Wood elves are the nature lovers, high elves are the mind trainers, and dark elves – well they are the smartest, the most romantic, but, hah!, they are also the destroyers of life eternal!

--- Quote by Artus Aurolis, Chancellor of the Imperial High Counsel in Cyrodil, after a major revolt against imperial rule.

The small peaceful port of Dagonfel, colony to Morrowind, the land of the dark elves, seemed to be forever rested at the edge of the world. It stood there, washing against the waters, its wooden platforms raised above the waves. It was silent like an inanimate pebble camoflauged within the snowy web of conflict, which ultimately sprung the spidery outlines of war. And although a campaign against the rebellion had already begun and fought, by absolutely no means could it reach Dagonfel, the port was too far away in the north; and when perhaps it might have once been considered a strategic location, being on the least defended side of the great elven nation of Morrowind, a month it would take a cyrodil fleet to reach it, significant months where the passageway to cyrodil itself would be laid open to siege.

Now, Igraine found herself wondering whether Dagonfel existed at all. Or like Morrowind, it was seperate from all that once made it whole.

---

In her brief absence many years ago, she had seen many place and many wonders. But out of all of her travels though, there was always one tall human cyrodil boy that stood high above the tallest castles. His name was Symec and he was destined to be her only love. On the night they separated, she could remember the feeling of water and the ocean breeze sifting passing through her legs. She remembered then, it was just prior to the day the first cyrodil legion tried to squash the rebellion in Morrowind.

--

"Igraine! Igraine!" He called out from afar.
Her eyes searched through the dark port,looking for that figure she most desired. When she heard the footfalls approaching at last, a boy bridging on the border of manhood stood beside her, arms extending forward in an ever engaging pose. She said, "Grandfather needs me, Symec."
She could feel him leaning close, his warm breath breathing down her face and could remember his ocean breath trying to the caress the fragrance of her hair.
"You and your grandfather!" He begged, "Must we both be the most loyal of Men and Mer? How a world would be, Igraine, if just one of us could give in to our frailties. Stay with me, sera, as I leave for Cyrodil, where you can be my wife and I your husband."
She sighed, "I cannot, Symec. You and I know far too well I cannot. I am an elf. Futhermore, I am an elf of Morrowind, your land's soon-to-be enemy and hate. And my grandfather requires my help. Know this, he granted me travel to see the world one last time before his death, so he may see me return happy –"
"But you are not, sera."
"Grandfather is fragile now at his old age. Without my return, I fear he may die or writh away into dust and sadness."
The boy looked at her. He felt pain and anquish like all young, lustful youths who must forgo the tediousness of time and the harmony of love.

They sat by each other. He bowed his head low, showing grief, then shot forth at Igraine. Soon, his lips kissed hers, such warm lips. She begged, "Must you be so faithful to your allegiance, too?"
"The emperor commands me, sera. My family has been loyal to the emperor for generations. Doing what I want would only cause shame and disgrace forever…"
She set her head on his shoulder, while her heart tried to penetrate further than his mere bones and skin. "Will you letter me then?"
"I will try with all my heart, sera."

---

That had been five long years ago. Six letters had been sent, each one reminiscing on how he desired her touch and how he had gained power during the battles, even against her own. Once he even asked for her to join him, knowing that would not be possible as long as she remained dark and elven. She had declined though, saying her grandfather was in a peaceful and quiet place in Dagonfel. She even said in her return letter, "every once in a while, there'd be a well-known traveler who knows about the war. He'd report on things such as whose child had just died, whose relative was missing; sometimes he even spoke of news in which towns were sacked and sacked again – No," she wrote, "dear grandfather could not live in any other place."

Then, one day she walked outside to clean the clothing and saw another piece of paper. When she looked closer, she felt certain it was in Symec's handwriting. She quickly opened it and held it up so the morning sun could shine.

"Dear poor Igraine,
Joy! The war is finally over. Peace has come to our land! Morrowind and Cyrodil are now at terms! When you receive this letter, sera, I hope you will be imagining me while I get ready to embark on a boat to you."

Her heart beat hard. He is coming!, she shouted. Soon they'd see each other again for the first time in a long time. She stood there near the doorway for a minute, dreaming of days to come, then quickly she put down all the work she held in her arms and shouted to grandfather, "I must make a short trip to the port, grandfather!" Her grandfather's raspy voice returned soft, "Be quick, dear Igraine. I cannot bear without you for long." Soon she made off for the dock. She decided it was a good idea to send a note to the port master telling him to give a message to a man by Symec's description.

On the note, she made an attempt to write down all she could remember of him. Then she wondered, how much could he have changed? Would she still be able to recognize him when he arrived? If she could not, then certainly the port master could not. She knew she also had changed in the five years time. In fact, Igraine had grown, her body more feminine, her last childish remnants joining with definition along with the high cheekbones and long lashed eyes. In retrospect, although she would not admit it, she was beautiful. Much more than all the rest of the typical promiscuous looking dark elves.


When the day finally came, Igraine had been peering over an old book; all of grandfather's collections were old. She thought, how could there be new ones when all the authors are probably dead? Naught did it matter, her mind could only settle on the appearance of Symec.

Suddenly, a shout came from afar, but not far enough for her to be unable to peak out. There, a young man of twenty screamed for her name.
"Oh! The eternal gods!" She prayed at first, but most of which eventually turned into uncontrollable laugh. "Is it you?" She shouted back.
The man who had war marks on his face and arms cried back, "Igraine?"

---

At that, she flung herself relentlessly into his arms, crying with a joy not of this world. Later that day, after seeing for the first time her ailing grandfather, he paid with ease for a servant so they may be temporarily alone.

Symec and Igraine walked hand in hand down a path not far from Dagonfel. Against the moonlit light, he found himself questioning her beauty, whether or not it was magnified or if it had always been this way. They walked on and on, talking of their future in love's true earnest.

At last, they turned to face each other. He said, "You should see it, sera! I've made a man of myself. I am cherished back home. My family is proud."
She looked at him, smiling.
He grew serious, yet his eyes glimmered back the rays of the moon, "You and I, we will make something greater than both of us. One so big there's only one place to put it."
"Where?"
He leaned close. Soon she could feel his warm touch on the soft skin above where her womb will be.

---

When they entered her grandfather's home, both looked tired but happy. Igraine looked radiant from their walk along the outskirts. After eating a quick supper, Symec went to sleep on a lathered guar skin couch. For a while, all was peaceful until grandfather summoned her, "Child," he said, as he looked at her from up and down, "you appear to be glowing."
"I am, grandfather." Her face could not hide the smiles.
Grandfather's demeanor changed rapidly, "I saw the looks on that man. Him and his peering eyes which did not leave you alone a moment. I fear your safety, child."
Suddenly, she heard herself speaking very bluntly: "I have waited for him to look at me that way for years."
"He is a human, and humans look down upon us dark elves."
"Symec is not like that."
"Human's are traitors. They'll look at you with pity yet bring you to child. Then they will leave you."

Where did grandfather become knowledgeable of this? She asked. It sounded like utter blasphemy. Suddenly she realized he was under the latter influences of the disease. She said in a calming voice, "Rest, grandfather. Symec, who loves me, will never leave me."

---

It was true, Symec never once showed signs of leaving, but grandfather's illusion about humans remained. Whereas he might have died, it seemed his vigilance tortured him to live on, under the prescience of guarding her against an evil. However, when he saw signs that Igraine was fatting, his hate for humans took a turn for the worse. Now, Igraine only spoke to grandfather when he was peaceful, which was rare. She began to distance herself away from the ranting.

Their state was such that happiness could no longer be considered just a state, but a comparison of states. Happiness only comes when there is something to compare to. Either way, Igraine was the happiest woman in the face of Tamriel. She could feel herself growing with child everyday. No doubt from now on, Symec will stay, forever.

The small town was full of gossipers. Soon, the two were easily thought of as idols. "Two lovers from different races," they claimed, "sure sign of peace and bondage between our two countries!"
How beautiful!

The days passed and spring changed to summer, plentiful with its full-grown fruits. Igraine's womb grew larger still. One day, grandfather caught her by the arm, "Fat child! Listen to me! The human will be the end of you! But fear not. As long as I live I will protect you!"

Then mysteriously, it seemed grandfather's ranting became true, for Symec started disappearing at times. Some days, he'd be gone for hours when she needed him.

When she searched for him, a villager told her she had seen him wondering around town, as if looking for something or place. "A whore house! He keeps looking, doesn't he know there are none in Dagonfel?"

Then just yesterday, he was gone the entire night. By early dawn, she traveled around the small town in search of him. She saw him near the bay, almost hidden behind a large boat. He was speaking to someone close. A woman, she saw! She could not understand what happened but the way she looked at him, the way her eyes glimmered when they set on Symec's larger frame, it hurt Igraine. More than that, she lost faith.

What is this? Suddenly, she saw them exchange friendly glances and separate. Igraine was quick; she flung herself out of sight, pregnant as she was, and backwards to her home. When Symec's footsteps sounded, she was already in bed, tired with beads of sweat.

"Sera," he sat near her, while Igraine tried to appear to have just woken up. "You look more motherly everyday. Childbearing has given you a beautiful crimson pale." He sat closer still and kissed her, "I was just at the harbor, look, I've brought you a fish. It should build your bones and –" He reached for her womb.

Just then, when she wished to object, her grandfather screamed from down the hall. A maddening scream, "Liar! I saw you leave, you human! A walk to the harbor takes less than an hour and back, yet you have been gone for much longer than that!"

Symec did not respond.

"Prostitutes, human? It is said humans pay good money to bed with dark elves!"

Igraine watched in horror as those words resounded. Worse yet, Symec did not respond. Her grandfather's voice remained constant, "What's the matter, Human? A pregnant wife no longer satisfies you?"

Igraine felt tears swell. Symec still kept silent. At last, when grandfather's voice weakened, he looked at her, "Igraine, I swear –"
"Don't tell me you swear." Her voice dulled with hidden tears.
"I swear upon all that is holy. I am only loyal to you and Cyrodil."
She cried, "Cyrodil women you mean! I saw you with her, at the dock. You were speaking with her at such a slow pace. 'My, my!' I thought. And where is the fish in all this?"
Symec reached out to calm her.
"Don't touch me!" She fell back into bed and cried.

---

When she woke up, Symec was gone, again. Her eyes were replenished with tears. "Oh god! What have I done!" she looked at her enlarged stomach, large with a babe. She slowly settled her feet on the floor. Then she began to look for her husband. Stopping, she asked, "What if I find him? What if there is another whore by his side?" She decided it wouldn't make a difference to see him.

"Grandfather, grandfather. How I've mistreated you for so long. Forgive me –" She grasped grandfather's body – a dead corpse glanced palely. She met his gaze, a face that looked up, that seemed to see through her and say, "I was right! You should have listened to me early on! Before there was a human - human child inside of you!"

She stepped away, sobbing. What now, she asked. Her grandfather had been right all along. He lived only to protect Igraine from harm. But where did it finally leave her? Who was left to accompany her? A grandfather dead, a husband who was no husband at all, who did not care for her. Otherwise he wouldn't – oh why does it matter at all? If happiness is only felt by comparing two states, and one truly felt elation through an improvement, what does one feel when there is degradation? For the first time, Igraine found herself loosing all that held her together. It was like the carpet had been pulled, at which she would normally recover, except, for this she could not. For years she had waited for him to come, and now he was gone. Gone! And the baby in her womb! What of it? What nation would accept such an abomination split between two races, as neither one nor the either?

She made way for the kitchen, and pulled a knife from under the scabbard. "What need was there for her to live?" A voice answered, No need.

There were no solutions. She was utterly and completely trapped. Hopeless. The image her grandfather's dead gaze mesmerized itself in her memory.

She shoved the blade into her stomach.

While she laid there, the stained area around her womb flowed with blood, somehow her loosing consciousness caught sounds – a mixture of screaming and shouts of astonishment. She wasn't quite sure if she heard it. Was this the sound one hears when dying?

"Stop and let me die." She whispered, voice mixed with blood gurgling in her throat.

Somewhere out there, a voice screamed, "The cyrodils are traitors! The cyrodils are traitors! They've fooled us with their treaty!" For the next few moments, it seemed, the sounds carried on without end until it was replaced with agony.

As her breathing became shallow and her vision darkened, she heard a man enter. Footsteps. Rushing. Then a loud roar.

Symec came, clad in battle armor, looking down at her body in dismay. "No. No!" he cried. She was not aware of his fingers digging into the extent of her wound. "Igraine! Igraine!" He called out. The sounds droned through her elven ears and… nothing.

"She's dead, General." Echoed a voice far away. Symec knew the voice. It came from the mouth of the emperor himself. Nevertheless, Symec remained there kneeling while his brazen colored armor smeared in the flow of blood. The emperor put his old hand on Symec's shoulder, "War has its many losses, general. Come, come. It was done, and you did what you had to do. You surveyed the land. You planned the invasion. Because of you, now we have gained all there is to gain in short time. And the rebellion in Morrowind is within our crasp, again." He smiled at Symec, who was still bent over the corpse, "For Cyrodil, Symec. You have served us well."

Symec stood up, looked at Igraine, then whispered, "I'm sorry I never told you, sera. The war never stopped. Not for me."