When Mercer awoke it was to the less than pleasant sounds of Orthon's laboured snoring. The mage was curled up on the L shaped couch beneath a heavy blanket of blue velvet with gold trim with three cushions beneath his head. Mercer did not think much of the Altmer, he was weak, easily frightened, nervous, and like most people these days, scarred by some dark history and trying to hide something. Mercer doubted whatever secrets the mage held were worth knowing, and he was irritated to be bothered by his presence.
The thief sat upright quietly and spied Amaris standing before the tall, balcony doors bathed in a splash of greyish-white light from Masser. She looked eerie in the light, her visible skin was almost translucent and her hair had bright streaks of copper amongst the brown. Her gaze was transfixed on the view just over the balcony and she seemed almost mesmerised.
The thief took the rest of the potion on the bedside cabinet reluctantly and then stretched out his stiff muscles, his aches had dulled and though his chest was tight his coughing had decreased and there was no more blood coming up with it. He stood and moved as quietly as a whisper to Amaris, giving a small smile as he was pleased not to have to put any effort into his stealth. Once more his skills were coming to him on instinct, it had been unnerving having to actually focus on being quiet and hidden when following Tandil to Quaranir, Mercer had loathed how he had felt so exposed and weak. His lip curled up slightly in self-disgust, he could never go back to the way he had once been, just an ordinary thief.
He halted just behind Amaris and followed her stare to the outside world of rolling fields, bushes with glowing yellow and white flowers on them, tall trees with branches ripe with fruit and large leaves swaying gently in the breeze, and fireflies and large, white birds darting back and forth through the air. Just visible was a lagoon off to the west at which a small group of deer drank, their fur soft and creamy white.
"What are you looking at?"
Amaris jumped at the question and turned to the thief in surprise. "You're awake," she remarked dumbly as her cheeks flushed a faint pink, tinged with grey from Masser's light.
"Yes," he retorted dryly as he turned his granite stare back on the balcony doors.
"It's nice out there," Amaris murmured softly as she followed his stare. In truth her gaze had been ensnared by Masser's cold light and Secunda's faint red rays, the larger moon was just out of sight and to the east, casting several buildings in its dark red glow. "Peaceful and pretty, what is the cost of that? Seclusion from everyone else," she mused, "but is that so bad?"
"No," Mercer admitted. For many years now he had enjoyed finding seclusion in his home in Riften, away from the grumblings and complaints of the Guild, the whining and threats of Maven, and the general chaotic life of Skyrim.
Amaris turned away from the scenic view to look up at the thief. "Would you live somewhere like this if you could?" she queried.
Mercer folded his arms and shook his head. "No," he answered without hesitation, "there's a price for this and even if I'm wrong and you could live somewhere like this without a cost I wouldn't. It would get boring very quickly, although without the mages it would be more appealing."
"I'd like it," Amaris admitted, "to always be in the light of the sky with nothing and no one to fear."
Mercer gave her an odd look but before he could say anymore the door was rapped lightly. Amaris tensed slightly, giving it a wary stare before she took a step towards it. 'There are no Thalmor here,' she told herself, 'or Falmer, whatever this place is it's sacred somehow and safe.' She paused at the door and called out, "who's there?"
"Quaranir," came the answer.
Amaris opened the door and peered out at the tall Altmer who was holding a heavy looking, straw basket in both hands. "You knock to get into your own room," she stated dubiously.
"To be polite," the mage retorted calmly, "but as you have said, it is my room so could I enter it?"
Amaris stepped back awkwardly allowing the Altmer to enter into the room. He gave it a quick scan with his bright green eyes, making sure that there was nothing else missing. He then turned his attention to Mercer and quipped dryly, "how many pockets do you have Mr..."
"Frey," the Breton responded coldly with a scowl.
"Frey?" Quaranir's gaze was swift to fall back on Amaris who had the grace to look embarrassed. "I see," he murmured with a disapproving look before his gaze returned to the Breton. "How good of you to lend Amaris your name so that she could be better hid from the Thalmor."
If Mercer was made uncomfortable by Quaranir's words he did not show it, instead he unfolded his arms and continued to frown.
"Well, the bath next door has been prepared," Quaranir remarked with a nod towards the wooden door at the left, "and I brought food." He lifted the basket slightly before carrying it over to his sparse desk. "I'd like the compass back," he commented calmly as he sat the basket down, "it was my father's." He turned and gave the still sleeping Orthorn a scrutinising stare. "Your friend must be tired," he said with a hint of mild amusement in his voice.
"I don't think he's slept much until now," Amaris murmured as she noticed a glimmer of metal at Orthorn's wrist, part of one of his cuffs was poking out from under his sleeve. It was too easy to recall the heavy metal about her own wrists, so common a presence they had become a part of her. Since her memories had been returned Amaris had found herself flexing her wrists absentmindedly, almost missing the presence of the cuffs, it was wrong but she could not help it.
"Well there is enough hot water and food for all of you," Quaranir said. He turned and looked at Amaris with an uncomfortable expression. "After that you should sleep," he advised quietly, "and then I will have to return you to the mainland." He fell silent though his look of discomfort remained.
"Right," Amaris replied with a tight smile, "you broke the rules bringing us here."
Quaranir nodded. "Yes I did and if it weren't for the Eye of Magnus I would...well...you wouldn't be safe here, not in the end...I...We will talk before I return you." He turned from them and exited out of the room, walking as quickly as he could.
Amaris purposefully avoided Mercer's scrutinising stare as she stepped up to the basket and then turned her stare on the bathroom door, suddenly unsure what to do. "I..." She looked at him at last, feeling his eyes bore through her as he waited impatiently for an explanation. "Could we..." She looked to the bathroom door again and her cheeks flushed so dark they were almost purple. She swallowed hard and murmured, "I mean there's plenty of water but probably not much time and it's a strange land, better staying...together." She glanced at him hopefully, just catching the amused spark in his eyes before he banished it.
"You have to keep trying don't you?" he queried stonily. "Well I said you could, but after-"
"After?" she interrupted, surprised that he was not rebuking her.
"After," he said firmly, "you tell me everything you talked about with your father."
"My father?" she exclaimed with a look of shock.
Mercer shook his head reproachfully. "We sought the Psijics out to find him, one saves us from the Thalmor, although it's plain he only meant to save you, and against the rules of his order, and he talks to you, alone. That and there is a passing resemblance and you have been awkward and strange since I got here. I'm no fool Amaris and more importantly I'm a thief and we observe things better than most, even those damn assassins. That elf mage is nervous around you and defensive of you," he gave a cold smile, "I thought he might try something stupid when he realised you had my name."
"Ah well...I'm sorry I didn't tell you but," Amaris clenched her fists tightly and remarked pleadingly, "I just want one more moment, one more night where everything between us is the same, please. I'll tell you after the bath, I promise, I know I owe it to you, you came all this way to find out my worth and what I am and you will know it but..." She let her voice trail off as she took a few brave steps towards the thief. She reached up to his face with her left hand and brushed her palm against his bristled cheek. "I was so worried about you," she confessed, "I knew you would pull through because you're you but I was still so worried and...well you know how I feel."
He nodded. "I know, you wouldn't leave me alone." He saw the hurt she tried to hide in her odd eyes and frowned. 'Why does she still have hope for this, for me?' he wondered in annoyance. 'Has she not learnt by now that this can't last?' He went against his better judgement and kissed her briefly, it was still there, that urge she had accused him of and the assassin had warned him about, right or wrong he wanted her.
"Now I've warned you," he commented sternly, "and you're an adult so the consequences are your fault. If I have to have a wife well...I could do worse I suppose but I'll have no more fondness or affection for you than I do now, I can't, it wouldn't be right or fair and it's not in my nature. I loved once and it was the worst thing I could have done, and that's it, alright?"
"Alright," Amaris replied softly with a small smile. She let her left hand drop away from his face and took his right hand in it, turning to guide him quietly to the bathroom door. She glanced briefly at Orthon but he remained fast asleep, oblivious to their conversation.
Inside the bathroom they found a decent sized chamber, well lit with candles burning in brass lanterns hanging from brass stands set against the wall, and small candles set in gold and crystal holders in the indigo ceiling to mimic stars. The room itself was beautiful, the bath a hexagonal shape with a bronze frame, set deep in the pale gold tiled floor with a single step leading up to it. It was full of hot soapy water and on a bronze dragon shaped bench beside it towels, cloths and robes sat, along with their bags of clothes that Amaris had thought she had dropped in the snow, whilst on a wooden shelf colourful glass vials of oils and silver trays of soaps sat.
Amaris trembled just as little as she purposely kept her focus on the bath as she stripped off her used, bloody and dirty garments. She was glad that Quaranir had brought their clothes to the bathroom as she knew she could not put her filthy clothes back on after washing. Once she was exposed she slipped into the bath quickly, sliding down in the water until it was to her chin before moving across to the stone bench that was set in the bath, so they could sit comfortably in it and soak up its warmth.
Mercer said nothing though he considered it- a blunt refusal, an offer for her to change her mind, or the simple question of why. He shook his questions away with his worn dark clothes and joined her in the bath, staying on the opposite side of it. He winced slightly as his muscles and old wounds ached briefly at the sting of the hot water before they began to take it in. 'How much longer?' he wondered. 'How much longer before I'm discovered? How much longer before Nocturnal takes me? I've seen out this journey at last and I'll learn what it is about her that is so special but what's the reward for that? Is this her reward?' he pondered sardonically. 'Poor woman if I have made her think she has to give it, some compensation for a lack of treasure, the elf mage didn't have much worth taking after all. No, no this is no prize for me, this is her final moment of happiness, and may all the Aedra help her for that, before it falls apart with the truth. Is the truth so terrible?'
Amaris could feel her heart pounding madly as another tremble surged through her. They were so close; she could almost see everything, save for that which the bubbles hid. It made her nervous and awkward and yet there was a flash of excitement within her and a thrill of joy. She could have it, this one last piece of happiness before she had to admit what she was, thus ending their adventure. For one night she could pretend, act like their marriage was not a result of drunken folly but something more real and that their lives were normal, happy and without danger, grief and guilt.
She forced herself to conquer her nerves and cross the gap in the bath, sliding through the water clumsily to him. She wanted to shut her eyes and block it all out, just move without looking at him, without his stare making her flush with unease and wonder if he just thought her foolish. She turned her head upwards instead and made herself look at him before she kissed him.
The thief gave a low grunt as he felt her hand move under the water but he did not stop her. He knew he should but in truth he did not want to. Like Amaris he just wanted to forget, just for a moment, that everything about him- his past, his present, and his future- would prevent them from having a happy relationship. He had no time for it and he could not bring her into his life, it would be unfair to drag her into that corruption. He thought briefly of Karliah and her nimble touch before he forced himself to open his eyes and look at the redhead who was hesitating, suddenly unsure and afraid as her memories threatened to overwhelm her. He thought about pushing her away like before with dull assurances but then he realised that this might be it, after tonight he would probably be going back to Riften and even if she came with him their relationship could not continue there, then she might get too close to his dirty secrets. So he reached for her instead, gentle, knowing that others had not been.
When a whimper slipped out of the woman the thief paused and said, "look at me." She obeyed with a stare magnified by tears threatening to spill out. "Just me," he murmured quietly, "it's just me." He kissed her deeply, pulling her out of her dark memories, honey; there it was again, that seductive, saccharine taste on her lips. He continued to kiss her, wanting to taste more, Karliah's lips had been cold and Maven's bitter, this was pleasant, addictive even. He broke from her at last and met her eager stare as she let out a soft moan.
For a few minutes nothing else mattered to the pair, there was just this one moment, warm, passionate and pleasurable. Amaris had forgotten how it could be enjoyable, how it was intense, and so close and personal. The thief was as gentle as he could be, until now he had forgotten how it could be an emotional and giving act, instead of just a rough, selfish satisfaction of one's needs. When the final rush of contentment came he was alarmed to feel it, it was only meant to be a physical thing but he had felt it deep within too, a surge of happiness that disgusted him as much as it startled him. He couldn't feel this way, not with her.
The redhead slumped slightly against the Breton, leaning against him with a loud sigh as she let herself go limp in the water. He kissed her brow briefly in response and embraced her lightly for a moment. It had not been what he had expected and for a rare moment the Guildmaster was at a loss for words. They spent ten minutes in a silent embrace before Mercer finally broke away and stood up from the bath. He stepped out calmly and dried off before putting on a light, grey shirt and loose, black trousers knowing that he would be going to sleep soon. Amaris followed suite, drying and changing into something light and loose.
"So tell me what you are," Mercer pried quietly.
Amaris nodded stiffly and attempted to explain what Quaranir had told her. "I carry the blood of Lorkhan," she said quietly before delving into the complicated tale the mage had weaved.
Orthorn awoke with a stiff neck, his wrists uncomfortably heavy and numb. He sat up slowly, checked his surroundings nervously and stretched out his muscles upon accepting that he was still safe. It was odd being in such large, warm and painless confines after spending a few weeks tortured in a dungeon by people he had considered friends.
The Altmer pushed back his tattered hood and stood up with another tentative look around the now darker room. It was night, though night here seemed different, and the room was lit with large flames in glass holders resting in bronze dishes on the walls and on the tables, they were magical of course, Orthorn could sense the low buzz of power coming from them, but it wasn't much, little more than a parlour trick. He realised that his strange companions were gone but the light coming from below a wooden door and a scream more of pleasure than pain gave him a clue as to their whereabouts. Satisfied that they were not in imminent danger, the mage headed over to the open basket sitting on the desk with a glass bottle poking out of it. The mage's jewel green eyes widened in delight and a hunger pang growled through him as he spied the small bounty of food within the basket. There was neatly sliced bread, a small pot of honey, chunks of cheese, apples, sweetrolls, cooked chicken and even an apple pie. Suddenly aware of hunger Orthorn was unable to resist the trove and immediately helped himself to a large slice of bread with a thick piece of cheese, eating it too quickly to savour it.
Though he was half-wild with hunger, the mage forced himself to curb his appetite, aware that he had at least two other people to share with. 'Two strange folk,' he thought curiously as he tore apart a large piece of chicken with his teeth. 'That Breton has something unnatural about him, how did he disappear without using magic? And the woman, what is she even- Imperial, Breton, Nord? Maybe there's even something of a Bosmer or Altmer to her, she's who the Psijics wanted to speak to, me and the Breton, we're here by accident, error or good fortune, not intention.'
He wondered how he had managed to go from a simple college student to a reluctant guest of elusive mage monks that had not been seen for a century. It was bizarre, he had not even intended on returning to the college, fearing the scorn and rejection he would receive for his foolish treachery and yet he had been unable to resist after entering Winterhold and spying the only place he had ever called home looming in the fog. It had nearly cost him his life and he had not even truly returned, snatched away before he could see the outcome of the battle, perhaps get some recognition for helping and see if he might be forgiven for his previous mistakes.
He sighed, pushed back his hood and stepped out to the balcony doors to peer out at Artaeum, wondering if he might be the only member of Winterhold College to have the privilege of seeing the mysterious island. Even just a glimpse was an undreamt of pleasure and he was disappointed. Outside was a world of warmth and beauty, life and light, Artaeum was almost the opposite of Winterhold, a harsh, dying village, a relic of former greatness, it was just sad whilst this place made him feel safe and even happy.
An hour drifted by though Orthorn did not notice it, he was too caught up in his surroundings and content enough to just appreciate the scenery and the oddities of Quaranir's room. It was only when he heard the bathroom door open that he snapped back to his senses. The Breton stepped out, grim faced and quiet, he halted to spare the Altmer a hostile look. "Who are you?" he demanded bluntly.
"Who are you?" Orthorn retorted calmly.
Mercer's lip curled up slightly in anger but then he seemed to relax slightly, too tired and confused to be bothered with the mage. "Mercer Frey," he answered coldly.
"Orthorn," the mage responded.
"And who or what did you belong to?" the Breton pressed as he looked pointedly at the iron cuffs on his slender wrists. He needed a distraction and this Altmer could thankfully provide one, if only for a few minutes until he could attempt to process what Amaris had told him.
Orthorn flinched at the question, letting his awkwardness and guilt show on his pale face. "I...does it matter?" he queried weakly as he tugged down his threadbare sleeves. "I'm not a threat," he said firmly.
"No, you're not," Mercer assured him with a warning glimmer in his grey gaze. "I'm just trying to decide whether I should help remove your cuffs or not, so far I'm thinking not, if only because you annoy me."
Orthorn swallowed down a sharp retort as he quickly realised the Breton was more than he appeared and that even with his magic, Orthorn might not be equally matched to him. "Look I was a prisoner," he confessed, "in Fellglow Keep, it was stupid and I was betrayed but then I was freed. I wasn't a criminal you know," he remarked indignantly. Realising his lie he paused and swallowed hard before saying, "well...not really, I mean...I wasn't imprisoned as one, that's all."
"Right," Mercer replied dismissively, "and how did you end up at the college?"
"I am...was a student there," Orthorn confessed, "and I returned just as that battle broke out. Thalmor and Falmer at Winterhold, who would think it? Very strange and bold of them, I wonder what they were after."
Mercer shook his head and looked to the bed, he was exhausted, mentally and physically, but doubted he could sleep. The moment his head hit the pillow he knew the thoughts would come, Lorkhan, he had not thought much of that complicated, absent god, truth be told he had not thought much of any of the Aedra and the only Daedric Prince he paid heed to was Nocturnal. He wanted to dismiss what Amaris had told him, to doubt and deny it but he had seen the truth in her eyes and knew it was not the kind of thing for someone to lie about. So that was the big secret then and what the Thalmor were so anxious to contain and hurt yet not destroy, the blood of the god who had robbed them of immortality, the life force of the creator itself, it was a terrible and dangerous thing for anyone to have. He wondered dryly what would happen if she was to die, would the missing god die too? Was he not already dead? Would all his creations die? It was unthinkable and he could not make understanding of it. Amaris had mentioned a prophecy about it, words unknown to her or Quaranir, it made Mercer think of the infamous Dragon Walls and he wondered if the words were written there. He recalled vaguely some prophecy about the end of times when the towers fell, but the details had never concerned him.
"Well," Orthorn said with a hint of impatience to his voice, "are you going to get these off me?" He showed his cuffs willingly this time, causing the broken chains on them to jingle.
Mercer considered a refusal until he sensed Amaris behind him, so small and thin in the open doorway, quiet as she moved and yet not quiet enough. "Well you'll never do it yourself," the thief grumbled before he plucked out a lockpick and stepped up to the mage.
Amaris watched numbly as Mercer freed Orthorn from his bonds with ease, he was rough about it, not caring when the mage winced as the cuffs cut into him as the Breton twisted them, but he was quick too and they were off and left to clatter noisily to the floor within seconds. The redhead tensed as she recalled her own binds, they had been changed only a handful of times, swapped for ones studded on the inside after Kester had tried to save her from a Falmer's rape and Quintus had been made to pay the price for that, and then to Dwemer bonds that the Thalmor thought would ensure her captivity after Kester escaped them. She remember all those nights ago when Mercer had ordered Cynric to free her from them and the younger Breton had made it seem so easy, years of captivity ended in minutes.
Orthorn looked startled when tears began to stream down the young woman's cheeks and he politely looked away. 'Strange, strange woman,' he thought uncomfortably as he wondered why he had to be captive with her and the Breton.
"Thank you," the mage said sincerely to the thief as he rubbed his wrists and stretched out his arms experimentally.
Mercer merely grunted in reply before remarking, "it's time to sleep." He knew Amaris was crying but could not bring himself to look at her. Instead he walked back up to the bed and lay down in it stiffly; knowing sleep might never come for him.
"We will be going back to Skyrim tomorrow," Amaris addressed Orthorn softly.
"Er...good," the mage said as he gave her a fleeting smile.
She nodded weakly. "Yes, I suppose...do you have anywhere to call home?" she asked suddenly.
Orthorn frowned a little at this question as he puzzled over an answer. "Just Winterhold College," he admitted, "but I don't think it would be my home anymore."
"Why not?" she pried.
"It's...complicated," he replied, unwilling to share anymore than that.
Amaris nodded in understanding. "Solitude was my home once," she commented wistfully, "but no longer. I don't think...well it doesn't matter..." She stepped out of the bathroom at last, walking into the room almost as if in a daze before pausing and looking about the chairs in contemplation.
"Come to the bed Amaris," Mercer's voice called out sternly, "it's big enough."
She looked over in surprise and her cheeks flushed slightly before she stepped up to the other side of the bed and lay down on the edge of it as far from the thief as she could manage. He had looked at her so oddly, at first unnerved, then disgusted, finally disappointed and dismissive. He could not claim jewels or coin for her, only if he gave her to the Thalmor could he have all the riches in the world, but he could not keep her with him either, it would be dangerous. The Thalmor would never relent, and Mercer Frey was not the type to risk himself without a profit to be had. 'I am worth everything to them and nothing to him,' she thought numbly.
She tensed in surprise when Mercer wrapped one arm around her and pulled her close. "One more night," he murmured, "that's what you wanted."