A/N: So now Llovesi is Redoran Hortator, and her quest continues... but first she has some business to take care of. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter as, well hopefully, you'll see! Do let me know what you think!
Chapter 35: Unorthodox Encounters
"I really don't think this is a good idea, Llovesi."
Llovesi ignored Julan, and strode back through the Arena canton, heading down flights of stairs towards the canalworks. She'd already made up her mind, and wavering would only waste time.
"Seriously, what are you going to do, walk in and ask them not to kill you? They're assassins!"
He dodged in front of her as her hand stretched out to open the door to the Arena Storage.
"Please," he said, looking both cross and desperate, "I know what you're like when you get like this. You're so impulsive. Just think about it."
Llovesi dropped her hand and sighed. "I have thought about it. And I can't go around Vvardenfell convincing councillors to name me Hortator with a writ on my head. It's difficult enough as it is, I don't need assassins coming after me as well. That girl was clearly inexperienced. What if they send someone better next time? Someone I can't defeat?"
"But what are you going to say, for Azura's sake?"
Llovesi paused. Admittedly, her burst of determination hadn't led her as far as to consider what she would actually do if she managed to find the Morag Tong's secret hiding place.
"I don't know," she said finally. Then she glanced down at her side. Julan had healed her quickly after they'd left the young would-be-assassin behind, but the leather of her cuirass was still stained a deep, dark red. As farcical as the attack had ended up being, she'd still been wounded.
"All I know is I've been stabbed today more times than is healthy. You don't have to come with me, but I'm going to confront them."
She pushed him gently but firmly out of the way.
Julan snorted. "Of course I'm coming. If they turn on you, you'll need help getting out!"
The storage was dark and musty, and Llovesi carefully lit a torch from her pack as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Most of the storage looked as if it hadn't been touched in years; thick cobwebs hung in great strings from the ceiling, and a deep layer of dust swirled at their ankles.
However, here and there, there were footprints and evidence of barrels having been moved. She heard a rustle, and had her dagger out in a second, but it was just two rats squabbling over a piece of scrib jerky.
She sighed in relief, and bypassed them, turning right as the Bosmer girl had instructed. Jumpy, too jumpy. It could only be early afternoon, but it already felt like the longest of days.
Following the instructions she had coerced from the girl, it was no trouble finding the trapdoor. She eased it open gently and was about to slide down the ladder when she caught Julan's expression.
"You can stay here and wait," she said hesitantly. "I don't want to make you do something you don't want to do."
"No..." he said, then with more conviction: "No. You followed me up the mountain, I'll follow you down here, if this is where you want to go."
Llovesi bit her lip, wondering if she was making a huge mistake. Julan's comparison didn't help. Nevertheless, she continued. The further they went, the more she felt as if this was a bad idea. But wasn't it better to be active, rather than reactive, for once? She couldn't have assassins trailing her across the island for the rest... well, for the foreseeable future.
They met only a few trapped and locked doors in the passageway below, which posed little problem for Julan, and then they were in the secret headquarters of the Morag Tong.
The room they could see was large and low-ceilinged, with barrels, crates and chests, piled against the walls as if it weren't a permanent base at all. It had nothing of the grandeur she'd been expecting, and was nearly empty as well.
She could only make out one figure in the room, in full netch leather, leaning against the wall and when he saw them he pulled his helmet up and approached, his hand on his dagger.
"Who are you?" he asked with suspicion but without complete hostility.
"I want to speak with whoever's in charge here. Or whoever handles the writs."
His hand didn't move from his dagger, and Llovesi felt rather than heard Julan behind her moving into a fighting stance.
The man spoke again: "You didn't answer my question. But you want to speak to Eno Hlaalu? You are in luck for only he can allow outlanders to join."
To join? Llovesi's mouth suddenly felt full of cotton. She tried to think, and all the while the man in the armour watched her as one might watch an unpredictable prey.
"Yes, that's what I want," she said finally, and was relieved to see the man's hand finally leave his dagger. "Please, take me to him."
"Very well. That you have found our headquarters may be enough to convince him, but no doubt he will have some test for you. We do not let just anyone join. And you," he spoke to Julan suddenly, making him jump, "are you also here to join?"
"No," Julan said through his teeth, and Llovesi could tell he was fighting to control some emotion. "No, I'm just her companion."
"Very well," the man said, "then you'll forgive me, but I have to ask you to stay here for the time being. We cannot allow non-members to proceed any further. Normally they do not leave with their lives either, for although we detest killing without honour and we operate within the law, we cannot have the whole of Vvardenfell knowing our location. But, I think we'll make an exception for you, eh?"
Julan said nothing, his face frozen with rage and, perhaps, fear. He was clearly itching to follow them regardless, but Llovesi shot him a pleading look and he stayed put.
Llovesi followed the man upstairs, her heart in her mouth.
He led her through a training area, where the few robed assassins training glanced at them with brief curiosity, to a dormitory, to a back-room, and there, sitting writing quietly at a desk, was the man she presumed must be Eno Hlaalu.
He was old. Well, older than she'd expected anyway. His greying hair was tied neatly behind his head and even though he was hunched studiously over his letter she could tell he was small and slim in stature. Wearing the same maroon robes as the assassins they'd passed, his hands were gloved, and he was wrapped up in a sash and scarf. He coughed softly as he wrote and for a short while the only sound in the room was his quill scratching the parchment.
The man who'd brought her cleared his throat respectfully, and Eno Hlaalu turned to look at them. His red eyes were blank, pupil-less, and although Llovesi was used to seeing Dunmer like this on Vvardenfell now, it was still sufficiently rare to give her a start.
"Grandmaster Hlaalu, this woman wishes to join our ranks," the man said, his voice shaking slightly.
Hlaalu nodded and rose. "Very well. You may leave us." His voice was pleasant and quiet, so far nothing like the assassin Llovesi had expected. But he was the Grandmaster. The Grandmaster. She would have to be very careful-
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than there was a flash of maroon. She was pinned to the wall, a blade against her throat. That same warm and pleasant voice tickled her ear:
"I apologise for my lack of courtesy, but you must realise that I know who you are, Llovesi."
For a moment she was too shocked to speak, too keenly aware of the cold steel pressing against her windpipe and the rough stone against her back.
"H-how?" she managed to whisper.
"I received the writ on your life only yesterday, and issued it only this morning. I'm capable of putting two and two together, Llovesi. I won't say that I was expecting you, but I was curious... you are no noble, no Great House retainer. I wondered if you might try to pay us a visit. And so soon. Not only have you dispatched of Anurel, but you gleaned the location of our whereabouts from her as well."
The blade's pressure against her throat eased slightly, and Llovesi's life stopped swimming before her eyes.
"I didn't kill her," she said. "I'm no assassin."
"So you think yourself different to us? Tell me, Llovesi, how many have you killed in your quest to become the Nerevarine, hmm?"
The blade lifted completely from her throat and Eno Hlaalu's face moved into view, his expression impassive.
Momentarily shocked, visions of Bolvyn Venim bleeding out onto the sand of the arena sprang into her mind. But there had been no other way. He had been bloodthirsty, proud and cruel, but equally a powerful leader, a strong fighter. And she had killed him, killed him like she had killed countless others since arriving in Vvardenfell...
"I think there is more blood on your hands than you care to realise," Eno Hlaalu said softly.
Her hand sprang to her dagger, but he caught it in a vice-like grip before her fingers even brushed the hilt.
"Ah-ah," he said, sounding almost amused. "Here I thought your senses had momentarily returned to you. So foolish. So arrogant. You come here then, expecting to... what? Kill us all? You wouldn't leave this room, I assure you. You may be wondering why I haven't killed you yet. I cannot take political sides in this role. Often I am curious about the targets we receive, but you are the first I've truly wanted to meet."
He moved back to whisper in her ear, still twisting her wrist painfully: "If I'd intended the writ to be fulfilled, Llovesi, I wouldn't have given it to our newest and weakest recruit."
He stepped back and watched it sink in. So. A trap. And she'd fulfilled all expectations by blundering straight into it.
"Why did you want to meet me?"
He dropped her wrist. "So, the Nerevarine. Or are you? And does it matter? I keep my eyes on the papers, and more besides. There are a lot of interesting stories about you, Llovesi, and about these prophecies. I think you're perhaps more notorious than you yet realise. You occupy a very delicate political position in a very precarious political situation. I was not surprised to receive the request to end your life. But I did want to hear your side of the story."
He let her wrist go and returned to his chair, lacing his fingers under his chin and watching her expectantly. It took Llovesi a while to realise that he was expecting her to speak. So speak she did, hesitantly, and mixing up the details due to stress, but becoming more confident as she recounted the story she had told so many times now: her claim to being the Nerevarine. And Eno Hlaalu sat and listened, his face betraying no reaction.
"So," he said, when she'd finished, "you can tell an interesting tale, at least. It is almost as intricate as a creation of the Webspinner herself. Now let me tell you something: I am loath to have to kill you. This leaves me with a problem.
"We do not refuse writs, generally speaking. Historically we have even played a part in aiding the Temple with False Incarnates. But I am not blind to Vvardenfell's situation. We might need someone like you. But will you be good enough? Tell me, Llovesi, why are you doing this?"
Again, Llovesi hesitated. Everything might hinge on the right kind of answer. She decided to tell the truth. "Because I can't run all over Vvardenfell convincing councillors and Ashkhans to name me Hortator and Nerevarine while simultaneously fighting off assassins. I'm only mortal."
Hlaalu waved an impatient hand. "I'd guessed as much. I meant: why are you following the Nerevarine prophecies?"
"At first, I was just following orders. Then, I started to wonder: maybe I could really help people. I've lost friends to Corprus, and I've seen how the Red Mountain threat has affected people's lives since I arrived here. If I can change that..." she trailed off, unable to think of a way to end her speech.
Hlaalu watched her over his laced hands.
"I see," he said slowly. "Llovesi, I'm going to make you a proposition: join us."
"Join... you?"
"It is part of our rules that no member may harm another member. It'd mean I remove the writ on your head. Of course, I can't guarantee that the person who requested it won't turn to other means, but you would not cross another Morag Tong assassin. And, I confess, you could be beneficial to us. You bested Bolvyn Venim in battle. You have... useful talents."
"I'd... I'd have to assassinate people?"
Eno Hlaalu's face suddenly split into an unsettlingly wide smile.
"Oh, yes," he said. "But you'll start as a probationer. You'll pass a test and then you can receive writs."
"Okay, I'll do it."
"Very well, here is a writ for the honourable execution of Feruren Oran. You can find him in the Elven Nations Cornerclub, which is in the Hlaalu Plaza. Slay him honourably and report to me."
He handed her the letter he had been writing and then looked her straight in the eye. She stared back into their blank, red depths, and shivered.
"Well, Llovesi, until we meet again. You may leave."
She turned to go, but then turned back, a question springing to her lips: "Grandmaster, who ordered the writ on my life?"
"I'll not disclose that. But I expect you'll be meeting him soon enough."
As she walked back through the corridor to find Julan, it struck Llovesi just what had been so disturbing about Hlaalu's smile when she mentioned killing.
Throughout their conversation, it was the only emotion he'd shown.
Julan was full of impatient questions as they left, but all Llovesi would say is that she'd managed to strike a deal with Hlaalu.
"But, how?" Julan asked in disbelief. "You didn't join, did you?"
"No. I guess he just saw my side of the story."
She debated throwing the writ Hlaalu had given her into the canal, but in the end she stuffed it to the bottom of her bag. She pulled her hood up, and they took the gondola back to the Foreign Quarter. The gondolier was still full of excitement about the earlier fight between Llovesi and Bolvyn Venim, saying that she'd managed to get time off work to see it. Llovesi pulled her hood closer to her face, while Julan politely engaged in conversation on her behalf.
On the silt strider to Balmora, Llovesi took her mind off the earlier events of the day by discussing her next steps with Julan. First they'd go to the council manor and find out the identity of the councillors. Then they'd pay a quick visit to Julan's camp, where they'd been leaving a lot of the pickings from their contracts with the Fighters Guild. From what Julan said, money was going to be a useful bargaining chip in their dealings with House Hlaalu.
This became evident from the very beginning. Nileno Dorvayn, the white-haired Dunmer woman in charge of business at the manor perked up considerably as her eyes took in Llovesi and Julan's armour and weapons; the amulets round their necks and the belts at their hips.
"Here's a recent edition of the Yellow Book of Great House Hlaalu," she said, practically tripping over her feet in her eagerness to help the wealthy-looking strangers. "It lists the current Hlaalu councillors and their residences. I might tell you more for a small consideration."
Llovesi shook her hand in thanks, and Nileno took the fifty septims from her palm.
"The one you should speak with is Crassius Curio," she said quickly. "His manor is in the Hlaalu Plaza in Vivec. Of the Hlaalu Councillors, he is one most likely to listen to your requests, whatever they may be."
So a return trip to Vivec was inevitable. This time there were five councillors to convince and all save one, Nevena Ules who lived in Suran, lived in or around Vivec. Well, Llovesi thought, I'll just have to stay on my toes, and in my cloak.
The next day they collected some more money from Camp Kaushibael, stopping long enough to have a bowl of saltrice soup with Mashti, then made their way back to Vivec via Sadrith Mora.
The journey to the Hlaalu Plaza was unpleasant. It seemed every corner they turned there was a group of Ordinators patrolling. In the end, Llovesi avoided them with scrolls of invisibility, but the back of her neck was still slick with sweat, fearing they'd catch her in her brief moments of visibility.
She only breathed freely again when they entered Curio Manor. Julan, on the other hand, walked into the manor with an expression that suggested he'd just got a whiff of guar dung.
"Ugh," he said, "I think I'm going to slip over. This place feels so greasy and slimy."
A nearby clerk shot them a look that was full of daggers, and swept out of the room.
"Julan, please," Llovesi said, "at least let me try to talk to them before you insult them!"
It wasn't as if the manor was even that bad. True, it was no less opulent than the manors in Ald'ruhn had been. The table that the clerk had been sitting at was elegantly carved from a rich, red wood and surrounded by similarly delicate chairs. Intricate tapestries hung from the otherwise plain walls, and pale rose-coloured screens divided various sections of the room. Crassius Curio had to be an Imperial, and his foreign tastes showed. Llovesi's eyes swept over bowls of imported apples, liquors and Imperial silverware and understood Julan's frustration. It was the kind of display that screamed inconsiderate wealth.
But she wouldn't get anywhere if they simply stood around criticising the greed of the rich. Llovesi walked through to the next room and bumped into another clerk who was making notes in a ledger.
"Excuse me, can you tell me where Crassius Curio is please?" she asked.
The clerk didn't even look up. "Downstairs, last door on the right." she said.
Crassius Curio was eating his lunch. Reclining in his chair, he sipped wine from a goblet and carefully brushed pastry crumbs from his silken shirt. He was younger than Llovesi had expected, although his thick dark hair was starting to recede and his twinkling blue eyes were garnished with faint crows' feet. He finished his mouthful slowly, watching then, before speaking.
"Care for a sweetroll, sweetums?"
"Ex-excuse me?" Llovesi stuttered.
"Most recent arrival from Skingrad, none finer in the entire Empire. I know officially there's a quarantine, but I have my little ways. Can I tempt you?"
Llovesi felt herself stiffen in the face of such effusive familiarity.
"I really can't, I'm here to talk to you about something quite important."
Crassius Curio sighed, and placed the pastry back on the silver plate.
"It's always business, business, business these days. No time to sit with friends and guests and enjoy the simple pleasures of life. No one cares for the arts any more, no time for a glass of brandy and a quiet book. It's a sad state of affairs, pumpkin."
He straightened up and gave her an appraising look. Llovesi caught a glint of intelligence behind his eccentric mannerisms.
"So, dumpling, to business. I presume you're here to ask me to name you Hortator? Oh, don't look so baffled! There's a picture of you in this morning's paper. It does you no favours of course. But it does mention that the Redoran have named you their Hortator. How you won those stuff-pots over is a mystery to me, pumpkin, but I must congratulate you on your win against Bolvyn Venim. Most impressive-"
As Curio rambled on, Llovesi caught sight of the woodcut he was talking about in the paper on his desk; a Dunmer woman who she supposed might share a passing resemblance with. That wasn't good news.
"-so, it's a pity," Curio finished.
"What's a pity?"
"Oh, weren't you listening at all, sweetie? You want to be Hortator. Orvas Dren does not want you to be Hortator. And very few councillors would be willing to risk Ser Dren's disapproval. But your exquisite vulnerability moves me to risk all, and defy Orvas Dren. Yes, sweetie, I will name you Hortator. But I have something to ask of you..."
He looked them both up and down lasciviously, and Llovesi's mouth went dry.
"Er, what do you want?"
"Just a small kiss, sugar."
He offered his cheek and tapped it lightly with his finger.
Llovesi gave in, trying hard not to look at Julan. "If that's all... all right."
"Oh, not from you, pumpkin! From him!"
Behind her, Julan made a noise like a rat being stepped on.
"I mean, you're fair enough, true, but have you seen his exquisite cheekbones? Such savage beauty! I-"
"Sera, would you accept this gift instead?" Llovesi asked, cutting swiftly across him before the situation could get anymore awkward.
Curio stopped rhapsodising and eyed the purse of gold she was holding out, then sighed.
"Very well, sugar. You've broken my heart. But in time it will mend. And in the meantime, I'll console myself with your gold. And now, pumpkin, it's time for your gift... And I have just what you want. In my formal capacity as Councillor of House Hlaalu, I give you my vote for the title of Hortator. Perhaps I can also give you a little suggestion?"
"Please."
"I am sure you can persuade Dram Bero to support you as Hortator... if you can find him. I only know that he lives somewhere here in Vivec, secretive chap. Orvas Dren has Nevena Ules and Velanda Omani in his pocket. You might want to make a little trip to the Dren Plantation before talking to them. And then there's Yngling Half-Troll."
"What about Yngling Half-Troll? And who is Orvas Dren?"
"Yngling Half-Troll is a foreigner like me, but he simply doesn't understand the Dunmer like I do. If you were to dispose of him, the other councillors would not be upset. If you kill any of the rest of us, of course, it is a different story.
"Orvas Dren, oh sweetie, you're going to have your work cut out. He's the head of the Camonna Tong and lives in a plantation in the Ascadian Isles. You may be able to bribe him or trick him. He despises the Empire, and I have heard rumours that he has made some kind of deal with the Sixth House. But he is also Duke Vedam Dren's brother. Think before you act, pumpkin..."
"Thank you," Llovesi said sincerely, but not without a bad taste in her mouth.
Curio waved an airy hand. "Not at all, sugar. And if you manage to win everyone's support, just pop back and see Uncle Crassius, I'll have a little something for you."
They turned to leave, and the last they saw of Crassius Curio was him tipping the coin bag onto the table to count the septims, while slipping bite-sized pieces of pastry into his mouth.