Sundas, 1:22 PM, 73rd of Second Seed, 4E 202

Alftand Prison

This cell was very cold. They'd moved him into it first thing yesterday morning, and it was on the wrong side of the surface ruin doors. All of their real prison cells were. And here he was, sitting in one of them.

He'd been here for over a day. But he'd barely gotten any sleep. He couldn't. This whole time, he'd been sitting here, trying to figure out what in Oblivion he was supposed to do. He was living a nightmare, and he wanted to wake up, but he couldn't. The nightmare was completely real.

But after a while, after a few hours, he couldn't keep track of time anymore, he thought it was a few hours… after some time, his fear started to give way to other thoughts. He was in a prison cell, and he was probably going to be in here for a long time, and there was nothing to do but think.

So here he was, sitting on this cold stone floor in this dimly lit cell, and just… thinking.

Mainly thinking about how he'd gotten here, because he still couldn't believe he'd ended up in… this place. He didn't know how much of this was really his own fault. Maybe a lot. Maybe a little, maybe none. The only thing he knew for sure was that he'd been completely betrayed.

That was what Sarelle had done—she'd betrayed him. Betrayed his trust, his friendship, his… his love, all of it. She'd used him as a tool to see into Blackreach.

And all of his memories of her were different for it. Hadn't she been the one to suggest that he keep working in Blackreach even after the indexes were done? Of course she had. It hadn't had anything to do with his actual future of work. She'd just wanted him to keep soaking up valuable secrets to share.

And hadn't she told him, once, that she could keep a secret? Right before he'd told her about the legionnaires in Blackreach? Oh, he'd just walked into it all.

It didn't make sense for him to be angry at himself about it. That wasn't going to get him out of this cell. But he kind of was anyway. If he'd done something different, anything different… if he'd just been a little more careful in keeping his secrets to himself… but Sarelle had done such a good job of being his perfect companion. He'd never had the slightest reason to doubt her. She'd been just as trustworthy as the people inside Blackreach itself.

Too bad Savos Aren hadn't done that mind-scan spell on her, too. That would've saved everyone a lot of grief.

This cell was actually somehow smaller than the one by the guardhouse. It had the same furnishings inside, but practically no room in between them. The cell was at the end of some big hallway, and Aicantar had no idea whether there were others nearby. But he had a feeling he was on his own in here.

He'd wanted to warm this place up using a flames spell, or something of the sort. But he couldn't. It had taken him a while to realize it, but these metal manacles they'd left on him were actually nullifying his magicka. They'd really thought of everything.

They hadn't let him shower or shave or change his clothes, either. He'd be feeling kind of gross from that, if he weren't busy just feeling cold.

Gods, he was going to be here for a long time. He didn't know if he could get used to this. How could he get used to a living nightmare? He was just a court wizard's nephew and he was in a prison cell for high treason. But at the same time, even after a single day, he was pretty sure he'd experienced all there was to experience in here. This was just his life now. Maybe the sooner he got used to it, the easier things would be from now on.

And that was a horrible, bleak thought. But he couldn't think of anything else. What was he going to do? Escape? Even if he did get out through the barred cell door, even if he somehow evaded all the guards in the ruin and then the ghost guards up above, he'd still be in the middle of the damn Winterhold. Was he supposed to go to Jarl Korir in the city of Winterhold, three days' travel away, and say, hello, I'm an accomplice to a traitor against the High King, I need your help?

He supposed every hold did track its crime separately. That probably wasn't going to be much help to him right now.

In the meantime, or… for the foreseeable future, really, he was just stuck here. And he could blame Sarelle, or blame himself, or blame someone in between for how this had ended up, but it didn't change that he was sitting here in a prison cell. So as awful as it was to do, he was trying to get used to this.

All of the Dwemer machinery in this part of the city was inactive. No machinery meant no running steam pipes, no running steam pipes meant no heat. It was just warm enough in here that Aicantar didn't think he'd get frostbite (he didn't have a runny nose from it, that was something), but his bed didn't even have a blanket. That was probably a factor in his inability to sleep in here, honestly. Mainly, it led to him sitting here and clutching his toes to keep them warm.

They seemed to serve three meals a day here. The guards gave it to him right in his cell, and it was always the same. A wooden cup of water, and a hollowed-out mushroom cap full of bean mush. It tasted like nothing. It wasn't even hot. And, of course, there was no flatware involved. No flatware, no blankets, no movable furniture, it was like they expected him to use everything he could to escape.

From his point of view, the manacles alone probably made sure of that one. He missed spellcasting so much. But here he was. This was his life now. He was just… still working on getting used to that.

At some point, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Two sets of footsteps, walking nearly in unison, coming up the corridor. He lifted his head up and looked.

The result didn't surprise him. Two guards, walking side by side, in their full armor and whatnot, coming towards his cell. They were just… they were coming along. For some reason.

Maybe it was kind of surprising, though, at the same time. Aicantar didn't think anyone would be bothering with him so soon. He struggled to get back up to his feet as the guards came close.

Once they were within speaking range, one of the guards said, "Hands through the bars, please."

Aicantar knew this routine already. He'd had to do it when they'd brought him here to begin with. He walked forwards slowly—his muscles had gotten sore and stiff when he wasn't paying attention, that was managing to annoy him a little—and put his closed fists through one of the gaps between the bars.

The guard stepped forward and secured the chain back on his manacles. It still made him feel terrible every time he had this on. He didn't even want to look at it.

"Step back, please," the guard said.

The Altmer obligingly withdrew his hands from the bars, and waited. The guard proceeded to unlock and slide open the doors, and then both of them came in and took him by the arms. This was how it'd gone last time, too. They didn't give him an inch of freedom as they walked him out.

This was definitely strange. He supposed this could be for his trial, though he'd heard nothing about that so far. He wasn't even sure, at this point, if he was going to get one. They might have been planning to just execute him, which didn't even really bother him at this point. It didn't really matter.

But that didn't stop his curiosity. He asked slowly, "Where… are we going?"

Ugh, his voice didn't feel good. That'd been a lot harsher on his throat than he'd expected. Maybe he was just thirsty. The guards didn't answer him, in any case, which wasn't a surprise at all. He'd asked the same question last time, and gotten the same lack of an answer.

But it quickly became clear that they were backtracking. Going back down the sloped corridors of the ruin, back towards the atrium. Towards the city. So they weren't just moving him to another prison cell. Probably weren't executing him, either.

Eventually, they got to a big pair of double doors, with a short corridor beyond—and then another pair of double doors to a much warmer and brighter space. All of a sudden, he could hear the sounds of Alftand again. The machinery running in the background, the people going about their days wherever they were, it all combined into a constant, quiet humming rush in the background. He honestly never thought he'd hear that again. It put a bit of a smile on his face, despite it all.

He immediately stopped that when his lips gave a painful crack. Very painful. All right, smiling was a bad idea. They'd gotten pretty chapped in that cold cell. He wondered if he could ask for a salve for that.

The guards ushered him on into a side corridor, into a room he'd never been in before. Not the actual guardhouse. A different space entirely. It actually looked recently dug out. The stone here was as smooth as ever, and there were still lamps on the walls, but it was lacking all the metal bordering that the Dwemer stuff usually had. It was clearly of a different make.

Why had they put another room up here? Weren't there plenty already?

There were a couple of doorways off this corridor, made of solid Dwemer metal like usual. The guards pushed one of the pairs of doors open, and guided him through. He took a deep breath in and tried to refocus. This was going to be interesting.

Except it kind of wasn't. On the other side was a small, square room, with nothing in it but a stone table between two stone benches that served as chairs, built right into the masonry of the room. One of the benches was already occupied, by someone Aicantar definitely had never seen before. An Orc male, on the older side, with a bald head and a neatly trimmed gray beard. He was wearing the standard work clothes, but something about him seemed… different. It was hard to describe.

The Orc looked up at him and said, "Hello, Aicantar. Please, have a seat."

That was a little friendlier than he'd expected. The guards brought him over to the opposite bench and sat him down in it, then stepped back and closed the doors. They didn't leave the room. They were just standing there and watching.

Aicantar looked around the room slowly. There was a timepiece fixed to the near wall, he hadn't seen that before. According to that, it was 1:25, presumably in the afternoon. He'd had his second meal of the day an hour or two ago, so that figured.

But he still didn't know what this was. This definitely didn't look like a trial. He asked, "Who are you?"

"My name is Argthaz gro-Lunn. I'm one of the professional advocates of Alftand. I've been assigned to your case to help you navigate your charges competently."

"I… didn't even know we had those," Aicantar mumbled. His voice still didn't feel good. "I'm sorry, do you have any water?"

Argthaz chuckled quietly, then reached under the table and produced a Dwemer metal cup filled with water—because apparently, he just had one of those. He slid it gently over to Aicantar as he replied. "We don't see a lot of use among the happier citizens of the city. Some of us relegate ourselves to resolving disputes between aggrieved parties, but I specialize in more serious matters. Your own case, for example. You've been charged with high treason. Do you understand what that means?"

Honestly, Aicantar wasn't sure whether this was some sort of trick or what. He was mainly just confused. First, he took a sip of the water, as best he could with his wrists bound. Then he pretty much just drained the entire cup. That helped a lot. "Thank you," he nodded, being careful not to smile again. Then, "Do you want to extract some kind of confession from me?"

"No." The Orc's tone sharpened suddenly. "I'm not here to tell you to admit to guilt. I'm here to tell you your options. You've been charged with high treason, which means you're believed to have betrayed the Jarl, specifically by sharing political secrets you learned in Blackreach."

That sounded about right. He'd figured as much from what he'd heard already. He just nodded slowly. Part of him was still struggling to accept that this was even happening, but he tried to ignore that for now. "Is Sarelle…"

"Sarelle's trial was held this morning," Argthaz said. "It was very brief. She declined any sort of defense, and confessed to high treason. She was subsequently brought outside the city and executed. I'm sorry."

Well, that was blunt of him. But strangely, it didn't really make Aicantar react at all. He'd sort of known that was coming. Sarelle was as good as gone for him the moment he'd seen that look on her face. The rest was just a formality. He took a deep, trembling breath in, and let it out very slowly, staring down at his lap as he did. "All right," he mumbled. That was about all he could even say.

"During her trial, Sarelle made the point repeatedly that you were an unwitting accomplice to her crimes. Now, if this is true, and you successfully make that defense in your trial, you may have your sentence reduced. Probably to some number of years in prison."

The Altmer swallowed involuntarily. This part, he'd sort of expected too. Years in prison. Even if that wasn't as bad as execution… he knew his life would never be the same. And he still didn't know whom to blame for that. Nobody, probably. Didn't matter at this point. But he just… he just couldn't believe this.

But Argthaz kept talking. "On the other hand, the court wizard of Blackreach, J'zargo, has already made a personal request that you be given a second chance. We're not in the habit of building our laws on favoritism, but as one of the officials of Blackreach itself, J'zargo is uniquely equipped to give us an insight to the significance of your actions."

What?

Oh, damn that Khajiit. Damn him and bless him to the ends of the world. He'd always been so kind and generous. Of course he wouldn't give up on Aicantar now. That just made so much sense. Gods, he didn't even know what to say. He had to reply somehow.

"… Second chance?"

"That's right," Argthaz nodded. "So I'm here to present you two options. One, you let your case go to trial, where you'll likely end up being convicted. Two, you accept this offer here and now, and you walk free, on several conditions."

Aicantar waited silently for the rest of this. He wasn't sure yet which option was actually better.

"One, you never say a word of this to anyone. Not even about your arrest. It's going to become public knowledge that Sarelle was a traitor, but we've done our utmost to withhold the details of this case. That's why we deliberately brought you both out of sight for the arrest, and why we were forced to place you in solitary confinement. It was too risky to have you talking to anyone. As far as everyone's concerned, you'll have just been friends with someone who turned out to have false colors. If you share any of your experiences here, the whole case will open right back up, and it's in everyone's best interest to avoid that. Including yours.

"Two, for the next six months, starting whenever the Shadow Unending stops messing with our calendar, you stay in the city. Any contact you have with outsiders will be monitored. We're aware that you learned plenty during your time in Blackreach, and if you're planning on running off with everything you learned… well. We can't keep you here forever. Not without some kind of criminal conviction, or at least some official explanation, both of which would, again, reopen the case. But even if you'll be free to travel Skyrim once again, we'd prefer to let your information go out of date first.

"And three, your clearance for the Alftand cathedral doors has been revoked. You had your chance to prove that you could keep a secret, and that didn't work out in the slightest. You might not have anything on your criminal record after this, but we're not going to make the same mistake twice with you. No hard feelings, of course. You'll still be entitled to everything a citizen of Alftand is entitled to have. But your time in the Dragonborn's inner sanctum is over. You're never setting foot in Blackreach again."

The Altmer stared blankly. He'd been expecting something entirely different from that. He didn't even know what, exactly. But this was far, far more lenient than he'd anticipated. They were going to let him just go back to living his life? After all of this?

Argthaz added, "There was a concern among our investigators that Sarelle was making either a false or an incomplete confession, and that you would still be colluding with another agent within Alftand. But that theory hinges on the notion that you're much more actively guilty than anyone has reason to believe. So it was agreed that we would offer to let you go, but with these conditions as a precautionary measure. Now it's up to you to decide what you want."

"Thank you," he said, although the words didn't feel like they were actually coming out of his mouth. "That's a great offer. Are you sure there's no other… no other catch?"

"No other catch, no. All we really need to do is continue preserving the various secrets of Blackreach. Beyond that, it's for your own good. You don't want to be associated with Sarelle's case. That'd kill your reputation in Alftand more thoroughly than a prison sentence ever could."

Aicantar sighed. "… Yeah. Fair point. All right, I'll agree to all of that."

"Good." The Orc smiled slightly, then leaned back and retrieved something from under his side of the table. A piece of paper, filled with a whole lot of text, plus a quill already filled with ink. "You'll need to sign this so we have some legal record of the agreement. Don't worry, it won't be available for common viewing. Feel free to read it over first."

He slid the piece of paper across the table for Aicantar to examine. There were a few paragraphs of text, with a blank area on the bottom. Looked pretty normal for a legal document. It wasn't like his entire life from now on would be decided by his signature on it, or anything. Just another regular document. Obviously.

Aicantar read over the text as carefully as he could, which at the moment, wasn't really all that careful. He was barely focused. But he did his best to read it from top to bottom anyway. Really, it just looked like a fancy legal text version of what Argthaz had just said to him. No talking about the incident, no leaving Alftand for six months, no returning to Blackreach ever.

That last one was a little sad. He'd never gotten to see that tower Zaryth had made for herself. But on the other hand, he had to remind himself, this was being presented to him as an alternative to a prison sentence. Most people who got in trouble didn't get this lucky. And he'd sure as Oblivion learned his lesson after all this.

He reached out silently for the quill with his manacled hands. Argthaz placed it in his grasp. Then he brought his hands back down, laid the nib of the quill on the blank portion of the paper… and signed it.

That was a lot less dramatic than he'd thought it would be.

But in any case, the deed was done. He let out a slow sigh of… some emotion or other, then dropped the quill beside the paper and leaned back. "There. Anything else I should know about?"

Argthaz shrugged and raised his eyebrows. As he replied, he casually picked up the quill and paper, and put them both back under the table. "That was really it. Your belongings in your room are untouched, and the guards will return the belongings you had on your person. Just head on back down there and… go back to living your life. We're done here."

Then he nodded to one of the guards behind Aicantar's back. The guard promptly came over, grabbed hold of Aicantar's manacles, and unlocked them one after the other.

The Altmer promptly withdrew his hands and gave his wrists a firm rubbing over. He didn't think he'd ever have those metal bands off of him again. Although he hadn't noticed the lack of it when they'd first gone on—he'd had much bigger things to pay attention to during his arrest—he could feel his magicka start to replenish now, even in these first few seconds.

The other guard walked over and opened the doors for him. No grabbing and moving him this time. They were going to let him walk out by himself.

He was really free. Sarelle hadn't managed to ruin his life after all.

How about that.

As he pushed himself up from his seat, he hesitated for a moment. "Hey, uh… Argthaz?"

The Orc raised his eyebrows again. "Mm?"

"I can't do it myself now, obviously, but… could you give J'zargo my thanks? My personal thanks. He just gave me my life back. That doesn't happen every day."

"Of course." Argthaz stood up as well, and nodded solemnly. "I'll make a point of it. I'm confident he'll be pleased to know that things worked out for you."

Aicantar stepped out of the room and glanced around the corridor. The two guards still followed him out, though they still weren't touching him now. One of them said, "If you follow us back to the guardhouse, we can retrieve your things."

"Sounds good," Aicantar replied absently. He was trying to think this whole thing through, and it really wasn't working. First he'd been having a normal good life in Alftand, then he'd been arrested for treason, and now he was free again? Just like that? He didn't even know what to think at this point.

Besides maybe that Sarelle had been very, very bad, and J'zargo was very, very good. But that might have been simplifying it a little too much. He still couldn't tell.

Still, he had his magicka back. So on the way out, he briefly flashed a healing spell, and fixed up his injured lip. The guards didn't even ask what he was doing it for. They probably didn't care that much.

In the guardhouse, there was a whole room full of metal lockers for people's belongings. Aicantar's were in one of those. His personal key, his fifty septims, all of the things he'd had on him at the time of the arrest. He didn't need his clothes back, because they'd never changed him. Which was actually kind of funny, when he thought about it. He always thought prisoners had to wear miserable roughspun rags or something. Maybe that was only for if they got actually convicted. Or maybe in his case, again, they just hadn't really cared.

Aicantar didn't know what to say to any of the guards here, so he just took his things and left without a word. No escort this time. He was on his own.

He was really, really, on his own.

At this time of day, the atrium had plenty of people in it. Aicantar walked out onto the ramp and found himself looking at a big whole crowd of pedestrians all up and down the room. Just like normal. How was everything still just like normal?

No one else in this room had any idea what had happened to him today. That was probably for the best. It would have to be, seeing as he couldn't talk about it anyway.

There was nothing to do but walk the whole way down, from top to bottom. He kept his eyes on the floor in front of him, and put one foot in front of the other, and… just kept going. This was bizarre. Twenty minutes ago, he'd been resigned to the rest of his whole life being forfeit. Now he was walking back down to his room like nothing had happened at all.

He couldn't think about this right now. He had to get somewhere that wasn't full of people.

By the time the Altmer made it to the bottom of the ramp, he was actually feeling a little light-headed. He didn't know why, he wasn't really hungry or anything. But he had to stop and rest against a wall for a second before carrying on. Fortunately, he could at least remember the way back to his room from here, and there weren't as many people in this part of the city, but… oh gods, he felt sick. This wasn't good at all.

Like usual, the rooms were basically empty at this time of day. Aicantar appreciated that. He couldn't describe it, he just knew he desperately needed to get away from everyone right now. Everyone.

When he got to his own room, he found it empty too. His personal key still worked in the chest, and sure enough, his belongings were still inside. He fumbled through them until he got the things he needed, then closed up and carried his things out, and… at some point he lost track of what exactly he was doing, but he ended up in the shower room with his clothes in a pile behind him. Because he just really needed to shower right now.

This felt a little familiar. Aicantar had done this once before. Just like this. He'd been feeling like a mess, he'd come in here, he'd…

The sickness hit him harder than anything ever had. He groaned and fell against the wall, then onto his knees, and he just put his head in his hands and stayed there. Gods, he felt so filthy right now, he was cold and he was filthy and he felt so awful and he couldn't get it to end. He couldn't do it.

This was where he'd ended up. Sarelle was dead. Everything she'd done with him had been just to use him. Maybe it'd even worked. Maybe she'd gotten what she wanted. She'd gotten what she'd wanted out of him, and now he was just discarded, and the only reason he wasn't freezing in a prison cell right now was because someone had stepped in and done something generous for him.

His stomach was all tied up in a knot. He wanted to cry, and it wasn't happening. Well, it was sort of happening. His vision was blurry, he could hardly breathe, he just… there was no escaping this. This was where he'd ended up. Sarelle hadn't ruined his life, but she'd definitely… she'd definitely ruined something.

Eventually, he managed to pull himself up enough to turn on the water, and got himself to sort of kneel underneath it. The hot water ran over him like it always did, rinsed him off like it always did. If there was some kind of symbolic value to cleansing himself right now, he was missing it.

There was a sort of routine he was supposed to go through, with cleaning off and getting groomed and all that sort of thing. He sort of did it, after a while. He could barely focus. He just knew that at some point, he turned the water back off, dried himself with his towel, and got into his new clothes. It didn't even make any difference. His skin was cleaner, his hair was… wetter, and that was it.

As an afterthought, he went back with his soap and brush and razor to go shave, in the side room off the showers, where the basins were. Just the usual routine, like always. Just like it was all normal.

Of course, by this point he'd gotten a couple days' worth of stubble on his face, but it just… it wasn't even that he wanted to get rid of it, he just knew it was part of his daily habit and he wasn't done going through the motions. But his hands weren't steady like they were supposed to be. He nicked himself more than a few times, trying to make it work. Fortunately, he still had healing spells handy. But this was really bothering him. He was feeling so sick, he really was. What was he even supposed to do with himself? Just keep doing this self-maintenance routine every day forever? What did he even have left, now?

He was all alone here in Alftand now. And not just in this room, right this second. He'd wanted to get away from everyone, in coming back here. But he just hadn't really needed anything more than Sarelle. She'd been his world, here in this city. Now she was the worst thing it ever could've given him.

Aicantar rinsed his face off in the basin and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked… whatever he looked like, he didn't look good. It wasn't easy to focus on himself right then.

Maybe he'd been starting to get close to J'zargo, too. But that was pretty well sunk, now. So was any hope of getting to see more of the Black Machine.

Blaz would've been so disappointed in him right now. She'd saved his life in Markarth, for this.

That thought was just too much. He staggered away from the basin, dropped his razor on the floor, and just sat down where he was. His breathing turned to sobbing in an instant. Tears were everywhere, his eyes were hurting so horribly, it was unbearable. And it just wouldn't stop.

He'd had such high hopes for himself, coming here. Now it'd ended up like this.

He didn't know how much time went by. It wasn't like he had a timepiece on him to check. But eventually, he pulled himself back up, wiped his face off again, and collected his things to take back to his room.

If this was what his daily life was going to be like from now on, he wasn't sure he could keep living it.

But this time, when he returned to his room, it wasn't empty. There was another occupant, perched on the near corner of Jenze's bed. He recognized the person in an instant. It didn't make any sense, but he did recognize the person.

He paused right where he was, halfway through the doors. "Rem? What are you doing here?"

The Dunmer shrugged and swung her legs back and forth a little. She was wearing her usual work clothing, but for once, she obviously wasn't working. "I, uh… I heard about Sarelle," she said, quietly, looking down at the floor. "I know you were friends with her, so I wanted to, uh…"

Now it made a little more sense. Aicantar closed the doors behind him. He didn't want to, but he was starting to tear up again right now. He wiped at his eyes with one hand. Tried not to sniff too loudly.

"I'm really sorry," Rem added after a moment. "She really… she really had us all fooled, huh?"

Aicantar turned in her direction, and just tried to think for a second. But he didn't even know what he was thinking. He ended up just sitting down on the corner of his own bed, directly across from Rem. A little more time passed before he could think of what to say to that. "You ever, uh…" He stopped and cleared his throat. "You ever find someone you think is perfect for you in every way, and then it turns out they were lying to you about everything the whole time?"

"No, but I think that happened to that ghost friend of mine," the Dunmer replied thoughtfully. "Pretty soon, the whole city's going to know about this. It's awful. Everyone knew Sarelle. She got me this job position, even."

"I…" Aicantar was still tearing up more. He kept having to stop and try to control that. He wanted to say something about the kind of day he'd been having, where he'd woken up in a prison cell and ended up here, but… even if he'd been legally allowed to, he doubted he could put it into words right then anyway. "I… don't know how someone can even do that. Lie to everybody, day in, day out. I guess she, uh… she sort of… did that to us all, really. I'd say I'm gonna miss her, but…"

Rem just shrugged. "You can say that if you want. I kind of miss her already, and I heard about it all of fifteen minutes ago. It might've been a lie, but you can still miss feeling like it's true."

"You seem pretty, uh… you know… well-composed. For fifteen minutes."

She shrugged again. "Eh. I'll find some service duct to go hide in if I need to let out any feelings later. I think after enough time spent losing people, I just… well, life is going to go on, right? I'm going to keep being a mechanic, and you're going to keep being a mage. It's sad not having Sarelle, but the world can't end every time you lose someone. Kind of a waste."

"I really did like her," Aicantar said. The words just sort of came out on their own. "I don't even know what I'm going to do now. I was working in Blackreach, but that's done, and I'd been planning to go to Sarelle for whatever's next, but…"

"A lot of people relied on her. The whole city's gonna know about this by the end of today. Going by what happened with the Khajiit thief, there'll be some big new security measure to stop it happening again, and people will be tense about it for a while. But then someone will fill in Sarelle's job position, and the Jarl will make sure the new person's not all corrupt. And then life will slowly go back to normal, at least until the next big thing that rocks the boat around here. That's life." She didn't even sound sad about it. It was all so matter-of-fact. Rem's way of thinking was sort of a mystery for him right now, but it was almost sort of enviable.

Aicantar's line of thought paused midway through. "… Aren't we calling him the High King now?"

"Ahh!" Rem snapped her fingers. "Dammit. Right."

When it was all in perspective like this, it was true, it didn't seem like losing Sarelle was all that big. But Aicantar couldn't just pretend this was all in the past for him. He was going to have a lot to go through.

After a few seconds, Rem went on to say, "I don't really know what was going on between you two. But I hope you don't feel like you're all alone now. From what I've seen, that's just about the worst thing that a person can feel."

"Well, that'd be pretty apt right now," Aicantar mumbled. And that was the truth, like it or not. His eyes were dry and sort of stinging, and he still felt that sick feeling in him, and everything was telling him this wasn't over. But there wasn't much he could do but let Rem talk.

But the Dunmer girl didn't say anything. She sat and looked at him for another moment longer, then hopped off Jenze's bed, walked across the room, and got back up at Aicantar's side. The next thing he knew, there was a pair of slender little warm arms holding him around the middle.

Immediately, he was reminded of all the times Sarelle had done this exact thing. But Sarelle wasn't here. Instead, this very young skinny little mechanic was. He had no idea what his feelings were doing right now. But he definitely didn't fight it. This was the first thing all day to feel like it wasn't hurting him somehow.

Something in here smelled like it was burning. Aicantar took a second to realize that that was just him having a Dunmer nearby. Even with them both sitting down, he was something like a head taller than this person. Her hair looked even messier up close.

Eventually, Aicantar put an arm around her too. She was really little. If Aicantar hadn't been an only child, and he'd had a younger sister, and his sister was a Dunmer for some reason, and no one had ever paid for his Dunmer sister to have a proper haircut, he figured it would feel kind of like this right now.

Maybe his thoughts were still in need of catching up. Mostly, he just felt strange.

Hadn't he been in a prison cell this morning? Now he was safe and warm in his room, getting hugged by someone. No wonder he felt strange. His entire world was strange too.

At some point in time, Rem spoke up. She didn't move or anything, she just spoke suddenly. "You're not, you know."

Aicantar blinked. He'd been thinking about something else. "Huh?"

"You're not alone." She still wasn't letting go. It made it impossible to see her face right now. She kept talking. "Things are bad right now, but they'll be all right. So will you."

The Altmer let out a long, slow sigh, and pulled her a little closer. This was a bewildering time for him. He couldn't even remember what had gotten him so upset to begin with. It had all blurred together into some terrible experience he couldn't begin to understand.

Neither of them said anything more. Some more time passed.

Eventually, they let go and leaned back to look at each other. Aicantar was met with a surprising sight. Rem's cheeks were stained wet with tears.

"Oh, no," he said, without even thinking. "Rem…"

She'd been shedding those for Divines knew how long, totally silently, without even changing her pattern of breath. Now she was just looking up at him with big sorrowful eyes.

"I don't like this either," she said shakily, before sniffing and wiping at her face a bit. "Egh. I'm sorry, I don't… I usually don't hug anyone. I didn't expect that. I'm… yeah, I'll be, uh… yeah. I'm fine."

"I guess we all get to have feelings today, huh?" Aicantar smiled just a little bit to her, reassuringly. She did seem to be regaining her composure quickly, at least. "I, uh… I'll be honest, I have no idea what to do now."

"Probably go keep being a mage, right? … Maybe take the day off first? I'm taking the damn day off." The Dunmer leaned forwards and ran her fingers through her hair, front to back. No wonder it was so messy, if she was doing that all the time.

Because, of course, hairstyle was just what mattered in the end. Obviously.

Aicantar took a slow, deep breath in. "You know… I used to be a sort of assistant to my uncle the court wizard, in Markarth. That was what I was doing with my life."

Rem shrugged casually. "Eh. Anything's possible. I used to be a petty thief who was sometimes known for jumping out of burning windows with a live pheasant in her teeth."

"Wait, what?"

"That's how it was the last time I heard it."

Aicantar exhaled sharply in amusement. He couldn't even help it. "I wish I had people telling stories like that about me. I'm not really known for anything at all."

The Dunmer pushed herself back off the bed, and stepped slowly out into the middle of the room, looking at the pipes running above. "Well, you're a competent mage, with a background in study of Dwemer things, and… you're in a Dwemer city. And you don't even have to worry about providing for yourself. Follow your dreams, right?"

"I don't think it's that simple," Aicantar started to say, only to be cut off abruptly.

"Yeah, it is. You know how much we need people with your talents?" She even turned back and stared at him, for added emphasis. "Just as well you're done in Blackreach. Alftand needs—all right, look. Tomorrow, I'll come around, and take you to talk to the other mechanics. I'm not the only one to have this job, there's a good few others. They'd love to hear what you have to say. How about that?"

Everything in Aicantar's day so far had been crazy. Stepping back and looking at this—as much as he could step back, right now—his life had been thrown into incredible risk for a couple days, and then it'd been brought right back to normal. And it'd turned out that the person he'd cared about most had been actually a spy, but… somehow, he was here anyway.

And now this. What was he supposed to say to this? He could still barely think.

He was being presented with a decision. And it was a whole lot bigger than just meeting some mechanics in the city. Whatever he said now was going to influence all his days to come, just like every other twist and turn his life had taken since Markarth. There'd be other opportunities down the road all the same, but if Aicantar had learned anything, any one thing out of his whole journey, it was that he couldn't let his life go to waste. Every day was precious now.

There were so many things he wanted to say to Rem right then. That he wanted to help in Alftand, in any way he could. That he didn't know what he could do for anyone here, despite his own eagerness. That he wasn't sure he could ever make it out from the shadow of Sarelle's memory. That he wished he could forget this whole ordeal, and just start all over again. All of these were entirely true.

But in the end, he only ended up saying one thing. For his life to take its newest turn, this was all he needed.

"All right, sure. Tomorrow it is."