Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, etc. Stories might not be in chronological order.


Into The Briarpatch, p.3

"If you think anyone is sane, you just don't know enough about them." Christopher Moore, Practical Demonkeeping

"Did I do anything last night that suggested I was sane?" Terry Pratchett, Going Postal

...

He wondered if Dana, his secretary, would stay when the rooms opposite of hers was converted to a nursery suite where his child and its nurse would stay. If not, he could have a third floor built for her onto the building he owned where he housed his apprentices.

He nuzzled the back of his wife's neck, and his hand did small circles beneath her breasts and over the gentle swell of what he imagined was their babe's head — or back or bottom. At this stage, who knew what position the babe curled in. He slipped his leg between hers, turning his leg ever so slightly so it took the weight of her upper leg, opening them up, straightening her hip out and easing her back against him. She sighed and he could feel her back relaxing. He reached over her, bunched up a part of the blanket and tucked it under her belly to support the babe's extra weight.

She was a warrior woman used to always being in motion, always moving onto the next fight. And she was the young and restless type that had to see the world, so it was a strain on her spirit being obliged to stay in one place, to minimize her exertions so that her stomach muscles could relax and stretch out so that the babe wasn't strangled, had room to grow. Her sense of balance was off, her stomach got upset too easily, and her skin got dry in places and itched constantly. But it didn't stop there to her horror, it was realizing that she was also being deprived of her emotional control, this unwilling descent into moodiness and irrationality no one had warned her about.

According to Remarasi, long-time family steward and wet-nurse to both Taliesin and Helsette, it had been the same with General Inanna; the woman had been an absolute shrew during both her pregnancies. Helsette was looking to follow the same pattern.

Everyone hoped that, like her mother, she would quickly snap back to normal once the babe was born, her body healed, and the body-and-mind-altering drugs of gravid motherhood ceased flowing in her blood.

An added danger, though, with her being Dragonborn. Her shouting leaked power even when she wasn't speaking Dovah. Remarasi and two other servants brought in from Cheydinhal were all veteran family retainers and could be trusted to keep quiet about and cover for their young mistress's annoying ability to shatter objects with her voice. They also knew enough magic to throw up shields of sufficient strength to block the stray whips of power, like experienced soldiers shifting their shields to block rocks during small riots.

A second level with a rooftop garden had been added onto the original Goldenglow manor for the owners' private living area. Flora had generously given it over to Helsette and her attendants and moved into guest quarters within the main manor. It was quieter and safer. Not just because of the Dovah-type shouting, but it was also safer to be out of the area while Mage-Lord Baladas was there giving her instruction in magic. Heavy objects, fireballs, ice fragments often flew about when two ill-tempered Telvanni masters discussed magic.

Eventually, Revyn eased out of bed, tucked a few cushions about his wife's body to support her, threw on a light robe, and went outside to the garden where a servant had set up breakfast, which Baladas was already helping himself to. Revyn started loading a plate that he would take inside to feed to his wife.

"How goes the training?" he asked.

"While it's normally not advisable for a powerful Telvanni woman to ply her magic while she carries, it can be done if proper precautions are taken. It does, however, cause exhaustion and can exacerbate pregnancy discomfort. I'm surprised you can get any sleep with how restless she gets. Or that you've kept her asleep this long. Usually, she's already up and ready to fight with me."

Revyn shrugged. "I don't mind. It only takes a few minutes to soothe her back to sleep."

"Only for you, then. Remarasi or whoever has night duty is usually exhausted come morning." Revyn shrugged again. He saw it as a foreshadowing of weeks, even months to come when the babe would be home in Windhelm.

"Have you considered when you would be ready to teach Taliesin magic?"

"I can start when I am done here. Hopefully, he is not as volatile as his sister."

"Well, she is the one pregnant," mumured Revyn, smiling.

"And he's too nervy from whatever he experienced in Clockwork. But now the Archimage. She's progressing well enough, all things considered. A woman's volatility of power during pregnancy usually indicates either the potential power of the child or the truth of the mother's mastery. Helsette thus far is more raw power than fine-tuned control. The child has promising echoes, even undeveloped as it is at this stage. But I am sure she will have mastered what she needs to before the third trimester when she should absolutely not practice magic. The babe needs that grace of stability as its brain livens in preparation to being born.

"You should try to arrange being closer at hand during that time since you seem successful at keeping her calm," said Baladas. "And if there's a dragon soul in the child, that is probably the best time to make sure the Ancestors are prepared to accept another one. Which makes me curious — though you are not obliged to answer this — how did your Ancestors accept the dragon that is Helsette?"

"With a great deal of confusion. The Imperial line is more accepting, but they do not talk to me about it."

"Not Septim," stated Baladas. "I've talked to the Nerevarine who has had time to look into this. He is convinced the Felix had a bastard of one of the Alessian emperors, the dragonborns before the Septims. Likely they kept it a secret from the Alessians, which would explain why they weren't purged by the snakes. No way to prove it as any such record would be lost during the Warp, when whole populations in Cyrodiil either vanished or were removed to other locations. Talos or Shor or Lorkhan — whatever his incarnation — continues to be the fox devastating the flock."

"Well, speaking of peckish hens," said Revyn. "I will now go feed my wife."

Later that day, while his wife as at her lessons with Baladas, Revyn attended mid-afternoon tea with Lady Inelisi, the Dunmer matriarch of Clan Felix. He was surprised and anxious as he noticed this was a large attendance of Felix mates. Mostly women, but three other men, including Farkas.

They resettled in their groups on couches, chairs, or large cushions on the floor. Revyn found himself ushered to a couch nearly central in the room and opposite another couch where the matriarch sat. Aside from himself, his couch companions and her couch companions were all the senior women of the family. He said a quick prayer to his Ancestors as he prepared for interrogation.

"Bless and be blessed, Revyn Sadi. It is good to be able to talk face-to-face. Horace speaks well of you, and you've made quite an impression on my daughter. Quite an impression on many people."

Inelisi Faro Ra'athim Felix was ancient but retained the shadow of beauty. Looking at her, he could see the faint luminosity of the moonpath and glimpsed the protective shadows in the room that watched over her. This was her last decade. He bowed his head in respect. "Bless and be blessed. A true honor to meet you at last, serjo. Ancestors look kindly upon our meeting."

"And Ancestors favor the plans we make today," she replied, smiling. "So, explain to me your understanding of this Dragonborn prophecy, and your plans to enable our Helsette to win against this arrogant, impudent child of Auri-El."

Looking into her wise eyes, feeling the comforting support of everyone around him, he found it easy to spill his plans and worries.

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

The meeting broke up an hour before dinner service. Revyn was quickly cornered by the other three men.

"Glad ta finally meetcha," said a middle-aged Imperial, holding is hand out to Revyn. "Ambrose Cornelius. M'woman be Angela Scipio Felix, lead import clerk ta Anvil's harbor. I be the captain of the Dawn Wind, and sail the lines along Cyrodiil and Hammerfell. Been looking forward to meet, Ser Revyn. I been telling Farkas here it be no slight to worth or honor to join this hen club. We be here 'cuz our mates be topside running the storms and need us belowdeck, shifting the load, to make safe harbor."

Revyn had no idea where in the Empire that accent came from, but it was clear enough. "And what does your wife do at the Port of Anvil?"

"Lead harbor clerk. Commands her own crew that be logging in ships, cargoes, papers, and taking port fees. And be logging the Dominion spies and be making sure they don't be clashing with the Penitus Oculatus spies. And she watches the games of rivalry companies …" He shrugged. "Knowing such politics, I worry every time I sail out that some new, cleverer spy will realize that her pretty, always-seems-distracted smile hides a very sharp and tidy mind and decide she be too dangerous."

Revyn nodded his understanding. "And your wife is here also?"

"Aye."

"And what brings you both so far from home, if I may ask? Surely not just my wife's pregnancy or the crowning of a distant king in a land you've never heard of."

"Aye, you're a sharp-eyed one. I'm here ta talk to the sea mer yer hostin' here. See, lately, I be recruiting desperate sailors with a grudge against the Dominion, and who be willing to run a ship in and out of Summerset," Ambrose answered in deceptively casual tones. "I be also overseeing the overhaul of an old smuggler ship. Small, fast build, with a lot of magic being set to its beams and sails by an Altmer mage, ex-naval veteran, willing to trade his life, skills, and secrets of Summerset naval security and tactics if we also rescue his family."

"Ambitious," Revyn murmured. He looked to a wiry Imperial who'd just joined them. He looked to be in his 30s.

"Alessandro Roberto," the newcomer said. "My wife is Etrude Aquila. The Aquilas are a warehouse family that does a lot of business with the Felix and her paternal great aunt is the one who married Hilarius Felix. My mother-in-law, however, decided to do something different and started the Gold Coast Watch. We cover primarily cover trades, investments, finances, and laws and events that affect trade. Our distributions doesn't cover much outside of our area, but it's growing. Most of my family were traditionally scribes and bookmakers when Aquila convinced us to try the newspaper business.

"I am the senior editor of the forecasting articles. My section covers interesting, oh, inventions, practices, people and places to watch. My wife is intensely curious about such things and prolific in her inquiries and her writings. Unfortunately, she gathers so much information that only about half make it to print." He smiled wryly. "The rest may get released in heavily edited versions at later dates as fillers."

"Edited?" asked Revyn, acknowledging the hint and returning it.

"Confidentiality sticking points such as names, sources, timetables, dangerous places best left unknown — the sort of things that can get my wife killed for knowing too much, of figuring out financial and trade secrets or questionable methods and practices that weren't supposed to be exposed. The latter, we occasionally do handle, but only when we're sure we can protect ourselves."

"Ah," said Revyn. "I don't suppose you have any copies you might have brought with you? I've never seen any financial publications in Skyrim. It might be an opportunity."

"Not any pristine copies, sorry. I believed we used some to wrap the Hammerfell Rainbow spike fish we brought. I can try to find you a relatively clean page."

"Yes, please, I would like that."

"Fair warning. We would like to do some articles about Winterhold's innovative inventions; also, general speculations how the division of Skyrim may affect even our distant market on the Gold Coast, if at all."

"Of course."

Revy looked at Farkas and smiled encouragingly at him. "This is my first time experiencing this also," he confessed.

"Amalie was happy I'd been invited," Farkas mumbled. It was pitiful seeing such a normally easygoing, confident warrior hunched and uncertain. It reminded Revyn of when Farkas had needed his help to prepare a speech before Jarl Balgruuf and his court about the Silver Hand invasion into Whiterun and their assault upon Jorrvaskr.

"She's happy you're being acknowledged as a vital part of the family, is that not so?" he asked the other two men.

"Aye," rumbled Ambrose. "What you be hearing here is all confidential. Our mates be up front, taking the obvious risks. We be here to support each other as we work in the background."

"More than just words of encouragement," added Alessandro. "We're all doing our own projects, taking our own risks. Most of us work behind the scenes, and some, like you, work in front and draw all the attention. That is the role of Companion, is it not? All eyes are on the warrior. No one is supposed to notice the girl behind the lines carrying the water bucket. Or wine jug in Amalie's case, as she pours out the libations and collects from her tipsy patrons their drunken secrets and tidbits."

Farkas tilted his head as he thought about it, then slowly smiled. "I can do that." He looked at Revyn. "I'll need your help when I try to explain all this to Vilkas. It's like that chess game Amalie's teaching me. I'll need Vilkas to be my queen piece if I'm going to take over as Harbinger from Nicky once it's announced that he's going to be the next Emperor.

"You think that will keep all the attention off of my wife?"

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

"Revive the House of Mora?"

That wasn't the answer he had expected. This was a second afternoon tea council, but this time it included frontline members like his wife. One problem they discussed today was exiled House Hlaalu's determination to promote him to kinlord of House Sadri and to a place on the Hlaalu Council.

The only non-senior member present was a young Flavia Romano, a cousin of Nicholas Sr.'s wife, Octavia Romano. The child had a strange fascination with Dunmer history, likely stemming from her adoration of Uncle Wolf, the Nerevarine.

"It makes sense, and it's quite funny if you think about it," she insisted. "Mora being the Aldmeris and Chimer word for Forest. Mora. Morag. Forest. Forresters. Sadrith Mora, the mushroom forest. Morag Tong, the clan of forresters. Hermaeus Mora, the Woodland Man. Lord Nerevar was born to House Mora, was considered an outlander before he was adopted by the Indoril. Our House Ra'athim used to belong to House Mora until the House dissolved some time in the First Era, then Ra'athim joined House Hlaalu. House Mora was known to have outlander bloodlines in its foundation.

"And this new city. It's got Hlaalu exiles, other unaffiliated of Morrowind, and over half are Dunmer born in Skyrim. And Hlaalu really can't even technically be of Hlaalu anymore. House Sadras and all its clans hold Lake Hlaalu and all its territories.

"And think on this. Atmora. Mora. Skyrim Dunmer. Resurrecting House Mora is to acknowledge and take pride in its diversity. Plant something like Whiterun's Gildergreen within the town center and grow a Telvanni mushroom tower for government offices. The Skyrim born Dunmer have nothing, absolutely nothing to be ashamed about. House Mora, the House of Nerevar, the House of the Dragonborn, rises again. The rest of the Houses have to acknowledge this if there's going to be any future."

Revyn stared at her in astonishment, utterly speechless. He glanced at the other elders. Matriarch Inelisi Faro of House Ra'athim seemed amused. Nicholas looked resigned, Octavia looked proud. Horace was nodding agreement. Helsette looked ill, but it was probably because the sweetroll she was nibbling on was suddenly disagreeing with her.

"It can't be that easy. Just declare a new House?" said Revyn. "What clan or clans are its foundation?"

"House Sadri, as your condition to accept clan leadership," said the Matriarch. "I cannot speak for Ra'athim. But the current head, Taredase Davrian, will come to Cheydinhal if I ask him to, and we can begin working on him."

"Clan Felix will join," pronounced Horace, and Nicholas nodded agreement.

"Husband, if you're going to start a house, you'll need to establish our new, unnamed town is officially Dunmer territory. You're going to have to push for thanedom in Eastmarch."

"Oh, oh, this is madness," said Revyn. "Why would I want to be part of this insanity?"

"Well," said Helsette, breaking the silence after those words, "It'll give me something to do after I kill Alduin. Conquering Morrowind and unifying all the Houses and tribes would be the work of a lifetime and a challenge equal to the Ruby Throne. Of course, it's up to Morrowind if they're up to the challenge. Once it comes out that the Dragonborn is not a Nord but a mask-wearing Dunmer, and that the Nerevarine has come out of seclusion …"

"This will also be a battle of ideologies, of faiths," said the Matriarch. "The Dunmer turned to the Almsivi because we were tired of the games of the Daedra. But our mortals-turned-gods could not bear the burden once they knew the true weight of it. The Reclamations seek to return to the Daedra. But the Daedra, being what they are, have not changed in eons. Their games remain the same. Severus knows this, and he has confessed to me even his soul, Nerevar, now rebels against a return to the old ways before the Almsivi.

"Know that one of the voices that spoke through you, Revyn, was that of Sotha Sil. His deteriorating soul remains bound in Clockwork. The Daedra had foreseen what was to happen, and he was given this bitter knowledge as he negotiated the terms of rule and souls between them and the self-made gods. His heart broke, and he withdrew with each failure to negate the future the Daedra had seen until he was only a machine enhanced shadow. He spoke of the new House and that it must bring new gods to Morrowind to offset the dominance of the Daedra. The disavowed god of Atmora, Jhunal, is but the first. As he rules in Hermaeus Mora's place, he is an honorary Daedra. With Clan Felix comes Akatosh and Zenithar. Our Princes cannot be allowed to have full control of the Dunmer as they did the Chimer. The reborn lord of the Dwemer, also to be brought into the new House of Mora, will have his own teachings of faith.

"No reason to panic," she said soothingly, reading Revyn's body as he shrank in on himself. "House Mora will be accepted. We will come as a small House, not one of the great ones … yet. They can't refuse the Dragonborn. House Redoran and House Telvanni are obliged to support her ambition, for pride if nothing else. I imagine House Sadras, or at least Clan Dareano of Sadras, will vote to support. And I believe we can persuade Count Indarys to support our proclamation."

"House of Outlanders and Heretics," sighed Revyn, bowing his head for the weariness and headaches this was to bring.

"So?" challenged Helsette. "It's time the Dunmer of Morrowind pull their heads out of the ash that being Dunmer is in the heart, not the place of birth. Uncle Wolf is finally ready to crack some heads as he declares that parts of the old prophecies are just plain wrong about him. Look, husband," she said, her voice softening, "I know you're dreading the arguments you're going to have with the Ancestors. All your family in Moonshadow. Hard to agree when you've got Azura seeing and hearing everything. But the doors have been open a long time. Morrowind may still be fussy about their borders, but they can't erase the taint of foreign ideas. I know I sound like an apologist for the Almsivi. But in the early centuries, they were the compassion and understanding that brought peace to the warring clans. They promoted Nerevar's dream of unity and nationalistic pride that said we were better than just being Boethiah's pit dogs. Yes, it soured. Maybe they were too sympathetic to old habits, not ready to yet challenged the universal arrogance and slavery habit —"

"Anticipations," chirped Flavia. "Azura told Sotha Sil what was going to happen. He couldn't handle the truth behind the mysteries. Almalexia was of the Erbanimsum and closest in nature to Boethiah, but she had the flaw of mortal motherhood, and she couldn't face the truth that her children died and discovered the horrible truth that their mother goddess had no place for them; she had lied to them. Soon, all the love she felt from the living was not enough to cover the betrayed wails from the void. Vivec the Poet was naturally inclined to be enamored of shadows and the play of words and ironies of life, but he was a better playwrite than actor. And, all analogies aside, a web is a hunting tool, nothing more. A sticky string a spider pulls out of its rear end. For the Almsivi, the reality hadn't been as good as the anticipation."

"Flavia, dear child, I don't suppose you would consent to an extended visit with me?" asked Revyn. He looked at the other adults. "I can't argue two fronts. Politics, yes. Religion, no."

"Don't worry too much, Cousin Revyn," said Flavia, coming over to him to grasp his hands. "I'm going to Winterhold to meet with Joric." She produced a folded letter from a belt purse. "A courier came late yesterday with a letter from him. He says he's eager to meet me when I get there. He says the new priest of Jhunal should meet with the future priestess of Zenithar so's we can hammer out a lot of details." She giggled. "He's got a wicked sense of humor, this Joric. I'm sure I'm going to like him."

"Ah. I see it's out of my hands."

She patted them. "Yes, cousin. This is Gods' work."

He nodded, resigned. "But, you aren't just going to Winterhold to meet him, are you?"

"Oh, no. Master Tolfdir is one of the leading masters of Alterations. Zenithar told me Alternations is just another crafter's tool for shaping the world, so it's my duty to understand the nature of that tool. And the reborn Dwemer Lord has knowledge that needs to be learned and added to our scripture guidebooks."

"Zenithar told you," he repeated and shook his head again. "The gods are getting very talkative lately." Something else she said nudged at him. "'Reborn Dwemer Lord?' Who is this you talk of?"

"Oh, Zenithar told me the Owl God, in his wanderings beyond the Void, found the ancient king that was lost when the anchor stone of the Red Tower was banished. He brought the king back so that Uncle Wolf might find strength and comfort as he returns again to Morrowind."

"Oh, you mean Master Curtis. A reborn Dwemer king. Does he know that?"

She shrugged. "Like Uncle Wolf, he is what he is whether he likes it or not. Once he accepts that, he'll be much happier."

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

After that very long day, Revyn cuddled tight against his wife's back, mentally and emotionally exhausted and vaguely irritated that he suddenly found it so hard to sleep. He didn't want to take a sleeping potion because then he might not wake if his wife needed something. He buried his nose at the back of her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair.

Gods, how he loved her. The last five years of his life flashed before him. Insanity. All of it. From a little shop in a city of perpetual frost in its dingiest slum to multiple estates throughout Skyrim and on Solstheim. All from an act of madness, marrying a fresh out-of-the-crib little girl, a princess playing at being a hand-to-mouth, footloose adventurer. A dragon in elven form, and a tiny dragon curled and dreaming within.

The warm breeze coming through an open window had the scent of the apple and pear trees and the perfume of the riot of wildflowers planted for the bees of Goldenglow to make their honey from. But his nose in her hair, the scent of hair oil, of sweat, and flesh and linen, he drifted off to memories of his life before Skyim.

"Can't someone else make this delivery?" he whined to his aunt. The famiy store in the Waistworks of Vivec City sold Ashlander goods that his father's trade caravan in the collected for resale to the "civilized" folk in the cities.

"Don't be foolish, Revyn," his aunt snapped. "You're a boy, and he's harmless."

"He keeps asking me to pose with his, his —"

"Models," his aunt said firmly. "Well, you're a handsome child and you do insist on wearing those ashlander ornaments, which is what probably catches his attention. But enough of your nonsense. Pick up that package and make that delivery. He's paying very good money for that. 600, and not one drake less."

He thought about removing his earring, a carved bone disk from which under two colorful sw'fyr feathers, a sw'fyr being a small, fast-running lizard with simple non-flight feathers on its arms and smaller downy feathers on its body for warmth. Night creatures, very hard to catch. The feathers were a good luck charm. He also had a hair clasp with a particularly bright feather.

No. He was keeping them on. He swiftly made his way around the stairways of the canton until he came to the plaza level.

He went to the servants entrance of the nobleman's house and reluctantly told the strangely-dressed steward that he had the special order the lord was waiting for. Last delivery, his lordship made payment through the steward. Not this time.

Today the nobleman was not engaged in his "inspiring" visual works but was sitting in a chair, a jeweled cane hooked on its back, and he was playing a harp. Revyn hadn't heard that this was one of Lord Crassius Curio's skills. He was surprisingly good at it. The Imperial usually favored blue velvet and silks, but today it was a silk coat half purple and half crimson and foamy white lace. He seemed to have dyed his hair and mustache and goatee silver white.

Revyn looked down as the steward announced him. Father said don't be afraid to meet the eyes of the fiercest khan, even if only for a moment. Well, father never met this strange Hlaalu Councilor.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite little itsy-bitsy spider," Lord Curio cackled. He was affecting a different voice and a strange accent. Another eccentricity?

Revyn bowed. "Good morning, my lord. The items you ordered from the Sheogorad Isles came in this morning." He presented the package.

"Did it now? Well, bring it here, dumpling. Let's see what you have for Uncle Sheo, hm?

He reluctantly came closer to the nobleman. Stiffening in surpise and protest when the man caught his wrist and drew him too close and down. Revyn was dealthly afraid his aunt was wrong and this nobleman with known peculiar tastes was going to kiss him. There was a wildness in the lemon citrine eyes with pupil slits like a Daedra. His grip was unbreakable.

"Oh, no, sweetie-pie, the game has to go on longer. According to the stories, Brer Rabbit always finds a way out. Because if he doesn't, I'll have him skinned and stretched for my slippers, his sinews shredded and dried that I'll give to Azura to ziptie her roses with, and his bones made into teeny, tiny windchime pipes that Brother Owl will hear every night on the night winds.

Oh, Ancestors, help me!

"Hm, maybe something a little stronger, and much prettier to look at. Yes, yes, more fiesty than your fluffy, fiery doggies, more fierce than the family phantoms. Why, with all the shady customers you deal with, you must have the patience of a saint!

"Haha! Perfect!" He reached for a pen with his left hand, one appeared along with a naked man on all fours with a wickedly sharp ebony pen knife sitting on his tailbone. The mad lord wrote something on the man's back and used the knife to deftly detach the bloody parchment, which he then rolled and tucked into Revyn's purse.

"There, that's the address of a fun golden girl. Loves swordplay, very good with special lighting effects. Bit of a quick temper, but I'm sure you can handle her."

"Um, um, th-that's s-600 drakes, m'lord?"

The mad lord grinned. "Quite right, dear boy. Haskill! Hurry up and hatch those drakes!" Daedra eyes twinkled at him, then the lord turned his face away slightly and tapped his cheek. "Now, give your uncle a little kiss right there for my luck, dumpling, if you know what's good for you."

"Revyn, Revyn, sweetie, stop biting my neck. I'm not in the mood. Go to sleep." Helsette grumbled, shrugging her shoulders.

He whimpered a soft apology and hugged her a tiny bit tighter. He didn't dare sleep the rest of the night.


GalacticeHalfling: Well, knowing one can't please everybody, I just hope my Game of Thrones ending isn't a massive disappointment.

Ted Hsu: Nah, Yannig's safe. The troublemakers in Riften are acting to cover their own worthless butts (and doing it badly). Galmar knows to stay out of Revyn's business unless Ulfric says otherwise.