Ko'Haryla

Nevano followed along with Ravenlight; but seemed to have a harder and harder time keeping his steps even. More than once he muttered something in a different language under his breath. Another Khajiit came up beside him and took his arm to help him along. Behind them, others escorted Gyrmallion and his two kin.

Fortunately, the island was small, and it wasn't long before they came to the large, half-ruined buildings. Inside proved vastly less crumbled: they had undertaken secret repairs of the place, turning it into almost a small village inside. It was solid and snug, if much more cramped than it had no doubt been when it was built long ago.

Nevano could barely see it; but he was insanely grateful it felt like he didn't have to go much further. His head was pounding and Nerevar would not stop talking, no matter how many times he tried to quiet him. He couldn't even tell what the old general was saying but it was getting annoying. And feeling annoyed just made his head hurt even worse.

They passed through a few doors until they reached a central area around a large fire pit. There, mounds of cured sea grass formed places for beds around the walls, and a number of children and gray-furred elders huddled around the large fire. They all appeared a little alarmed when the strangers came in, but as more Khajiit escorted them, they relaxed, the kittens even coming up to look at them curiously.

The female who'd noticed how badly Nevano was weaving called three others over in their language. They took one look at his head and bustled about, wreathing him in healing spells, sponging the blood away, and bringing bandages and a poultice for it. Nor were the others ignored. They quickly found that Ravenlight and Nevusa were exhausted but uninjured, and brought them over to fairly private sleeping spots, helping Ravenlight out of her uncomfortable armor-with some difficulty-and bringing them large, stiff leaves with freshly-grilled fish on them.

Gyrmallion and his kin were equally fussed over-especially when a number of the older ones recognized him the second he came in, half carrying his cousin and the man's daughter. The walk through the island had not been particularly kind to their bare feet.

Nevano hadn't been allowed to sleep just yet, exhausted though he was. Head injury, someone had said. Not yet, Nerevar whispered in his other ear. He waited for everything to settle down, sitting against a support beam. He still didn't know what Nerevar wanted, but he was willing to bet it had to do with Gyrmallion. The girl and her father desperately needed attention. He could wait.

By luck, design, or both, the cot they settled Gyrmallion onto was right next to Nevano's. They helped him out of his armor, many of them exclaiming over its strange design, and brought him a simple pair of trousers to wear while they cleaned the blood off the gleaming metal and dragonscales. Across from them, Nevusa and Ravenlight flopped down, exhausted, and doing their best to eat before falling asleep. Gyrmallion sighed, his face drawn, and leaned back against a pillar himself. He glanced over at Nevano.

"Are you all right? Your head looked bad."

Nevano nodded, though he instantly regretted that. "She was too scared to let go. Can't say I blame her."

Gyrmallion sighed. "I haven't really had the chance to find out what happened to them...but they both looked..." He shook his head. "Where did you find them?"

Nevano sighed. "The girl was on the ship. She...they wanted her as..." He stopped. "Your cousin, you said? He was strung up over a conjuration circle. Bled slow. Allowed portals to open and close over and over. Let in a few daedra at a time."

Gyrmallion's fist clenched. "I-gods."

"I think your cousin can share a bit more on how this all happened." Nevano said. "He mentioned he went along to save his daughter. No matter how many times I hear that, the end rarely changes. Dragon and I got him down. I snuck on the ship. Didn't want to fight my way out and scare her worse but she was already at that point. Just...took the hit so I didn't fall with her on top. Just grabbed her and ran. Let Krii destroy a ship. Made him happy that way."

Gyrmallion sighed, closing his eyes. "They probably had the blade at her throat when he agreed to cooperate, and he knew he couldn't fight to protect her. Kalaanir's no warrior; never was. He's a glassmaker. No small skill in Conjuration, either, but...he only called up harmless, little things that would...like animating his sculptures." He swallowed. "He didn't mention anyone else on the ship?"

"I just remember a too long name pulling the string. Ram-whatever." Nevano said tiredly.

A flash of raw hatred blazed across Gyrmallion's face at that name. "One way or another, this will end with him dead," he said savagely. "That bastard has..." He couldn't finish, looking instead over to where the Khajiit tended to his kin.

"Not much we can do about him now." Nevano said. "We disrupted this. Not exactly a good day."

"For anyone," Gyrmallion agreed, looking around. "Though...it could have been worse. They never got in here. The children, the greyfurs; they're safe. As are..." His voice trailed off, and he looked, not toward his cousin, but at a different point of the room, where three people had just entered: dressed like the Khajiit around them, but certainly not Khajiit. One was the young man they'd caught earlier. The other two were women, one perhaps in her mid-fifties, the other about the same age as the man.

"They're okay. Good." Nevano said, squinting a bit as he had to look by the light of the fire.

Gyrmallion nodded, relaxing for the first time since they had started out.

Nevano leaned back again. "Nerevar is restless. I don't know why."

He glanced over at him, a slight frown on his face. "Is there...some way to find out?"

"He's been a bloody pest since I got hit in the head." Nevano said. "But won't come out and say it."

"Is there some way..." He hesitated, "I can talk to him?"

"Might not get anything coherent. It'll knock me out." Nevano said.

A half-smile tugged at the Altmer's lips. "You look like you could use the sleep," he joked weakly.

"I can assure you, as soon as I'm allowed, I'm sleeping this headache off." Nevano said, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. "Then...the Ethos Knife. Nerevar could be going on because of that. It actually reminds me of when I got the pieces to Trueflame." Nevano said. "He chattered nonstop then too."

"That could easily be it." Gyrmallion sighed. "I'm...almost not looking forward to asking them about it. They've kept it safe for...centuries, if not far longer."

"Especially since Nerevar wishes to speak with them directly." Nevano sighed. "He's gathering strength for it. He's a bit determined."

"That might make a difference," he said, his face lightening a little. "Supposedly, their tribe took it from the Red Mountain; I don't know how long after the Battle it was, but...I do believe they know what it is."

"He's eager to meet them. The only race Nerevar wasn't fully fond of was Nords and even that is more mild annoyance." Nevano smiled a bit. "He's a bit like a puppy in that regard. Likes everyone. And you should hear him protesting in my head over that."

Gyrmallion laughed a little. "Drelasa told me he was the...exception for his time. A peacemaker, rather than a warmonger. And that what happened at the Red Mountain...hurt him more than they said, but still didn't give him more than a hatred for the Tribunal."

"That's accurate." Nevano nodded. "I think he hates the Tribunal less because they killed him and more how they led his people astray. Except Almalexia. He was married to her. Then she killed him and went to Vivec. That's...harsh."

"Yes." He grimaced. "I...yes, that would be...more than painful. Especially considering who else Vivec shared his bed with."

"He lost his, well, actually, my mind when I saw Almalexia for the first time." Nevano frowned. "Nearly got me killed."

"Considering the way I'm probably going to react when we finally confront the High Council, I can sympathize in advance." Gyrmallion's face darkened. "Rumalashorn might be working alone. But...to promise our entire race to Molag Bal?!"

"Ah, as to that..." Nevano twisted his jaw. "Is he the sort to consider only Thalmor as Altmer? That anyone who defies the Thalmor...do not get to be called Altmer?"

"Considering what he did to my family, possibly."

"Then you have a loophole."

He nodded slowly. "There...is that."

"If you aren't considered an Altmer..."

"Then we can't be said to be promised to him." Gyrmallion nodded. "That alone might make becoming Chii Chare more appealing."

"Exactly." Nevano smiled. "See? Your deviant Dunmer cousins know a thing or two."

"After what I've just seen my Altmer kin do, Dunmer don't look quite so deviant." He tried to smile; it didn't come out particularly well.

"That's only because you know my family." Nevano said. "We know how to not be so...Dunmer."

"So...what's the worst thing the Dunmer have done...in the past few centuries?"

"We blew a volcano up on ourselves." Nevano pointed out. "And pissed off a rather mean force of really big lizards in the south. Between the two, we've managed to hush ourselves pretty handily. How many volcanoes are on Summerset? Might be helpful."

"Well...no volcanoes," he admitted. "But your kin only angered the Argonians. My kind has rather efficiently infuriated the entire world."

"We've managed to get Cyrodiil and the Thalmor hating us right back." Nevano grinned. "We did eat their cavalry. Nords are weird neighbors at best. You win first place but we're a good second. Apple didn't go too far from the tree."

"True." He smiled again, a real one, this time.

"We are, after all, cursed high elves." Nevano snapped his fingers. "Maybe after all this, you'll get turned a different color. Seems to be the thing. Run away from home, get a new look."

"I'd...honestly like to reclaim Summeset, to be honest. It's...beautiful. If I could, I'd...like to show you."

"It's on my 'places I'd like to visit' list." Nevano admitted.

"Well...once we get rid of the High Council, and it's safe again...maybe you can." He smiled, looking up as the Imperial woman noticed him and started walking toward them.

"Serana will be thrilled." Nevano glanced up. "Is that her?"

"Yes." Gyrmallion stood and bowed as she came up. "Nevano, may I introduce Ahmetia Mede, daughter of Titus Mede II. Ahmetia, this is Nevano, the Champion of Morrowind, the Nerevarine."

Nevano tried to stand but before he could get fully to his feet, his head spun and sent him backwards. "I think...I have to give a...less formal greeting..."

"It's perfectly all right," she said kindly. "I haven't exactly been standing on ceremony for a while. And I can see you're injured." She smiled at Gyrmallion. "It's...good to see you again, odd as that may sound."

Nevano sagged back, not trusting his mouth to work correctly. For once he chose to just listen.

"It does...sound a little odd," he admitted, "considering the circumstances we met under. But...it went better than it could have, certainly."

She laughed. "There's truth to that." Then she sobered. "What brings you here? We never exactly agreed to find out how it would be safe to return. Is it...time?"

Gyrmallion sighed. "I don't know if it's truly safe yet. But...well, we've just discovered that the island is no longer truly safe, so...we might as well bring you and your children home."

Nevano was glad she was calm about this and not a hysterical mess. Given the carnage outside, it wouldn't have been much of a stretch to get that way.

"How bad was it?" She looked grave. "I know...no, I knew it could have ended as badly as...before. Or worse, really. But I just heard the noise; I couldn't tell what it was."

It was probably a good thing he was keeping his mouth shut to try and keep his belly in place. Several sarcastic remarks danced on his tongue. She didn't deserve those though. That was the headache talking.

"It was...bad. Worse than...worse than what happened when we first met." Gyrmallion sighed. "They...were calling up Daedra. My cousin...they were bleeding him to keep fueling a conjuration ring." He shook his head. "There was something out there, a Daedra I've never seen before, leading them."

"Xivkyn." The word Nevano had never heard before, let alone uttered, escaped past his lips before he realized it. Annoyed, he made sure to do whatever he could to make Nerevar feel the surge of nausea that came with being forced to speak. The jerk.

"Xivkyn?" Gyrmallion glanced over at him, then frowned. "You're...getting extremely pale. Were you hit somewhere other than the head?"

Nevano simply held up his right hand, showing him Moon-and-Star, hoping he'd get it.

"I understand Nerevar's speaking, but...you're turning far more white than gray. Does it normally affect you this much?" Gyrmallion knelt down beside him, reaching out to touch his forehead. Then his eyes widened. "You're starting to feel cold. Don't move, I'm going to fetch Ko'Haryla." He rose and moved away quickly.

Don't move, he had said. That was a good one. Not even another Titan could get him to move, at this point. He didn't like this feeling though. He tried to think of Serana instead. He wished she had come along too.

Ahmetia picked up a blanket and covered him with it. "Don't worry," she said, in a soothing tone that she'd probably used for her own children when they were sick or hurt. "There almost isn't an ailment Ko'Haryla can't cure. Rest; don't be afraid."

She'd get along with Drelasa. Ravenlight would like her too. There certainly were a lot of women skilled in healing on this adventure. Thank the gods, none of them were armed with trama root tea. His stomach lurched at the thought. Change thoughts! He squeezed his eyes shut and tried hard to imagine Serana instead.

A moment later, he heard the faint thumping of a staff, slightly labored breathing, and a fair amount of jingling and rattling. He cracked his eyes open to see an ancient Khajiit female, gaunt and bent, her fur thinning with age, come toward him. She leaned on a staff of twisted driftwood; both it and she were decorated with thongs strung with bird and fish bones, shells, and unusually-shaped stones with holes bored through them.

"So," she said in a cracked voice. "Nevano-Nerevar reborn has come to us. It was spoken that someday he would return; this one never imagined it would be in her day. Or that he would be in such a state." She knelt slowly, her knees cracking loudly as she did. "Let an old shaman see what you've done to yourself, eh?" She stretched out her hand over him as it began to glow with an odd light: not quite the golden of a healing spell, but neither as blue as Detect Life. It was somehow between the two, without going green.

He shivered. For a brief moment he felt split in two. Half the more familiar feel of himself and the other...not him. He assumed that was Nerevar. He had never felt him before. They were always...separate. Like a wall in his mind kept them from being too fully intertwined. This felt like the wall had been stripped away. And Nerevar was deeply worried.

"Didn't move. At all." His lips ignored his command to stay still.

"Good! Well. You've a cracked skull to start with; a belly too empty to try to repair it; and that fretting is not helping matters along. Yes, this one knows how bad it is, old King; knew it even before the wards our friend set were warped to keep him from feeling the attack or stopping it, knew it before they strung up that poor soul to bring the hordes of the Dominator to the world. And don't worry. We're not that foolish count: we don't have much to give, but what we have, we'll give it. Now." She raised her hand to his head, pouring healing magic into it. "First, let's get your skull mended. Ahmetia, dear, he's going to need one of our brews; the one for a delicate tummy. Be a dear and fetch it, hmm?"

"Yes, Ko'Haryla." The Emperor's daughter hopped to her feet and headed off instantly.

Nevano wanted to smile. She felt so much like Drelasa...or Drelasa in another two hundred years. It was comforting. Very comforting. Enough so he felt some tension bleeding away. It was enough to give Nerevar some space to take over a bit. He couldn't bring himself to care much though. The pain in his head was easing.

"Ah," she continued, "and the old King seems to have something to say, then? Well. Let this one make sure your head is intact enough to do so first; and be ready to stop once Ahmetia returns." She cackled. "This brew is one best drunk hot."

"Never. Shuts. Up." Nevano took control enough to push the words out. Affectionate annoyance resonated through him.

"Much like hearing a god, no? Heh." She continued to stroke his forehead. "And who do you wish to speak to, old King? This old shaman, or the Transformed One who led you here?"

"Both." Nevano groaned. Too much, too strong.

Ko'Haryla turned and called. "Gyrmallion! He wants to talk with you." She glanced back at Nevano and eased her healing spell slightly. "Hmm. Perhaps we should wait until..." Footsteps sounded, and Ahmetia returned, a steaming cup of something in her hand. "Ah. Just in time, dear. You'll just want to sip at it, old King; it'll steady you in the middle."

Nevano balked at it. Despite Nerevar trying to reassure him, the thought of anything in his stomach was...unappealing. There was a brief fight for control, one that made him twitch a few times. Alarming to anyone just walking in.

"Come on," Ahmetia soothed, lifting his head. "I promise, this won't make you feel sicker. It's light. And it even tastes good. Come on, just a few sips at first."

Gyrmallion knelt beside him, glancing at Ko'Haryla with naked fear in his eyes. "Is he..."

"Fighting with himself." The shaman cracked a nearly toothless smile. "Not time for him to die yet, by any means. Certainly not with who's waiting for him back home. Don't be stubborn, silly boy. Drink up."

Nevano quickly found himself at a disadvantage. Nerevar had been gathering his energy over the past day while Nevano had been using it up. It ended when he felt like something heavy was holding him down. Several colorful curses came to mind but he didn't have enough control to let them loose. Fortunately. Nerevar followed the shaman's directions and, when his stomach finally settled where it belonged, sent a far too smug 'see?'

"Stubborn." He said.

The shaman cackled again. "Who were you talking to, there? Feeling better?"

"Nei, juohn." Eyes flashed gold.

"Good." She let up. "Well then. Ko'Haryla is glad to truly meet you, old King. What's fretting you so much, then?"

"Short time, unfortunately." He said. "Not enough arcaresh. Cursed child. Not seen yet."

Gyrmallion went white; but the shaman held up a hand and closed her eyes. "Ah. That is...because it did not come here. They struck here; the other one did not truly lie. But the next went back to the same place as before. Foolish thing. Ebonarm was ready for it that time. "

"He...will be strong." Nerevar said. "Put Boethiah on her heels. For now. Eighty three left. Too few can fight back."

"The Daughter of Akatosh was right in her assessment; as were you. The Knife shall go to you. Between the knife and the Aedra, more can be readied to fight."

Gyrmallion blinked. "I...hadn't even asked about the knife. How did you..."

"Silly boy." Ko'Haryla smiled at him fondly. "The shamans have always known Nerevar Indoril would return for the lost, cursed knife. To make its usage pure again. We also knew it would be a dark time that brought him. Ko'Haryla did not want it to be in her time, but..." She shrugged thin shoulders. "It is not for us to decide when prophecy is fulfilled. Nerevar is here; and the times are dark. The Knife shall return with you." She sighed, looking at Ahmetia. "As, this one fears, will the Heart of the Empire. It will be emptier here without you and yours, dear."

"Cursed...with blood of child and brother. Twice cursed blade. Don't want thrice on you." Nerevar said. "It will fight. Put wrongs to right. Then it will be returned, should you wish. And the living Heart...free to return as she pleases."

The shaman nodded. "It...will be good for it to come back here. We have guarded it for so long; without it...Ko'haryla does not know what we would do."

"I...am sorry." Nevano felt his body twitch at Nerevar's intense grief and regret. "A burden I created. Passed to you. A dark, dark day. It still is felt. So many years later." A single tear slid down his face.

She reached out and wiped away the tear. "Perhaps you created it; perhaps not. But not passed to us. We took it up, willingly, that sad day; to keep it from causing more grief, more pain. There are many dark days still felt; but you have the chance now to make many bright ones. Perhaps you cannot undo the day at the Red Tower; but you can now ensure there is not another one at Ada-Mantia."

"Both of us. Anything." Nerevar promised.

She patted his face; then turned to Gyrmallion and repeated the gesture. "And you too. Now, both of you: get some rest. Tomorrow, you must take the Knife and the Heart and return to the land of ice. After that...White-Gold awaits." She rose, grimacing as her knees popped and cracked again, and hobbled away, supported by Ahmetia.

Nerevar retreated, the weight lifting off Nevano. It was not fully pleasant. Exhaustion from the both of them crashed on him like a wave. He tried to say something to Gyrmallion, what he wasn't sure, but his eyes shut of their own accord.