tybus Pelanix's years roughened voice rasped as he gestured his band of mercenaries to a sharp halt at the mouth of the ravine leading out of the Bitter Coast into the southernmost part of the West Gash. On his order 3 of the 4 carried lamps were extinguished, plunging he and his 6 followers into almost complete darkness. Gerita, Pelanix's mouthy second in command set the remaining lamp in the centre of the tight circle 5 of the band instinctively made when their boss called halt. Gadan, the 6th man and token 'new guy' of the group was slower to fall into line; yet to learn his new boss's preferences when it came to orders.
His moment's pause was met by silent derision by all but Pelanix himself. He took the slightly bemused looking man by the arm before he could hurriedly settle with the group.
"You a bowman..." the Imperial noted impassively, nodding from under his wide hood at the steel longbow slung across Gadan's shoulders. "Or is that just for show?"
Gadan squared his shoulders "No sir. I am a bowman" he replied. Shortly. To the point. New to this troop as he was, he knew straight answers would get him further with men like Pelanix than making like a conversationalist and trying to cosy up to the boss. It only got you noticed for the wrong reasons.
Pelanix tightened his grip on his underling's elbow, drawing him towards the mouth of the ravine. "Can you climb, bowman?" he rumbled, pointing with a thick finger to an outcropping near the ravine's edge.
Gadan gave a curt nod, eyeing the craggy slip of rock with caution. The caution died away when Pelanix stepped into his line of sight. Hidden behind a cloak of attentiveness.
"Good" the Imperial's voice came again. "Disappear" he said "Keep your eyes east. Kill anything that isn't a wandering guard."
As his boss released him...gave him a push towards what would be his lookout post...Gadan was quick to take point. The ledge was not prohibitively high. He made it with two leaps, though a hunk of slate made itself at home in his forearm as he pulled himself up. He knew better than to make noise about it. Just eased it free, spat upon the wound, used a little of the medicinal salve he had been given as part of his 'rations' for the job to coat it, bound it tightly with a torn piece of his shirt and took his post.
From their 'camp' at the ravine's edge Pelanix smirked to himself. In the low light he could barely make out the flinty-silver of his bowman's weapon. Its arch faced east.
Good.
At least this one could follow orders. His last had ended up on the wrong end of a guard's pike. Well...his head had at least, after his date with the gallows at Fort Buckmoth.
Pelanix settled by his men in the lamp light. A final briefing was in order before they descended on the mine. The walk would only take an hour or so...
As the mercenaries gathered their wits by the Bitter Coast-West Gash ravine, the usual peace in Sarethi Manor was shattered by the sound of breaking glass and raised voices. The Manor had, 5 or so hours back, welcomed the return of its young master from his journey to Fort Moonmoth. Met at the doors by attentive aides, he and his escort had been whisked through into the family's private rooms, where they were met by Councilman Athyn Sarethi and his wife Domesea. Though they were a little taken aback by the Imperial's presence, neither begrudged Champion Varo his insistence in having their son accompanied on his journey home. They, more than others of their House, understood the climate of political unrest descending on the island. Security was paramount.
Indeed, it was not his presence that shattered the calm of the late evening.
It was the news he brought with him.
In all of his years of service, Casius Cosedes had never before known a noble with such a fine arm. The glass decanter Councilman Sarethi had taken up in a fit of vitriolic rage at hearing the Lamps had been more or less compromised never stood a chance. Casius stood now, Lady Sarethi at his side, as the Lord of the Manor seethed, words boiling from his throat in a tongue the Imperial could not place.
Minutes of staring uncomprehendingly ended when the slight woman at his side spoke, seemingly answering a question her husband roared into the room.
"Six days if we are lucky Athyn...less for the Dres, for their lands are closer to the Capital..." turning to Casius then "Forgive us Sera. My husband queried when the papers you spoke of would reach unfriendly hands. The Telvanni of Morrowind will likely receive them when we do. Six days at the latest. House Dres has its lands on our far western border. They will hear before we do of what the Council in the white-gold Palace spoke."
Lady Sarethi gave a careful inclination of her head once her irate husband met her eyes, indicating the chair behind his desk. "Please Athyn..." she coaxed "settle...speak to us words we may all understand." After a moment Lord Sarethi seemed to shake himself from his ire, his shoulders slumping, a hand brought to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"My apologies" he rumbled, looking at Casius briefly as he made his way to his seat...settling...receiving Domesea's grateful hand upon his forearm as she stood beside him.
"Unnecessary Serjos" he spoke, turning to face the noble couple across the desk now between them. Varvur took up his habitual position across from Casius, facing his parents, straight-backed and proud but clearly docile in his father's presence. The silence stretched before Lord Sarethi spoke.
"Answer me, each of you in turn..." a firm look for the men across from him, his gaze remaining on Casius, selecting him as the first to speak "What, given all you have told me of our changed circumstances...this...Council..." the word sneered darkly "a loose lipped Argonian who names our most prominent member publically..." a world of disbelief colouring his tone... "...the growing unrest in Caldera and this talk of 'uniting the Houses against the trade'...do you want me to do? THINK before you answer, both of you. I, like your Nerevarine, am just one Mer. I cannot move mountains alone."
The intensity of his gaze made Casius want to squirm in his armour. He did not, but he looked away for a moment to compose his answer. He did not notice Domesea stiffen at what she saw as disrespect when he broke eye contact. Her chastising words were stayed by her husband's hand over hers. He shook his head fractionally when she met his eyes, long used to Imperials and their lack of basic the courtesies Dunmer households kept.
"I cannot speak for myself Serjos" Casius's reply brought their eyes back to him "for I am but a mouth of the Legion, as all men of service are. However...in that same breath I mark myself a soldier. And any Legion man you ask will reply that one single soldier can do little but draw fire. We need numbers Serjo. Now, I am too poor a speaker to do anything within the Great Houses but cause disquiet. What I can do, is co-ordinate Legion based action. I can also send word to the Emperor's Blades. What help they will be...I cannot predict. Indeed they may be a hindrance."
A nod of agreement from the seated Lord "That is my only caveat sera, whatever your actions. No Blades. Not yet." Casius in turn inclined his head, silent agreement in the gesture.
"Yes Serjo. What I suggest is the gathering of a meeting between the Champions of the Legion garrisons and the Lords of the Great Houses. We needn't have their agreement to opposing the Trade when we enter the meeting hall...but we at least, with everyone in one place, give the matter the debate it deser-..."
Serjo Sarethi's averted gaze halted his words and a moment of contemplative silence fell. "You suggest I contact the House Lords?" he finally asked, meeting Casius's eyes once more "With a view to having them...meet in this certain place at this certain time to discuss abolishing the slave trade?"
...Hearing it said like that, Casius could understand the depths of scepticism in the Redoran Lord's tone. He let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in a slow huff. "I suggest Serjo, that whatever it is you do you do it swiftly. If the information we know is coming rea-"
"It will reach the Houses whether we leap to intercept it or not!" the snapped rebuke coming before its speaker could soften it to at least give the illusion of calm. "And it will reach the King. Is there a speed fast enough that we might somehow avert this coming disaster?" the question rhetorical, almost desperate sounding. Clearly, thought Casius as he kept a respectful silence, these people understand the wider impact of the proliferation of this information better than I.
As if hearing his thought Lord Sarethi spoke "There is a House divide on the abolition of slavery Cosedes, every Imperial half versed on Dunmeriis Lore knows that. Redoran, Hlaalu...they will hear the Lamps'. Listen to their rhetoric with open minds and, if I can help it, lend their support. Telvanni and Dres...sera you may as well be trying to talk to barbarians. There will less care to hear you than they would bow their heads to your Emperor, and there is not a Mer alive in either House who would so bow were his neck not dependant on it. You spoke before of having Ilmeni Dren on side. This is fortuitous, but nowhere near enough."
The imperial watched as he who spoke rose from his seat and strode to one of the packed bookshelves that lined the nearest wall. "The woman..." a book plucked by practiced fingers, opened and presented to Casius. A glance for the title along the top of the page... 'Yellow Book of 3E 426'.
"Is a wild card, master Cosedes. This book, the most recent edition I hasten to add, contains the personal details and current agenda's of every major Hlaalu noble. Even a couple of the more minor players are mentioned in this tome. Ilmeni Dren..." a gentle rifle through the pages "is nowhere mentioned, daughter of the Duke or not." Leaving the book in Casius's hands Lord Sarethi returned to his seat.
"She is not as powerful as she thinks she is sera" he concluded sombrely. "He will not thank me for saying this, but your Nerevarine is the most influential man the Lamps have. And soon...well, the Morag Tong will be having writs for his life."
"Then he will need an arm father" Varvur spoke up at hearing the morose declaration. Both his father and Casius turned to him in tandem, their shocked expressions mirroring each other to an almost comical degree.
"You can't be serious Serjo!" the Imperial sputtered before he caught hold of his tongue "Ah, forgive me, but Serjo...is that wise? The Nerevarine...he does not take kindly to being 'guarded'..."
"Can he not decide that himself sera?" the young noble retorted tartly. A scoff from his father halted his brewing tirade.
"Enough Varvur. Cosedes. You spoke earlier of soldiers, in isolation being useless but to draw fire. Forgive me, but I quite agree. Alone there is no force behind a soldier's presence. It is his battalion that lends him strength. If you can bring the Champions of the Legion together..." his eyes intent, hard on Casius's "and decide on a course of action as regards the danger posed both by the Mane, and by the madness that will consume Morrowind when news of the Council session breaks, I will do all I can to bring the House Lords together for the debate you suggested."
As Casius bowed his head in thanks the Redoran Lord produced a small scroll and a quill. He wrote three lines:
The Twin Lamps light the way to freedom.
Redoran House Sarethi lights its wicks.
Allies for Lamps, need Counsel.
"Get this to the renegade Dren" he spoke, rolling the parchment, sealing it with a thumb's worth of Dreugh wax and handing it over to Casius. "Pray she makes use of the arm we are lending her. Varvur..." turning to his son then, appraising him quietly for a long moment.
"Collect together your guards. Be ready on Cosedes's word to travel to the Legion's appointed meeting place."
"Moonmoth" Casius confirmed, returning the stiff salute the young Lord gave him. "I am right to assume you think it appropriate to begin massing troops Serjo?" he put the question to the elder Sarethi who gave a slight nod in return. "Be quiet about it Cosedes. I cannot know what will come in the next days...you may need Varvur's men sooner than you think. He has a compliment of 25 guardsmen under his banner. A relatively small band, yes, but it is better than nothing."
"More than I could ask for Serjo, and many more than I expected. Thank you."
Final pleasantries traded, Casius made his way out into the musky air of the Skar. Disorientated for a moment he retraced his steps, checked and rechecked the little roll of parchment in his inside pocket, drew his hood over his head and walked out into the cold of a very early Ald'ruhn morning. A glance for the frozen star studded sky...
'...must be three past midnight...'
...then one for one of the pair of guards flanking the door "Three past sera?" he asked, cordial.
"Three past" the gravelly voice assured him.
The eyes he could just make out in the dim blue lantern light looked dead, though they belied the veiled mirth in the speaker's tone. Even muffed behind an encompassing helm Casius could tell, thanks to years of associating with Dunmer, when he'd caught one right between the ribs. Thus gratified he made his way back to the Mage's guild, intent on getting back to Balmora with all haste.
Lomé
For the second time in as many days I was disturbed to Casius's jostling. This time however I was at least half awake when he burst through the door at an ungodly hour, half frozen for the chill in the night air and the after effects of a recent teleportation. For the scant hours rest I got prior to his appearance I had been...pondering.
Disjointed thoughts...
...The Lamps need warning...threats multiplying...
...Most of those threats are on my head...is distance from the Lamps the answer?...
...No fool...whatever will be following you will know of them. If you leave them and they're attacked...thrice damned before I let them die because I am selfish...taking onto myself the sum of the dangers when they really threaten every one of us...
...Horse armour...Khan...soldier? No...Too dangerous...keep him clear of conflict...promised...
...Promised...
Made a promise to Ilmeni...oh Vith...
"Oh..." the last thought half way repeated into the silent air...only half way for there was no time for the rest. The door crashed open...someone...Casius as I would momentarily realise...bellowed "ELF!!"
...
I really don't know what caused my reaction...some latent survival instinct just...came...Instant complete and total awareness crashed through me. My once calm, slow ponderings becoming a howled: !!INTRUDER..ARMED..DANGER!!
...
Shamed as I am to admit it...I only realised exactly who the 'intruder' was when I was half way across the room, a dagger in my palm, my weight thrown into taking a swipe at his throat.
Realisation came harder and faster than the survival instinct had been tripped...
!!NOLOMÉITSCASIUSSTOP!!
I pulled up so quickly I toppled at his feet – the dagger clutched in my fist still – a heap of panting horrified Mer meeting the eyes of his markedly shocked but otherwise unhurt benefactor across the scant three feet that separated us...And all he could say as he went to step over me and make for his table?
"Some reflexes you've got Elf. Now get out of the way."
Every one of my shell-shocked apologies were waved off as he gathered quills, ink and parchment from alcoves I never knew existed in the small, cramped space. The table swiped clean with a forearm...bowls and plates clattering to the floor as I heaved myself to my feet, replaced my dagger in the sheath at my calf and stood back to watch...
The assorted writing materials scattered across the tabletop...what is he doing...
"Casius?" I tried, edging around the debris field the felled cutlery made to get a view that included more than his heaving back.
Nothing.
Once more...a little louder perhaps... "Casius?"
"Letters Lomé" Ah, finally! I thought. Coherence.
"For whom, pray?"
"EVERYONE" his enthused, not shouted response... I gave a mental snort, a smirk pulling my lips at the corners. Coherent I'd thought. HA! Laughing now...
"My friend, have you been at t-..."
All movement at the table ceased abruptly. Suddenly I was three inches, not three feet, from my once benefactor, now friend.
"I'll cut out your tongue if you finish that sentence."
I pointedly let my jaw close with the soft click of teeth, though I couldn't wipe the smirk from my face. Luckily for me he let the expression go, turned back to his task and began a halting explanation.
"Escorting young Serjo Sarethi last eve became more fortuitous than I could have hoped."
"How so?" asked as I settled on the edge of the cot to listen, still watching his rifling as he sat across from me at the table.
"WELL" a pointed look over at me "the senior Serjo Sarethi was soon informed about the meeting Varvur attended at Moonmoth, as he was always planned to be. The only difference from said plan was my presence at the moment of the telling. After a lengthy discussion, three agreements were made."
He leant towards me slightly, his elbows on his knees and I listened, rapt, mirroring his posture.
"The first agreement was that, although the tensions within the Great Houses about the Trade are near boiling point as it is, Serjo Sarethi felt it prudent to begin trying to call some kind of meeting between them."
"The topic of discussion?"
"Abolishing the Trade. Do not interrupt me!" a hand waved to silence my flabbergasted tirade before it could begin. Again my jaw closed with an audible click.
"Good. Now, the second agreement was made by me. And is why I am to spend the next hours penning letters to the Champions of the Legion Garrisons. We felt, the good Redoran Serjos and I, that debate and preparation are the most advisable courses of action in dealing with the likely consequences of the Argonian's slip in the Capitol becoming public. I'll address them from Moonmoth, so replies may be sent to the Legion's bastion against the Trade. To Varo himself. By penning them myself I'll be able to make the situation clearer than he would, since he was not present in Ald'ruhn when we decided on this course. It's been a long time coming...but we're finally going to get organised behind the Lamps."
A mute nod from me, no matter my elation at the news...then, a question... "And the third agreement?"
At length he reached into his jerkin, retrieving a rolled, Dreugh wax sealed piece of parchment. "He's lending us House Redoran's arm Lomé" Casius husked, his excitement palpable.
Utter bafflement took me. "You're telling me, a counsel was called between all of the Lords of that House, and the-..." he waved me into silence once more, exasperation all over his face.
"Don't ask for miracles. House Sarethi's arm then. Varvur's personal battalion is yours when they're needed. Offered to the Legion...the Lamps...you...by Athyn Sarethi himself. This letter..." the parchment indicated "needs to reach Lady Dren with all speed. Will you be seeing her later today? Is she still at Moonmoth?"
A blink...lead in my stomach at her mention... "I...believe she is to travel home this morning" I managed thickly. It felt as though I was speaking the words through tar. By every grace Casius seemed not to notice. Instead he thrust the little roll of parchment into my fingers.
"The noble is your business elf, not mine. Take this to her at the earliest convenience. In fact...what is it now, five past midnight? She may be awake already." He gave the door a pointed look, then caught my eyes.
"Well..." he snipped, his tone unchanged from that he used with me during my formative days on Vvardenfell. And for all of my now-held prowess in battle...for all my renown, unwanted or not...for all my temper and sharp tongue and impatience...there was something about that tone that could not be denied.
I was dressed and out of the door within 10 minutes, wincing at how cool the pre-dawn air was upon my cheeks.
Like sleek black polecats oozing through the dim pre-dawn light, Tybus Pelanix and his six companions passed through the Bitter Coast – West Gash ravine and made south along the hills in a slowly trudging line. They needed speed, but Gadan had spotted Imperial guards a rough thirty metres from their chosen path along the hillsides. Making like traders to avoid detection required an ambling pace.
Frost clung to their cloaks and their boots crunched heavily on ice-bitten gravel and splintered slate as they turned down the track leading to the Caldera mine. Pelanix met the Dunmer foreman Stlennius Vibato at the entrance to the Company Offices and shook his hand firmly. Then, when the Mer turned towards the pit, he wiped his fingers on a oily rag tucked around his belt. Gerita cooed softly from her place to Pelanix's immediate left:
"His fingers are slicker than the rag...right Ty?"
"Slick with blood and money Rita" her boss purred under his breath, catching his woman close with a burly long unwashed arm. "Now shut your yap, set the men to their positions, then join me in the pit."
The woman nodded, gave Pelanix's jaw a peck, then sidled away to begin directing the others of their band. Her little affection got nothing but a grunt from Tybus. It was wiped away by the back of a wide hand as soon as she was out of sight, and he followed the oily, bloody Mer Vibato down the slick steps into the mine's underbelly. Into the pit.
The Mer was babbling about some new slave. A mute female.
Pelanix considered sitting by it for a while. A little peace and quiet after days and nights of Rita and her appetites. He smiled to himself.
Bliss.
I arrived at Moonmoth, as ordered, at – by the sun's height – almost 5 past midnight. The light was milky, oozing through slowly thinning cloud, coating the world in a faint white haze. The air was fresh...cool...quiet...Until I reached the parade ground.
Then...then I walked into pandemonium with wide eyes and a slackened jaw. From beneath the great portcullis I watched the morning drills – seemingly long begun by the shimmering sweat on the faces of those who trained. A bank of soldiers, four rows deep and 20 men wide, moved in perfect harmony as I edged past gapping. Their drill master...a Nord I noticed...spared me a glance...then did a double take...stared...and called his men to a perfectly disciplined stop with a roared "ATTEN-SHUN!!"
Their weapons were sheathed cleanly. Each man stood proud and tall, as if waiting for my leave to begin their dills again.
The drill master turned to me properly then "Serjo" he said, giving a tightly controlled salute...the movement echoed by every man behind him... "Welcome back to the Fort. We, my men and I, are those from which Champion Varo selected the Hlormaren task force."
Struck by how coincidental their appearance and my arrival seemed to be I had to question "You knew I would return? Indeed, you knew I had been here at all sera? I do not recognise your face." The man smiled, introducing himself with a proud overture,
"Radd Hard-Heart, Master-at-Arms of the Moonmoth garrison, at your service Serjo. I have been privy to little of what you have been here to discuss in recent days, but I know enough of slavers and the den in the Bitter Coast to know I and my men are now, happily, your arm. As is Moonmoth itself if you listen to Varo speak."
"My thanks for your confidence Sera Hard-Heart, and for your men. Your best 20 were selected of the 80 under your banner I trust?"
A smirk of pride from the Nord, his head inclining enough that he could look at his ranks over a shoulder. "FIRST RANK" he bellowed "FALL IN, FRONT AND CENTRE!" As commanded, the first line of 20 approached us, taking five perfectly measured steps before standing at ease, their hands at their backs, feet apart, their eyes on their commander, attentive. Radd turned to me then, an arm held near my shoulders, prompting me to follow him towards the forward rank.
"These are them Serjo" he explained, a broad hand gesturing to 5 men staggered at intervals along the line. "Your archers...SHUN!" at his barked order the indicated 5 leapt to attention.
"All Cyrodiil born and bred Serjo" spoken of the archers "the sharpest eyes we have. Rumour is that one's a Septim's bastard son. Never have figured out which one" he laughed easily, though his men remained impassive. Proclivity to mirth trained out of them. I myself allowed a smirk at his comment, my once reverence for the Emperor all but drained through my past trials. My respect remained implicit...but reverence? No. He, like all men, was just that. A man, though admittedly a markedly gifted one.
"Thank you once again Sera Hard-Heart, for the introductions..." I replied, making my first foray into military life made then turning to the attentive arches and speaking "At ease" firmly, though hardly a match for Radd's bellowing. To my surprise, and the drill master's obvious delight, they obeyed without question, relaxing into the posture their fellows kept.
"Well make a commander of you yet Serjo" he laughed "More bile though, more volume next time. Keep them snappy or they'll snap back at you!"
"I will pray to every God there is that that is never necessary" my reply spoke honestly as I looked over the rank with a warrior's eye. All were imperial bar two. A pair of Nords...both thick and burly...definitely Axe-men. They stood at the far left and right corners of the line.
The once called upon 5 archers were clad for their trade. Weights strapped into the leather gauntlets on their forearms to better simulate the drag of a longbow. Helping them amass the strength needed to hold arrows drawn and steady for long periods of time. The others, but for the burly axe-men were, but for their obvious conditioning and disciplined stillness, akin by sight to any of the guards wandering the streets on their rounds. There was an aire about the entire squad however...one I recognised. I asked of Radd,
"May I address them?"
"Of course Serjo" he replied, a definite note of pride in his tone. "Send them back to me when you're through" his parting words to me as he rejoined the remaining three ranks behind the singled our first, snapping them back into their drills with little more than a look and a barked word.
Feeling 20 resolute sets of eyes upon me keenly now that Radd had left me to my own devices, I masked the want to shift uneasily by slowly pacing before the group, keeping my scrutiny of their condition obvious. Keen eyed and calculating I spoke to the group:
"I am no soldier...not like you are..." a hard look for the insignia on their raiment. Moonmoth – Imperial Legion it proclaimed, the Emperor's dragon emblazoned, red and proud. "But I, like you...like all people...can recognise my own kind on sight..." I indicated the Nord on the left edge of the squad. "Combat veteran..."
He nodded once, tightly. "Yessir"
"Where?"
"Five years killing Stalkers in the Mamaea Serjo."
"Blighted?"
"Twice Serjo."
Three men on...I recognised another. He met my eyes, raised his chin in defiance. My liking for him was instant. "Your name sera?" I asked.
"Veteran" he answered, an understanding smirk mirroring my own.
"Yes" came my reply. Five men on, another met my eyes.
"Veteran" he spoke, answering my unasked question.
"And you" I pointed to another.
"Yessir. Khuul based for three years. Ash wizards and dissidents."
"And you" the last man in the row but one likewise recognised.
"Keen eye Serjo" he remarked, slipping to attention and giving a disciplined salute to ease his rather informal comment.
"At ease" I spoke as I approached, standing before him squarely, a slow, indulgent smirk curving both my lips and his as familiarity not born of shared combat experience came to us. He relaxed his stance once more, waiting for my appraisal.
"Gratius Kholer" I named him from memory, recognising his face having given him a second glance. "Captain of the day guard for Balmora, yes?"
"Correct Serjo" he replied, schooling his features to rid them of our fleeting familiarity. Truly we had only properly spoken once, and that was brief...the morning I had gone to meet Ra'Virr and Ilmeni for the first time...He spoke on,
"Veteran of no great war or conflict, but of life itself and its Ash beasts and wastelands. The Mamaea and the grounds surrounding our neighbouring Dwemer stronghold, Serjo. The past six years."
"As we all are" I agreed, facing the squad proper once more. "Some more than others. Some trained for combat...some versed in it firsthand. By the time Hlormaren falls we shall all be brothers. I will trust my life to your blades. Your arrows. As you will trust yours to me and mine. Azura help us destroy all those who seek to harm us within those monstrous halls. You're with me!?"
Three choruses...the archers alone "YES SIR" then the remaining men "YES SIR" then their sum "YES SIR!" the last cry bringing them all to attention as one, a salute struck and held until I nodded, waved them back to their drill master and made my way into the main hall of the Fort.
Buoyed...I felt so very buoyed as I left the parade ground behind for the comparative warmth of the Fort's antechamber. My brief moment before the troops...my troops, those I would take to Hlormaren, gave me my first real taste of what 'command' feels like. Not simple respect, though that is implicit.
I knew from their eyes that they would follow me...and I was quietly confident about their skills being fair enough to bring them all back alive.
I felt like we could do this. This small thing...breaking open the stronghold...saving the slaves...bringing them back to safety.
Yes...Yes I thought as I took in the expansive room before me...manic as ever it has been...activity everywhere...guardsmen running too and fro...the heavy rhythmic *CLANG* of the smith at her anvil...
"Serjo!" came a familiar voice. Turning to the speaker as he approached me I couldn't help the smirk of recognition I'd greeted Gratius with earlier from curling my lips.
"Guardsman Tomas, good to see you" Atius's family name my preference now we were within the Legion's walls. He leapt to attention as he had the first time we met, on the streets of Balmora on an equally early morn' as this, then relaxed, mirroring my smirk.
"Your visits have been the talk of the mess Serjo, I'm glad I caught you" he took to my side, pointed a long arm across the room, indicating the entrance of Larris's office in the distance. "Your lady friend has been loitering all morning..."
Oh Vith...
What? I mentally snipped, looking in the direction Atius indicated What's wrong with you? You came here to find her did you not?
He spoke on, oblivious to my internal shouting match "I thought it was Champion Varo she wanted, but he's seen her on a couple of occasions and..." a glimmer of rich blue silk in the distance...a cascade of black hair to the mid-back...the lead Casius's mention of her had earlier brought to my gut got all the heavier... No pleasant tingle of anticipation for the fine woman's company...no want to rush over...to whisk her off to Vivec for our promised 'meeting'...just lead. Lead and detachment.
I so wanted then to run back into the parade ground and join in the morning's drills. Anything to stop the coiling, choking tension that her sight brought on me in that moment. It was utterly irrational. Completely out of place in connection to the gentlewoman I watched shifting on her feet uneasily by the Champion's closed office door. But its presence was undeniable.
The tension was brought on...if I really, really analysed it closely...both by her expectations, explicit and otherwise...expectations I had incited in part, I knew, with that damn poisonous promissory note I scribed in a moment of...desperation? Lunacy? And also...if brutal honesty was asked of me...by the fear I carried that her presence...company...whatever else came of this eventual jaunt to Vivec city, would not have the desired effect.
Would not rid me of the warmth that began to creep up my neck at the very scent of heather and fresh water. Of thoughts of rubies and firelight and furs and amber...always amber...Hot breath on my neck and amber...
Oh Azura please, not now...
The thoughts cut away cleanly...were forced away...as I turned my attention outwards again, nodding as Atius gossiped to my turned ear about Ilmeni's continued presence and his theories about why she refused to depart, Apparently she'd been awake since two past midnight.
Waiting for you...the betraying voice whispered...go to her, coward, get it over with. You have news for her. News she needs to know. Go. Go.
"I will see to her" I spoke finally, decided. Atius's arm received a parting pat before I jolted into a slow stride. Compunctions about her eventual intentions...and about what she envisioned my own to be set aside...I squashed the feelings of unease her sight brought to me and gave her, as I approached and she met my eyes...such a smile on her face...such relief...Gods Lomé what are you doing...the most dashing smile I could muster.
"Oh Serjo" her voice came before I could speak to greet her. She was before me in three steps, her hands tucked beneath the collar of my shirt, holding herself within three inches of my body. The very edge of cultured propriety when in a public space.
There was such detachment in me...I could have wept for how different the feelings on her face and those within me were. But I did not. I did not move her away...or turn aside...I was not honourable in that moment. I clung instead to what I thought I needed. To her presence, to rid me of the want for...his... And I embraced her to me, maintaining those three inches, but only just.
And I felt...nothing. A gaping chasm. Emptiness and nothing more. I would not have been surprised if she told me she could hear my heartbeat's echo in my chest as she lay her ear to it. But she did not.
Wine red eyes met mine, drenched in thankfulness. With relief. And I was a beast then, for I did not turn aside. I told her the news from the Redoran Serjos, regarding their support for the Lamps. I slipped the little roll of velum between her delicate fingers, and stood at her back, my arms about her waist, as she opened it and read with a breathy voice...And I explained Casius's letters...the possible rallying of the Legion...of the Great Houses...and of my hopes for Hlormaren...
And then she said,
"We're winning slowly..." and she looked at me over her shoulder, her eyes coy and alight beneath her lashes and spoke the name "Nerevar" as a compliment to me. Telling me without telling me that I had lived up to her expectations, even though it was not I who secured the Sarethi's trust and support.
And I did my pride a disservice by not correcting her. There was no whispered 'Lomé', even to chide or gently rebuke. To correct her mistake. No.
I smiled. And I felt nothing.
And then,
"Return with me to Vivec city" she whispered, turning to face me within the circle of my arms...those proper three inches disappearing between us as she drew her hands up over my chest. Tucked them again beneath my collar. "Varo will hear from your Casius in person...he does not need you today...others do."
Khan the whisper piqued. Khan and the Lamps will need to hear of all of this.
"You?" my lips queried, defying the whisper. Betraying myself...and her...once more.
She kissed me then. A breath of lips upon mine. Too swift for reciprocation or notice from those hurtling around the anteroom near us.
And I felt nothing. And the fear that she would be useless in my quest to cut away my...reliance on him...his heather...the rubies...the hearth...his laughter and presence and friendship and...everything...came back double fold.
I forced it down. And smiled.
"Head home Ilmeni. I shall be with you before sundown" I heard myself say. That was the last I heard of myself for a long time.
The entire day from then became some kind of masked parody of what my instincts, rightly or wrongly, told me I should have been doing. I did not remain in the Fort to see to Casius and Varo and their likely explosive exchange. I did not return to the parade ground to begin orientating my band of soldiers, loaned by Radd Hard-Heart for the Hlormaren strike.
Instead, I trained my focus on what I had promised Ilmeni. A 'meeting' the note I had sent her proclaimed, but any Mer with any kind of social grace would read into that the first tentative...perhaps even shy...step into courtship.
That is quite plainly what she read into it. Indeed...I wanted her to read that into it...but I had no want to court her.
My only want was to learn to covet her presence the way I had come, by instinct alone, to covet Khan's. I needed her to replace his presence, and my want for his presence, with her own. It mattered nothing that his intentions in keeping my company were entirely gentle. I knew from knowing Ilmeni, and having spent time with her, that simply being by her would not affect the desired replacement.
She could not erase him by just being near me. I had tried to have her do so...focused on her little waist and supple body on the steps of Moonmoth when the rains had ceased and she gave me her profile...and she failed without even knowing I was testing myself.
Thus...the 'meeting' would require a further test. More than simple presence. More than an embrace and the ghost of a kiss.
Walking back to Balmora thus decided I could not deny the faintly ill feeling creeping over me. Calculated manipulation to achieve my own goals had never been something I had relied on in the past. Yet now...so wracked was I over my indiscretions...no matter how private they were still and how faultless Khan was in bringing them on...I was willing to tug at the emotions of a woman I felt nothing but friendship for...if that...to remedy my reliance on my brother Jiitt.
And WORSE...I would actively encourage that same woman to believe I wished of her all she plainly wished of me...
All for the betterment of your cure Lomé a traitorous thought assured me, and I believed it. Let it shore my determination to make the best of the situation I had made for myself. For if I am to use her...I reasoned with sick determination...I may as well use her well. Give her every chance to cure me.
Why not?
And as I entered Balmoa and made my way to Milie Hastien, the finest clothier in High town, the question in my internal monologue became resolve.
Why not. My affections are clearly what she wants...and she can have them...How can I be doing her ill if I am giving her what she wants? Added to that...I need this.
She will erase him. Erase my reliance. Erase the warmth that seeps through me at his sight. And will replace it with what should be there. Warmth brought on by her, and her company and virtues and supple body and laughing eyes.
And Gods I felt a beast for thinking so...but by then, it did not really matter. It became something I had to do. Go through with it or be damned for not so doing.
Logically it seemed I had pinioned myself.
There was no way but forward now.
It took Mille, fresh from her bed and bleary-eyed when I rapped upon her door, five hours to measure out and tailor a fine set of rich royal-blue formal clothes for my later 'meeting'. I told her no more than that when she jovially asked my reasons for such a swift and weighty purchase – 160 drakes changed hands in all – and she concluded that I must have been planning on meeting Vivec himself. I...newly devious I...did nought to dissuade her of the notion. Too many questions, I reasoned when I bit my tongue to stop myself from telling the friendly woman my true intentions, would come if you spoke of a lady.
Thus I remained silent...so silent in fact that, when she asked if I would mind wearing my newly purchased goods as I left the shop and went about my day to advertise her expertise, I politely declined. I simply could not force the level of comfort required to re-enter my home...Casius's home...wearing something so unlike my usual garb.
He would ask questions, as Mille would have...and I...Perhaps it was some lingering vestige of shame and self-deprecation resulting from my reason for making such an outlandish purchase in the first place. I could not face him to answer them truthfully.
I could not face having to maintain lies on two fronts...Ilmeni, and Casius. No. That would be too much.
The clothing stayed wrapped in sheaves of brown parchment for the remainder of the day. Hidden under my discarded cloak as I worked with Casius, who had returned from his meeting with Champion Varo not an hour previous, in coordinating the Legion's first response to his burgeoning plan.
Larris was pleased.
Moonmoth was in.
The letters had been couriered at 7 past midnight.
Chancing a look for the stained hourglass on the table I saw it was just past 11 in the morning. Four hours since the letters left the Fort...
"Pelagied will be quietly informed" the seated Imperial spoke as he explained Champion Varo's conditional agreement to become involved with Casius's little 'venture'. "As will Ebonheart. We cannot risk the Plantations, or the damn Duke from getting wind of 'us'. This agreement we've made has nothing to do with the contents of that packet from the Capital. We won't be mentioned in it, no matter what else is. We still have some secrecy to us...only a swathe...but it is there. And we MUST keep it."
"I understand" gravely spoke from my seat across from him.
"Do you?" he smirked, coring an apple with the blunted tip of a penknife as he spoke. "Don't get ahead of yourself any Lomé. Varo only promised to send letters and listen. The other Forts...who knows. Wolverine Hall, for all we know, might be a nest of bristling Telvanni initiates. Fort Pelagied might be Dren run."
"Do not tempt fate" I snipped, watching as the apple was slowly relieved of its skin. The coil it made was unbroken as it snaked towards the ground.
"We'll know soon enough. But for Pelagied, Caldera is our closest Fort. They're under Varo's thumb to a degree as yet unheard of in the Empire. They'll have to talk. They needn't agree, but they'll have to talk. Then..." a glance for the map of Vvardenfell on the table "Ald'ruhn...or Wolverine Hall if the Mages are quick in their teleportations. Either way...the world is going to change soon. For good or ill..." the knife's tip used to point at me "and you're causing it. Again." His tone seemed resigned, but the mirth in his eyes would have been obvious to a blind man.
"The letters were yours, friend" I glibly reminded him. His response was quick, automatic almost,
"And the cause..." a slice of apple cut and eaten between words "is yours..." He paused a moment, his gaze appraising as he chewed, swallowed..."We requested replies to be sent with all urgency. Those from the closest Forts I expect within the day. I don't want you involved until we have at least some kind of consensus. That means no tramping between Forts looking for news, elf. Too many eyes follow you as it is to make you an effective courier outside of Balmora."
Keeping my amusement as his assuming I would volunteer for such a task to myself, I concentrated on putting together a mental picture of our situation as it stood in that moment. The immediate threat of Kilaya's slip at the Emperor's council becoming public had been set aside and action to minimise the possible damage it may cause had been decided upon. Working in collusion with the Legion garrisons openly would give our organisation a legitimacy it had never before had, and would, if the worst came to pass, provide us with at least fleeting protection from the reprisals of disgruntled Lords.
Now all I must do, I reasoned as the hours wound on and Casius and I waited on word returning from the contacted Champions, is make good on my promise to Ilmeni.
Get to Vivec before sundown.
Noting that from the moment I arrived at the foot of the Foreign Quarter I had a sneaking suspicion that I had stepped upon the road towards making a grave mistake would be an exercise in comprehensive self-delusion. I did not know then.
I knew, in this moment now, presently, as I walk brisk and frustrated along the road back to Balmora, bare-footed and trembling with vitriol and grief.
She failed me...as...somehow I knew she would. Failed to live up to the purpose I had given her in my mind.
Distraction...
Peace...
Cure...
All for nought. "After all I've DONE..." I grieved openly, speaking the words into the emptiness around me. The paths are dark, the air cool, the stars blanket the Heavens...all around me is so beautiful and yet...in her...where I should have found the most beauty, I felt...nothing.
The detachment never eased...but that...my callow mind reasoned as I forced myself to stop and catch my breath on the grassy verge to my right...should not have mattered. Men find relief in Suran's prostitutes without the need for emotional connection and I, the sickly voice cajoled, should have been no different. My lack of empathy with the woman should not have stopped me from enjoying the charms she so readily presented me with...so readily offered...and which I so readily TRIED to take.
After all I've done...all I tried...
I settled upon the verge, sitting my carried boots down soundlessly and drawing my knees up enough that I could lay my arms across them, glaring heatedly out across the road into the blackness of the Bitter Coast. Recalling all, with rapt attention to detail, that had transpired in the hours past.
Meeting Ilmeni at her home on her Houses' canton...
Her scent...Bug Musk...Telvanni made...thick and cloying, like that of a long opened bottle of red wine. A bitter tang that had coated my throat when first I met her. She had just applied it...fingertips rubbed behind her slender-tipped ears...a delicate line drawn over the swell of her left breast, exposed, enhanced by her laces and whalebone...then a dot higher upon her breastbone...one in the hollow of her throat...
I could locate them so readily because I had watched her apply them...followed the indentations left in her tender flesh by the passing of her fingertips from the moment they were created to the moment they faded...smiling for her as she caught me staring. And as she smiled coyly in return...let me watch her fingers retrace their steps without the excuse of Bug Musk...I was desolated privately that her allure was rapidly failing.
I could not even objectify her...sickening as that thought is to me now...in hindsight...It is a bestial notion, yet I considered it simply because the chasm of indifference separating us could not be bridged, no matter how the gentle-lady sought to pique me, and no matter how I appeared, outwardly...for her benefit...piqued.
If I let my indifference show on my face...in my eyes...she would stop. Become, rightly, insulted. The night would end. All chance of cure would be lost.
Thus...the masquerade remained.
Her apparel...lavish...lush, even for the duchy's standards...cut and tightened to best enhance her virtues...That was my next focus. I dislike the scent of Bug Musk, I reasoned. That is all. Move on. Do not languish. Enjoy her. She wants you to.
Thus, I took her in. Let my eyes feast on her sight as my arms wound about her bodiced waist, swathed and held tight by countless silky slips. As I leant into her back and her head tilted to allow me to sample her perfume. My very much private dislike for the scent blamed again when, as I did what I was expected to...brushed a soft kiss to her exposed neck...I felt nothing. The action was mechanical. What I knew I had to do in order to achieve the desired effect. To keep her assured of my interest so that I would soon be cured by our slowly warming intimacy.
From that moment though...when that little kiss met her neck and I felt nothing in response...no hitched breath, those hers doubled for it...no warmth in my blood, no matter how her hips rocked back into my own...my composure began to slowly fray.
Throughout the evening nothing changed. Our meal in the Hlaalu canton, for all its sumptuousness and Ilmeni's enjoyment of it, may as well have been ash. I tasted nothing of it. The conversations we attempted...they never flowed. Were never easy. My laughter was too readily given and too clear off my lips, where hers was all honey and molasses. Heavy...sweet and honest. There was a tension running through us both...though its source, I know now...and knew then...was not the same in her as it was in me.
Her skin darkened prettily with it. Her breathing hitched...climbed...and when I kissed her...pressed her into the wall in a secluded corner of the canton's walkways in my desperation to goad a reaction...to goad feeling...connection from myself with her...she came alive in my arms and did all she could to make my skin heat like hers did. To arouse me as I did her.
But she failed me.
And now...after, to my mortification, having been so utterly out of sorts by the time she invited me back to her quarters that I had to politely refuse her...I sit alone on a grassy verge, glaring into the very, very early morning. Exhausted and prickly with sweat and tension neath my clothing.
Discomforted by the unfamiliarity of tailored layers...undershirt...shirt...waistcoat...outer coat...the constriction of the high collars around my throat like an epitaph to all the affections I should have but never did whisper to her ear when it was bared to me...To a Mer such as me, one used to nothing by cotton neath armour, the finery was simply one more reflection of the lies Ilmeni had been fed since my pen hit parchment in instigating this...ridiculousness.
A defeated huff forced its way past my lips, misted in the night's chill and drifted down over the cobbled road before me. Across the path of a patrolling guard, who tipped his helmet to me as he trudged about his rounds. Seeing his raiment...Moonmoth...brought me back from my stupor with demanding speed.
Ilmeni may have failed me...or I may have failed myself...but either way, personal qualms were losing their significance rapidly in the grand scheme of things. Hlormaren, I knew, would mark the beginning of a new era for the Twin Lamps, as well as for the Legion itself, and I'd be damned before the cracks in my mentality adversely affected those things.
I rose quickly; my boots tugged on mid-stride, and double-timed my return to Balmora and Moonmoth. There were people there...the Lamps...my team of soldiers waiting at the Fort...who needed a leader, and I, no matter my failings, was he.
Wolverine Hall's battlements were backlit by the torches of the night's patrol by the time word from Moonmoth reached the ears of the motley congregation of fighters, guards and Legionnaires serving in its garrison.
"A meeting indeed..." Halsell, the Fort's Drillmaster commented when the letter finally reached him after being passed around between the interested parties. His eyes fell upon the only Mer in the room whose face lit with excitement at hearing of Varo's agenda. With regret and disdain in his voice he addressed the brimming youth;
"Looks like you'll get your chance to serve beside the Nerevarine after all Tels..."
Tels' smile was wolfish.