Part 3 - Ashes
Chapter 15
Seeing Red
XxXxXx
Whiterun, Skyrim – 4E 201, Mid Year
The horse flicked its ears back and swished its tail moodily as it eyed the Dunmer in front of it. They had been locked in a staring contest with each other for the past several minutes, both sides regarding the other with severe misgivings.
"By the Nine would you just get on the damn horse?" Gunjar complained, already mounted on his horse and holding his head. "I'm way too hung-over to deal with a prissy elf and a stubborn horse."
"I told you, horses and I don't get along." Nevano said without looking away from the grumpy equine in front of him. In stark contrast to his groggy companion, Nevano was fully awake and bright-eyed, the boon to being unable to get fully drunk. It had been three days since Gunjar had defeated Alduin, three days since the raucous party which Gunjar had spent a grand time retelling an increasing embellished tale of the battle to an increasingly drunken crowd and three days since Nevano had amazed every Nord in Whiterun by out-drinking and out-eating them all. Three days had barely put a dent in Gunjar's hangover though. Most of Whiterun was still recovering actually, a fact that amused Nevano greatly. "They all know. I swear its horse law. They know who will eat them and they pass it along the generations. They don't really like Orcs much either…but I knew an Orc once who would eat them like a wolf does. Dunmer at least cook them first. Better table manners…"
"Just. Get. On. There's no way I'm walking all the way to Windhelm because you won't get on!" Gunjar was starting to get extremely frustrated with his Dunmer companion and Nevano was never one to pass on an opportunity to take the hot air out of someone.
"That's what you get for drinking a whole barrel of mead!" Nevano flinched back a little as the horse pinned its ears again, making a face at his equine opponent. "Stop glaring at me, I'm not going to eat you though if you bite me I will seriously consider it."
"I drank a whole barrel because you tossed my medallion in said barrel!" Gunjar shouted, waving his arms and causing his bay horse to shift nervously, "You got ten seconds before I throw you on and slap that mare on the arse!"
"You get really grumpy when you're hung over, don't you?" Nevano looked back at the horse, "So that's your problem, you're a mare. I understand now. Usually I let the women do the riding but, I'm sorry, we haven't even had dinner together yet. Also, I'm really not into horses but…"
"Get on the gods damned horse!" Gunjar's shriek interrupted Nevano before he could turn down an even dirtier line of dialogue, his face turning bright red.
Nevano chuckled to himself and leaped lightly up on the horse, causing Gunjar to grumble at him. The black and white paint horse sighed, resigning herself to her unusual rider. "I know HOW to ride. People ride all over the place in Cyrodiil. You can't swing a dead guar without hitting someone on horseback. Though usually I rode the horses that a Dunmer had raised. They were…used to our smell I guess. I don't know. I just know that horses don't like me but those weren't too bad. I guess this pretty lady and I will just have to learn to get along. We got a week to do it."
The longer they rode in the fresh summer air the more Gunjar's mood improved as his head cleared and his headache faded. Nevano wasn't exactly a huge help. He had thoroughly enjoyed teasing Gunjar earlier and continued amusing himself by jokingly flirting with his horse in Dunmeri the entire time, making Gunjar turn red by the increasing vulgarity. The Nord didn't actually understand the foreign words but there was no mistaking just WHAT the mer was saying. Occasionally Nevano would take mercy on Gunjar and tell a story from his Fighters Guild days to lighten the mood a bit. No need to have a grumpy traveling companion the whole trip to Windhelm after all.
By the time they stopped to make camp for the night, Gunjar was back to his normal self. That is, far more tolerant and immune to Nevano's little tricks, much to the elf's great disappointment. However, Nevano decided that enough was enough and to make peace he took down a deer for fresh meat rather than relying on dried travel rations. Better to enjoy the bounty of easy game where it was still warm rather than up north where the eternal snow made hunting difficult.
"Do you think we have time to spend a day or two in Windhelm? I've never been there before." He asked, poking at the deer roasting over the fire.
"Sure." Nevano shrugged, "You've never been to Windhelm?"
"I was born on a farm not far from Roikstead. The mercenary band I joined stayed mainly in the south along the border or in the Rift. Our chief said that ice trolls were worse than daedra and he would have nothing to do with them. So we delt with spriggans and hagravens instead."
"I…wouldn't call that a fair trade." Nevano made a face. Sure trolls were massively strong and smelled horrible but compared to the other two they were easy to kill, especially since trolls were often solitary while spriggans and hagravens tended to travel in groups. "Just get a weapon with a cheap fire enchantment on it and trolls are easy. But yeah we can stay a day or two. Might take that long to convince someone to take us to Solstheim anyway. Not like there's ships that shove off for that spit of a nightmare every day. We could be waiting up to a few weeks."
"Think Ulfric will notice we're there?"
"I doubt Ulfric notices what goes on outside his doorstep." Nevano ran a hand over his messy ridge of hair and frowned. His hair grown so long that it flopped in every which direction instead of standing up straight. Somehow or another he managed to fully ignore the crazy forelock that was slowly growing until it fell in front of his eyes. The rest of his skull had grown stubble instead of being clean-shaven. Things had been so crazy lately that personal upkeep had fallen on the priority list. He pulled out a razor. He preferred to keep his hair short. It naturally was a mess, no two hairs going in the same direction twice. It was just much easier to manage when it was a short ridge. "I don't think he and Tullius have heard of Alduin's demise just yet so they're holed up, doing some serious plotting. You might not LIKE what happened at High Hrothgar, but you have to admit you threw them both for a serious loop. Even after the cease-fire ends, it'll take them both weeks to revise all their plans."
"So I'm curious." Gunjar changed the subject, not especially wanting to talk about the war or his new role in it, "How come your hair is growing but not facial hair?"
Nevano sighed. Was he really bringing that up? Talk about unwanted conversation topics. "How much do you know about the whole Nerevarine thing?"
"Is this related or are you trying to distract me from my original question?" Gunjar asked, by now used to Nevano's methods of distraction.
"They are related." Nevano begrudgingly admitted.
"Not that much really." Gunjar shrugged, "I know you killed Dagoth Ur and somehow ended up immortal."
"I'm not immortal." Nevano sighed, "I'm ageless. Immortal suggests that I can't be killed. You stab me in the gut right now I'll bleed out like any other man. Immortality is a god thing. You stab them in the gut, they get back up and rip your spine out through your mouth."
"So immortal youth?"
"I'm more… frozen in time than anything." Nevano went on sharpening his razor, trying not to let his mounting irritation on this topic get the better of him. He didn't need to accidentally snap the blade. "See, I caught a disease and instead of being cured from it, all the negative side affects were removed instead, leaving me with all the…beneficial aspects of it I guess you could say. One of those benefits was halting the aging process. I was frozen in that age."
"How old were you?"
"I was 33."
"That's not that young." Gunjar frowned.
"Gunjar, I'm an elf. Just because you Nords look like a baby werewolf by the age of 10 doesn't mean we all age the same. My natural life span is about 300 years old. If you really think about it, 33 is really young to a race that lives to be 300 years old. A Dunmer is not considered fully an adult until they are at least 50." Nevano sighed. "So in answer to your question…no facial hair. I'm technically too young for it and I swear if you laugh at that I'm taking this razor and shaving those ridiculous horns off your helmet."
"I swear I won't laugh. I'm just surprised is all. I mean I knew you were old. I just thought you hid your age well." Gunjar quickly slid his prized helmet behind him, making sure to school his face into something neutral.
"You humans are notoriously bad at guessing a mer's age." Nevano said, then he smirked, "Looking perpetually young certainly makes it easier to get a lay for the night. Women have no idea I'm 240 years old."
Gunjar rolled his eyes. Trust Nevano to throw in a remark like that in.
"There's more benefits than disadvantages here." Nevano said with a slight wince as he ran the razor over his skull, working purely by feel. He'd had a few cuts and knicks but those healed fast enough, but working by feel meant he'd have to leave his over grown ridge of hair alone. He couldn't work on that by feel alone. He'd have to deal with his hair in his face for a while. "It's annoying enough to shave my head every few weeks or so. Shaving my face every day? No thank you."
"Changing the subject, I got something you might be interested in." Gunjar could tell that Nevano was at the end of his tolerance of the subject. He was cracking stupid jokes, his more polite way of saying he was about to close the topic. Any attempts on Gunjar's part to push the subject again would be met with more jokes or evasive questions. If he pushed hard enough Nevano would shut down completely on him and he didn't want to do that.
"What's that? Ow!" Nevano got distracted just long enough to knick a finger.
"Oh, one of the bards gave me the translation to that song."
"Song? Oh. In Whiterun." Nevano sucked on his bleeding finger, "Let me see." He took the slip of paper and read over it. He tried to get the tune going in his head first but the more he read, the more it faltered and died and his eyes went wide. He never noticed the evil smirk growing on Gunjar's face.
Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn,
To keep evil forever at bay!
And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout,
Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!
Hearken now, sons of snow, to an age long ago,
And the tale, boldly told, of the one!
Who was kin to both wyrm, and the races of man,
With a power to rival the sun!
And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold,
That when brothers wage war come unfurled!
Alduin, Band of Kings, ancient shadow unbound,
With a hunger to swallow the world!
But a day shall arise, when the dark dragon's lies,
Will be silenced forever and then!
Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw,
Dragonborn be the savior of men!
Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn,
To keep evil forever at bay!
And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout,
Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!
"This…isn't a damn song. It's an Azura-be-damned PROPHECY!" Nevano practically shrieked, causing both horses to snort at him.
"Seems to be." Gunjar smirked broadly, knowing exactly Nevano's feeling on prophecy. He originally wasn't going to show it to his friend but since Nevano hadn't shut up once all day, he felt he needed to bring the elf down a notch or two.
Nevano cursed colorfully in his native tongue. He knew, he KNEW, that somewhere Azura was laughing at him. So, apparently, was Gunjar.
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Windhelm, Skyrim – 4E 201 Sun's Height
If Nevano had to choose the worst place he had been thus far in Skyrim, it would be Windhelm. It had nothing to do with the permanent winter that was common to the area, even in high summer. It had nothing to do with forbidding frozen stones that stood proud in the snow like an ancient great king in stories. It had nothing to do with the guards' glares. Nevano was used to that. No, it was the atmosphere. As soon as he stepped foot in the city, he immediately felt uncomfortable. He felt like every eye was on him, like a deer being watched by a massive pack of wolves. It wasn't something he was used to feeling inside a city when he knew he hadn't done anything wrong. Recently at least.
"Pretty serious here." Gunjar commented quietly as they walked through the massive city gates, "Here I thought Riften was pretty bad. At least Riften it could be blamed on the Thieves Guild. Not sure what has everyone so grim here."
Nevano stayed silent. The gates banged shut behind them and he felt very much like one of those painted cows being sacrificed to giants. He tugged his hood down lower over his face, glad for the added protection of the lenses still over his eyes. Anything that would help hide him from the unseen danger.
"Uh oh." Gunjar murmured. Nevano followed his gaze to where a Dunmer woman was standing her ground against two Nord men. Nevano's eyes narrowed. He could see that the woman was defensive, her arms crossed across her chest and one shoulder turned slightly towards them. The men were aggressive, leaning in towards her and a hand on their belts where weapons would hang.
"You come here where you're not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!" Yelled a Nord with an impressive mustache, his words just slightly slurred.
"But we haven't taken a side because it's not our fight." The Dunmer woman said with a small sigh of long-suffering.
"Hey, maybe the reason these gray-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!" The other very disheveled looking Nord said.
"Imperial spies? You can't be serious!" The Dunmer woman gave him an askance look.
"Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy. We got ways of finding out what you really are." The first idiot said, lowering his voice to what he thought was a threatening growl as he walked away but came out a drunken burble instead.
"That was a little…unpleasant." Gunjar said, "I've never seen anything like that before…Nevano? Hey Nev-wait NO!" Gunjar lunged and grabbed Nevano around the waist, pulling the much shorter man completely off his feet, causing him to drop the two furiously burning swords. Desperately he grabbed at Nevano's wrists with one hand, trying his hardest to keep the elf from drawing any of the numerous weapons he knew were hidden somewhere in the dark armor. "Stop Nevano, it's not worth it!"
Nevano snarled and struggled like a wildcat caught in a snare. He flailed, trying to reach the dagger in his boot, Keening on his back, hell he'd even take one of his arrows and stab the idiots in the face with it! He just couldn't reach any of his weapons with this Nord holding him back! Rage blinded him completely in a red haze. He turned his fight to the person holding him, kicking and struggling for all he was worth, knocking them both onto the ground.
"Dammit Nevano snap out of it!" Gunjar struggled with the elf, having a hard time subduing the much smaller elf. Gunjar, like most Nords, was tall and powerful, perfectly suited for swinging the massive axe strapped to his back. Nevano was short for a Dunmer, lithe and sinewy. Yet despite these differences, Nevano continued to give the Nord a hard time, fighting like a wild cat. "Killing them will only make it worse!"
Slowly the explosive red rage died down and Nevano stopped fighting Gunjar. "You can put me down." Nevano said evenly, his voice colder than the snow around them. Gunjar did as asked but kept a wary watch on him just in case the elf decided to go berserk again.
"Nevano…"
"Don't." He picked up Hopesfire and Trueflame from the ground, sheathing them, "I'm used to dealing with suspicions and hostility, even from my own people. I just don't like seeing it happen to other people."
"I think there's more to it than that but I'll accept that for now." Gunjar relaxed a bit but seeing the cold anger that settled over his friend like a veneer of ice was unsettling, "We need to go find the Northern Maiden."
"I'm going to look around a bit. I'll meet you at the docks."
"Don't kill anyone." Gunjar didn't smile as he said it, "I'm serious. It's not worth it."
"I'm not." Nevano waved his friend off, "Mostly because I don't want to bring more ire to the Dunmer."
Nevano watched Gunjar disappear off towards the dock gate. He was right…there was more to it. Racism was nothing new. It occurred everywhere, from the southern most reaches of the Summerset Isles to the northern most tip of Skyrim, from the west coast of Daggerfell to the western reaches of Blackmarsh. Hell, the Dunmer were even suspicious of each other. If it wasn't Great Houses killing each other it was city mer shunning Ashlanders or native-borns looking down on outlanders. So why did it bother him now? He frowned, remembering Hadvar's words back in Helgen "Another refugee? Gods really have abandoned your people, dark elf." Seeing that Dunmer woman being bullied…it just seemed to reinforce that. Were they really abandoned by the gods? Were they truly doomed to fade into nothingness?
Nevano scrubbed a hand over his face. As his fingers slid away, a twinkle caught his eye. He looked down at his hand and saw his ring, Moon-and-Star. The stone in the center of the star winked at him, catching the moonlight in its inky depths and reflecting it back out. No. The gods hadn't abandoned the Dunmer…because the gods never looked after them in the first place. Hadvar, indeed all of Tamriel, even the Dunmer themselves, believed they were accursed, gods-forsaken. They were wrong. Azura hadn't left her children. Not yet. Nevano clenched his fist, feeling the band dig into his skin. All could not be lost for the Dunmer, not yet. He glanced at the ring once more before turning down the dank dark alley leading towards the Grey Quarter.
The Grey Quarter. The name was meant to be more of an insult. It was meant to say that the Snow Quarter was over-run by Dunmer, that a once Nordic area was now dark and grey. Well the joke was on the Nords. The Dunmer embraced the dark aspect of their nature. They had taken the dark and the gloom and made it their own. That was very much in evidence all around the Grey Quarter. It was a slum, yes, that, no matter how much was done to clean it up, the trash from the rest of the city washed down into the much lower neighborhood. However, Dunmer pride was still very much in evidence. Flags were strung across the streets and in front of store with the symbols of Great Houses, major cities and saints on them. Daedric letters were painted on store plaques instead of common letters. The Dunmer of Windhelm had gone to great effort to make Skyrim feel like home.
Yet, despite all the hard work, there was still an underlying feeling of resignation. This was not home. It was plain to see on every face that Nevano saw. This was not home. Even those who appeared far too young to have been a refugee, who had instead been born and grew up in Skyrim, knew that this was not home. It bothered Nevano more than a little. How bad was it back home that Morrowind's people would choose to stay in a slum where they were hated over their homeland?
Nevano sighed and walked towards a promising sign. "New Gnisis Cornerclub" the daedric letter spelled out. A promising sign. He might get lucky and find a real drink there. He rather doubted it but at the very least he could get caught up on the latest gossip.
"Welcome, brother. Please, enjoy yourself." A Dunmer greeted warmly, a small smile lightening his hardened face as he swept up dirt from behind the counter.
"You wouldn't happen to have anything to drink from Morrowind would you?" Nevano asked as he slid onto a stool at the counter, not allowing his hopes to get too high.
"Sorry my friend. I don't brew and we don't get shipments from Morrowind here. Anything else I can get you?" the mer never bothered to stop sweeping, as if he had heard that question hundreds of times and knew what the answer would be each time.
"No. I've had more than enough of Nordic alcohol." Nevano shook his head. He glanced around the room, taking in the holes in the rough floor, the splintering walls, the furniture that was made up of spare pieces. The whole place looked as if one good winter storm should turn it into a pile of splinters. Yet despite this, its owner was still diligently, almost tenderly, cleaning it, keeping it alive. So there was still some hope after all.
"I don't think I've seen you around here before." The owner paused in his sweeping, narrowing his ruby eyes just a bit at the lenses. Typical Dunmer; suspicious of anything that covered the face. It was considered rude to keep any sort of headgear on for an extended period of time but Nevano didn't feel like showing off his golden eyes just yet. "Are you new here from Morrowind?"
"I was once from Morrowind but I'm a traveler. I've been all over. Recent to Skyrim though."
"You picked a bad place to travel. Nords here hate us. Actually they hate anyone not a Nord. The name's Ambarys by the way."
"A pleasure." Nevano nodded, deliberately not returning with his own name, "Why not go back to Morrowind?"
"When I've made enough money I'm going to return to Morrowind in high style." He stopped sweeping and looked hard at Nevano, "You should consider heading to Morrowind, traveler. Dunmeth Pass is just down the road. Goes straight to Blacklight. Certainly better than staying here."
"Ambarys, are you going on about leaving Windhelm again?" Another Dunmer walked in, brushing snow off his shoulders as he walked in through the door.
"Faryl." The bartender Ambarys greeted him with a nod, "I was just telling the newcomer here that since he travels so much he should take the road out of this town to Blacklight."
"Why? The whole province is falling apart. No one leads Morrowind and whatever isn't clogged with ash is taken over by angry Argonians." The newcomer, Faryl, scowled.
"What would you know Faryl? You've never even been to Morrowind!" Ambarys scowled right back, tossing his broom into a corner and crossing his arms over his chest defensively.
"I know that we live HERE in Windhelm. We have to make the best of our situation…"
"The best of? How? Despised and living in this filthy slum while begging for work from the Nords?" Ambarys warmed to his subject, "No. We belong in Morrowind with the Empire in charge!"
"The Empire? You mean the same Empire who left you to become Argonian bait?"
Nevano quietly left while the two mer continued to argue, his stomach in knots. Seems hope was a bit harder for some to grasp than others.
Nevano sat on a piling, staring out over the icy water that led out to the ocean. Dawn was just starting to break, a tiny sliver of sun peeking over the horizon in the east turning the sky a pale purple and pink. Nevano sighed and tried to relax but found his tumultuous mind would not settle. It was there that Gunjar found him.
"Are you ok?" Gunjar sat next to him.
"I knew things were tough in Morrowind and many Dunmer left their homeland but this…" Nevano struggled to search for the right description but found that he couldn't. There was simply no way to sum up the situation in one word. "Every since the Red Year…I know we can't be accursed. There has to be something that can be done."
"Where were you during the Red Year?" Gunjar asked, "I've never heard you mention it at all and most Dunmer that lived through it have a tale or two about it."
"I…" Nevano blinked, "I don't remember. I don't remember at all."
"You'd think you'd remember something like that."
"You'd think so but…it's not that I don't recall what I was doing, it's like the memory is gone from my mind completely." Nevano said, his mind reeling. He could feel glimpses of memories but every time he reached for them, they dissipated like his cold breath in the wind. "I…can't recall that year at all. The Red Year, 4E 5. That was the year. I remember the numbers, recall that's what happened…but I can't remember anything else!"
"Whoa take it easy there." Gunjar said, slightly alarmed, "I've heard of people blocking out memories of something that was too hard to hear, mostly the families of those who got killed in the war. Maybe this is it?"
"I would remember hearing of it! I would remember the people around me, the spot where I was…why is this gone?"
"Nevano, it's ok." Gunjar patted his shoulder, "Let it go for right now. Remember what you told me? We got a job to do right now. We gotta focus on that. I talked to the captain of that ship. His name is Gjalund. He was shaken up pretty bad over those cultists but he agreed to take us over whenever we want to go."
"How much did you have to bribe him with?" Nevano went along with the subject change, forcing himself to calm down. One breakdown a day was enough.
"Nothing. I didn't bribe him." Gunjar looked decidedly smug, "I used one of your little silver-tongued tricks."
Nevano finally cracked a small smile, "Makes things much easier doesn't it?"
"Don't get too smug over it."
"You used the art of persuasion on a fellow Nord." Nevano smirked slightly, "You still have the subtly of a blind guar blundering through a glass shop. When you can pull one over a Dunmer THEN we'll talk."
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The Northern Maiden was a handsome ship, low slung in Nordic fashion with a tall curling bow and stern. Nevano balked the instant he saw it. He had been avoiding thinking about the actual sailing portion of this journey. Now, seeing the ship, which was no bigger than the fishing boats docked around it, he was having some severe misgivings. There was no way that that little boat was going to cross the Sea of Ghosts to Solstheim. He could envision it pitching in wind-tossed seas like a child's toy in a bucket. His stomach lurched at the thought. Why couldn't there be a way to put a massive water-walking spell on the horses?
"Gjalund said as long as we stayed out of the way of his crew there shouldn't be any issues with us on board. Certainly a lot less since we aren't crazy cultists." Gunjar said stepping up next to Nevano, oblivious to the mer's apprehension. "I don't know about you but I don't think I'm cut out to be a sailor. Looks like fun though"
"Fun. Right." Nevano did his best to keep his voice steady as he stepped onboard. As soon as his feet touched the weatherworn wood, his equilibrium evaporated along with any resolve he had. No. He couldn't do this. Gunjar was going to have to do this on his own. He spun around to get back onto firm ground but ran into something solid and found himself lifted clean off his feet and carried back onto the rocking boat.
"Finally found what scares the smart ass dark elf." Gunjar said, dumping Nevano against a few boxes that had been stowed near the bow, "I'm not letting you run away from this."
"The next time you pick me up I better be dying." Nevano snapped, pressing himself against the boxes, trying to find some sense of stability as the crew prepared the boat to shove off. That was the worst part, the shudder and jolt of the boat pushing away from the dock and the rocking as it reoriented itself with the ebb and flow of the water instead of being tied to a secured to a dock. When it finally came, his stomach lurched with the boat and he grimaced, determined to keep his guts where they belonged.
"Not a sailor eh?" Gunjar sat on the box that the elf huddled against, watching Windhelm slide by.
"No. My first experience on a boat I shoved below in a box during a storm. Slave shipment…no one cares how sick they get as long as they make it alive." Nevano curled into a ball, hating the feeling of everything moving, "Second experience, another storm, another locked box. Prisoner shipment. I've never been so sick in my life. They didn't care if we died. They got paid the same even if they dumped half the bodies overboard for the slaughterfish to eat."
Gunjar glanced down at the miserable elf, "Right so time for our favorite game of asking highly personal questions only this time with a twist of distracting you from getting seasick. Have you ever been in love?"
"Have you?" Nevano was grumpy enough that he wasn't wholly up to entertaining Gunjar's question games.
"Oh, I'm actually married."
"No kidding?" Nevano asked dryly, "I just thought you asked me to take an amulet to your mother. Oh wait, you told me she was dead."
"Yeah. She's a tough girl." Gunjar grinned, ignoring the mer's biting wit. "Met her in my mercenary days. No kids though. Maybe after all this…"
"Wait…you just up and left for Solstheim without even going back to her?" Nevano blinked, "Are you crazy?"
"Ah, she understands. Besides, she's probably off adventuring as well." Gunjar said easily, "She doesn't like to stay at home. Half the time when I go home, we got to do some serious cleaning from all the dust that settled while it was empty! I sent off a letter when we got to Windhelm so she at least knows I'm alive."
"Her name was Sorosi." Nevano mumbled abruptly, glaring at the deck.
"What?"
"Sorosi. I met her while I was in Morrowind." Nevano curled into a tighter ball, tugging his hood down lower, "She was…a noble in House Redoran. The daughter of a man trying for a councilor seat. He moved his family to Ald-ruhn to from Mournhold to better his chances of getting that coveted seat…actually that doesn't describe much. That was the tale of more than half of the noble families there. She was the cousin to the Arobar family and the happened to be visiting them at their manor the day I went to go beg Minor Arobar to be named Hortator. She was…By Azura she was beautiful. We got to talking for a bit and after that I started making up excuses to go through Ald-ruhn during my travels after that."
"So what happened to her? You never mentioned a wife…"
"Not every love story has a happy ending my friend."
"Did she…?"
"I have no idea if she's alive or where she is." Nevano sighed, "I let her go. Her options were to follow her family's wishes and marry the man they had picked out for her, or be exiled and live her life traveling the wild with me. Her family would never have anything to do with her ever again if she had gone with me. Her father hated me and would disown her without hesitation. I couldn't do that to her. I couldn't separate her from her family like that. So I let her go. She married the other man and I avoided Ald-ruhn after that.
Gunjar just stared at him.
"Don't even start with me." Nevano halted Gunjar before he could open his mouth, "I've been chewed out up one side and down the other over the years for leaving her. It is what it is."
"Actually I was going to say that maybe you should look for her after all is said and done."
"Oh…" Nevano blinked, "Well…maybe. I guess, if only to give her the chance to slap me across the face."
"Didn't you say that you get that from half the women you meet anyway?"
"I…really can't even refute that." Nevano glared as a few nearby sailors snickered. This was going to be a long boat ride.
Several long miserable days passed. Gunjar seemed to have salt water in his veins. After he got used to the pitch and sway of the boat he moved happily about, often standing at the bow to watch the waves and point out the different animals that would follow the boat in curiosity. Nevano stayed curled in a ball against the box, his jaw clenching every time the boat gave a lurch out of rhythm with the swells. He was more than ready for this torturous journey to be over.
"Would you look at that?" Gunjar breathed in awe.
Nevano looked up. Gunjar was standing on the prow of the ship, looking out to the southeast. At least he wasn't bugging Nevano to come look at some fish. The Dunmer followed his gaze and nearly choked. There, slightly obscured in the hazy distance, was Red Mountain, smoke rising from it in a mighty column. Numbly, Nevano rose to his feet and stumbled on unsteady legs over to stand next to Gunjar, not once taking his eyes off the mountain. Seeing the mountain brought back dozens of memories, not all of which were necessarily bad but still caused an uncomfortable rise of emotions.
"That's Red Mountain?" Gunjar asked quietly, "It's…impressive. A lot angrier than the Throat of the World that's for sure, look at all that smoke."
"Evil resided in its heart for hundreds of years. It has a right to it." Nevano said. He vividly remembered how angry Red Mountain felt. The sulphery stench of it, the temperatures making even his heat-tolerant skin feel like it was going to crack and burn clean off his bones. He could still see the rush of death rolling down the mountain towards him…wait, the rush of…what? Nevano narrowed his eyes. There was a flicker of a memory, of heat and terror and destruction. He just couldn't recall what it was or where. He pushed at the memory and all of a sudden was swept up in a rush of fire and death. The dam had broken and he was overwhelmed with the flood of fire and death. He remembered. He hadn't forgotten anything. It had been locked away but now it was gushed forth in a horrible wave that made him want to vomit.
"Nevano? You ok?" Gunjar's voice cut through the jumble of memories, "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Gunjar I…I remember where I was." Nevano started to shake.
"What? For what?"
"The Red Year. I remember now." hot tears began streaming down the mer's face, burning like tracks of molten lava, "I remember everything."
"Nevano, tell me."
"I was in Vvardenfell. I was outside Vivec City. I was there…I saw the whole thing!"
XxXxXx
A/N: I apologize for the wait and for this not being up to my normal standards. When shit hits the fan, it splatters everywhere. It has been a real tough few weeks and all I can see is a mushroom shaped cloud in the distance. I just had to get this one out of the way and hopefully things will go back to normal with a fresh clean chapter. I knew that if I stopped because of this shit, it would be very difficult to get started again and I refuse to stop now. Again my apologies for this and I promise to stop projecting my angst onto Nevano.
