One day, I'll tell the story of Ara High-Arrow in full detail

Chapter 37: Memorial of Summoners

The Memorial of Summoners will always be known as the place where Black the Khajiit sacrificed his life to close three oblivion gates by thrusting himself into the realm of the Deadlands. It was him, not Mother, not Father, not Rollyn, and certainly not Aridiil that entered the great gate that ripped open Arenthia and destroyed the sigil stone that allowed a horde of Daedra to wreak havoc across Valenwood. Sure, Mother was the one who held them back and kept them at bay when they threatened to consume all of Valenwood in a vast avalanche of evil, demonic destruction.

A century and a half have passed since the Oblivion Crisis. Arenthia has been rebuilt, and the Memorial of Summoners has replaced what was once a gargantuan rift on Mundus. The Memorial of Summoners, a tree surrounded by the city. The streets spiraled in from all corners and made an extra sharp roundabout with several crosswalks leading into the garden that surrounded it. Any other day, it would have been a walk in the forest to stroll through the garden and into the memorial as if I was any other tourist. Today was quite different. Ranger Guard were everywhere, some visible and some hidden. The Ranger Guard possessed mer in their ranks that far exceeded anything I could do.

Night had fallen, and the tree's glittering leaves swayed in the night air like stars dancing in the heavens. I drank a gulp cool air, letting it fill my lungs and awaken my body. I was setting the stage for my revolution. When I reveal myself, I will also reveal to all Valenwood who I am, and who I'm ready to become.

I slipped into a separation of two branches, an opened broad sunvent was wide enough to slip through easily and lead me into the inner chamber of the Memorial. Sweat slipped down my forehead and brow, trickling onto my chin. A drumbeat in my ears, giving me pause before I realized it was my own heart against my chest. My hands trembled with anxiety, fingers itching to move for anything that would come in my way. Water pooled in my mouth, swishing with every flick of the tongue. I squeezed out onto the opening of the exit and peered into the chamber.

There they were. Every Mer and Beastfolk that commanded the forces of Valenwood and Elswyr. Every last one of them with the eyes of a predator.

Father sat at the helm of an oval slab table. It wasn't just any table, it was a massive monument known as the Table of Forged Names. Inscribed across every inch of the marble was every mortal that lived through the Battle of Arenthia. Faeden Lockharte looked every bit the same since the day I left home. His eyes held an intensity, a dark misty green with two pinpoint pupils, brimming with power. His brow was rigid, deep seating his eyes. We shared the same nose, but Milkar and Aranwen inherited his jaw. He was packed muscle, wide shoulders and fairer skin than his children. Handsome, calculative, stoic, intimidating, and dangerous were few words that could describe him. The rest of his company, I knew by face or purely by their reputation.

Mano the Elder sat in the first adjacent seat from my father. He was a High-Arrow Elder, my great uncle. As old as he was, those wrinkles didn't do much to deter the pure wisdom and strength of his persona. Our family's jeweled, emerald eyes sparkled in the light just like mine, just like my brothers' and, of course, mother's, and just like his son, cousin Crestel High-Arrow, who sat just across from him on my father's left. I knew Crestel to seat at the council. He was, after all, the first seat of the Elder Guard with his father being the eleventh seat.

My heart nearly jumped through my throat and out onto the floor. Aridiil and Florentine sat together on a far seat next to another Altmer. This Altmer wore armored robes. An eagle-shaped pin sat brazenly on his left shoulder, similarly to father's that was in the shape of two antlers around a tree. Ambassador Angedaen of Sumerset—I knew that name well. That Altmer was the Thalmor's favorite Ambassador here in Valenwood. Aridiil wore an air of interest about him, a far different disposition he held in fights against me in the past. Second Lieutenant Florentine was finally in the flesh, it took great efforts to hold myself from putting a knife between her eyes.

Further down the table, another cousin sat. This time on Father's side of our twisted family tree. Tuuton the Bow was the second seat of the Elder Guard, despite still being in active service to the Ranger Guard, he was offered the seat because of his renowned abilities with a bow. He was even better than Mother. The third seat of the Elder Guard occupied membership in the Council as well, sitting across from the Altmer. Prince Basdal Camoran was only the fifth heir in line for the throne and a damned good Ranger Guard. He was once the Watchmaster for a short time and led three successful campaigns into Hammerfell. And speaking of Watchmaster, the newest addition to the highest office in the Ranger Guard was here as well. He looked quite young, only five years my senior, maybe. The Watchmaster rank was a humorous thing. A Watchmaster could be as strong as Crestel, or as strong as me. Weak? Never weak. But their power varies. It was a fluid position.

Two Bows stood at the Watchmaster's side. The bows were the highest rank under the Watchmaster, and these two were the best of the best. They commanded legions, or in Valenwood's Ranger Guard terms, an Archery. If you were to compare with actual Imperial Legion ranks, a Bow would be a general, while the Watchmaster would be the Imperial Legion Commander.

'Greenpact Bosmer lay in wait and wonder if the very people who said they would protect them will be the ones to destroy them,' my father said, looking down at the occupants of the Table of Forged Names. Aridiil and Florentine shifted in their seats uncomfortably as the others looked their way. 'The Bosmer who still follow the old ways are of no threat to the Thalmor Regime! I cannot understand why they would need to be the target of any of their inquisitions!'

'Calling a cease of the inquisition is not my order to give.' Aridiil looked Father in his face. 'Neither is it yours or the Countreeve's, Faeden.'

'You speak of inquisitions targeting the… dreadful side of your culture, but I have indisputable evidence that you, Ambassador, have used offhanded groups to carry out machinations of the hierarchy.' That distasteful little smirk marked Florentine's arrogance. 'To protect the savages against us is to break the laws of the Dominion.'

'Florentine the Terramancer. You cannot accuse me of such practices if the slaughter of my people persists!' Faeden exclaimed. I could feel the anger radiating from his words. If Father truly was protecting the Greenpact Bosmer, I would have known about it. My path wouldn't have been as hard.

Prince Basdal wrapped his knuckles on the stone of the table. 'Listen here, Altmer. The Countreeve has given the decree that anyone who would lay their hands on the Greenpact Bosmer would have their heads removed from their shoulders. They are of protected status. And even if it wasn't in decree, I wouldn't mind cutting the head from a murderer of my people. The King of Alinor—'

'And you believe this has anything to do with the king, do you?' Asked Florentine. 'You, a prince of the Camoran throne in Falinesti, are no more than a cyphered monarch with no power. The adults rule here, child, not some fifth-in-line heir believing he can write truths of state.'

Basdal scoffed. 'I've come to this council as the third seat of the Elder Guard, you damned golden-back swine! And what power I do have allows me to slowly slice through that thin, golden-skin on your neck with my belt knife. Do not underestimate the Camoran line!'

The council exploded into a cacophony of murmurs and louder arguments. These fools that control the machinations of Valenwood were all simple-minded in their thinking. I do not doubt they were the reason Monsotar has grown so far in power.

'Quiet it down!' Cousin Crestel slammed his fist down. He seemed to be one of the sensible ones. The murmuring sputtered out. 'Everyone let's calm down. Nothing will get done if we just yell at each other and point fingers of accusations. I agree that the Tam'Akar's inquisitions are illegal and must stop, that is fact. But we must also realize that using criminal guilds will only incriminate them, making an inquisition legal.' Crestel eyed the council. 'Why not have Lord Nethilvere target elves like Monsotar and the Thieves of the Wood?'

'What the boy says is true,' Mano the Elder said, his voice as old as his face.

'You only agree with him because he is your son.' Ambassador Angedaen rolled his eyes.

Another explosion of arguments persisted. These mer of battle experience were nothing short of despicable. They all wanted to lead, and no one wanted to listen, no one wanted to understand. This wasn't a council but a match to see who can bark the loudest nonsense. Their faces, downtrodden and sad, were the faces of warriors that have already lost control. Where are the heroes? Where are the mer of valor when everything has gone wrong?

Mano the Elder was my mother's uncle, but I failed to see if he had the same gravitas she had. That air of legend that surrounds the High-Arrow prestige wasn't absent about him, but he couldn't amount to Mother's legend. 'Silence! I said quiet this insolence at once! You damnable souls can squabble about whatever else it is you like, but Valenwood is plunging into the Void! I am a Bosmer of experience! I know that what has happened in the past cannot be changed. You have all missed the point of this summit. We are not here to argue about the past, we are here to discuss the future, and what we leave behind for the later generations to come. I have outlived many fools that have sat in the very chairs you all sit in now. They were all fools like yourselves! You do not listen, you do not learn, you merely argue and get nothing done. Aridiil the Nefarious, for an elf who has fought alongside my niece during the Oblivion, you have become nothing short of a failure. You believe to be the savior of the Bosmer, but you have become their enemy. You target the Greenpact for their worship of gods strange to you, then you blame them for using groups of Monsotar's brood, that is your justification. We as Bosmer can no longer allow such a tragedy in our forests. Don't you understand? Or perhaps you don't. It is like my son says, the Royal Tribes are going missing! We cannot place the blame on them for taking refuge if they do not feel safe in their own home. Parts of the forest has burned; our brethren burn. The Tam'Akar's job should not be targeting Wild Bosmer because of simple spiritual doctrines but targeting criminal guilds and banditry on the roads that the Thalmor has built.'

Crestel nodded and folded his arms in agreement. 'Arian the Brave was the best of us. He was a seat of the Elder Guard and a trusted friend of mine. He wanted to stop this inquisition, but we didn't act. We allowed our people to die.' Crestel turned to Aridiil. 'To die at your hands, because of your laws. He turned to Bosmer like Monsotar, he became one of them! We must ask ourselves why? Why couldn't he turn to us instead?'

To everyone's dismay, and even mine, Aridiil spoke again. 'Arian the Brave was a traitor and died a traitor's death, did he not?'

A pang of guilt crossed me. I killed Arian because he worked for Monsotar. He thought it was the best way to stop the inquisition on the Greenpact Bosmer. It wasn't any different from me, was it? I was backed into a corner when Monsotar destroyed the Silver Crescents and killed my brothers. I was put in the same position I killed Arian for. He had no choice.

'My point is that Lord Nethilvere's policing was too severe. None of us were brave enough to look in on your inquisition and told you that you've gone too far.'

A Khajiit enamored in armor began to talk with purrs and low growls. He was flanked by three Cathay-Raht. The Beastfolk were monstrous in their size, towering the Bosmer that sat around the table, and they even grew taller than the Altmer. 'Khajiit has experienced the same issues you have all face. Tam'Akar comes with decrees of law, and destroy before decree can be understood. It has been many moons since Do'ava has expelled Tam'Akar from our precious warm sands and thick jungles. Even under Dominion law, we have experienced peace without Altmer interference.'

Aridiil motioned to quiet the Khajiit, but Faeden told him to continue.

'If Do'ava was Battlereeve Faeden, Do'ava would do what he must for the wellbeing of his people. From one Battlereeve to one Battlereeve.' He punctuated his statement with a nod towards Father.

If anyone felt the heartache of seeing their people purged tribe by tribe, village by village, it would be the Khajiit. The Justiciars rained down on their homeland in ships, destroying almost everything in their path. If the Bosmer had it bad, then the Khajiit knew a little something about pain and suffering at the hands of an inquisition.

'As far as I'm concerned, we weren't supposed to choose sides on either of these fronts,' said the Watchmaster of the Ranger Guard, Erandil Elm-Pool. 'We are all apart of the Aldmeri Dominion. The Thalmor has brought us all together to help one another as the Empire suffer from their admonished weakness. Crestel High-Arrow, you were supposed to capture Arian before knowledge of his defection reached the people. Don't you understand the chaos that could ensue if bands across Valenwood knew that Arian the Brave, tenth seat of the Elder Guard joined the likes of Monsotar Handseed? The job was supposed to be silent, but it wasn't. You didn't kill him, it was someone else who got the better of you. Just who was this person anyway? I would like to know.'

Crestel rubbed the end of his chin and narrowed his eyes. 'Leila Lockharte,' he said. 'To what purpose she hunted Arian down, I do not know. Milkar, Aranwen, and Leila conspired to kill him, and they succeeded. There's nothing I could have done.'

The revelation took many by surprise. Eyes began to meet my father's dangerous stare with daring courage. Faeden Lockharte's face remained a blank canvas for one to paint their fears on. He was not without his temper, and his pride brought his severity to the utmost extremes at times. The mention of his children could mean many things for the people sitting around him. He could unleash his anger alongside his power, or he could remain calm. No one liked to chance it.

I scanned the faces around the room as they shuffled in their seats. It's true. I killed Arian the Brave. I killed him without remorse and out of anger. I thought he was the enemy. I was wrong.

Faeden moved, and the room grew silent. 'It is true,' he began, 'my children have been trying to upset the balance here in Valenwood. It is some sort of rebellion that I have ignored for a good reason. But their rebellion is no more than a pebble tossed in a grand lake. Arian was sentenced to death anyway. It's a good thing just another criminal killed him and not a member of our Ranger Guard.'

Just another criminal?

I leaped from my hiding spot, sword in hand, and landed on the Table of Forged Names. I glared Father in those intense eyes of his. 'Just another criminal?'