Well, last chapter certainly brought some lurkers out of the woodwork. And it's nice to see that other people like Marayan as well; most of the positive feedback I get is about Baladas… Anyway, Morrowind belongs to Bethesda. –D

Winterbell's suddenly grew very still, her eyes narrow. Marayan glared at her, daring her to prove him wrong.
"May I ask how you arrived at such a bold conclusion?" she asked.
"The Staff of Peace. You have it in your house, alongside your Guild Wizard's Staff." Marayan talked fast, pushing the words out as if they tasted bad. "I wondered why you kept it; you said you had no space."
Winterbell raised an eyebrow, "It's hardly a unique artifact."
Marayan continued, "The staff has no practical value, and it would be worth a bit at the armourer's. Why would you keep it?" He paused, "It has ceremonial value- if you're a Mouth of the Great House Telvanni."
"You're really getting good at this," Winterbell said approvingly.
"I didn't want to believe it, but it explains where you go all the time. And why you're so wealthy. I bet Sharn already knows…that's why she suddenly took a disliking to you. What did you do to her?" His anger did not seem to be dissipating.
"Nothing, I merely explained the situation to her."
"Liar," he growled, "I can't believe anything you say anymore. Telvanni- how could you?"
"I wasn't that difficult, really-"
"Just shut up! Now I know why Orvas was so smug. And all those cryptic comments about the Guild's standards." He ran his hand over his face, "I look like an idiot- I am an idiot!"
"Not really. It's not the most obvious of conclusions to jump to- and it was sheer bad luck that Sharn found out in the first place."
"How can you be so calm about this?" Winterbell winced as he shouted at her. The louder and angrier he became the calmer she looked, almost bored. This only served to infuriate him more, but Winterbell didn't trust herself to feel anything at that moment, and so she kept her emotions bound by her iron willpower.

Suddenly Marayan remembered, "You were planning on becoming Archmage! A Telvanni leading the Guild- you were going to destroy us," he ground out through gritted teeth. His hands clenched into fists, and only some shred of chivalry or self-preservation prevented him from hitting her.
"Now you're jumping a little far for your conclusions-"
"No, I don't want to hear. I have to think about things." He half-turned away, "This adventure is over." He looked at her, "This friendship is over."

He went through his pockets until he found a scroll, and without another word he cast it, vanishing from the tomb in a flurry of magicka. Winterbell waited until the last glittering flakes had vanished before she even moved.
"See if I care," she said flatly.

Her mood black and vindictive, Winterbell would have looted the tomb if she'd had her bag with her. As it was she merely pulled out an amulet and cast it, reducing her form to a shadowy outline.

She hurried across the lake, still shadowed. If Ienith could find her in the middle of the night with chameleon spell of that strength cast on her, he deserved to stick a knife between her ribs, she reflected. She assumed Marayan had used an intervention scroll of some description – a traditional strategy of last resort she had done away with months ago in favour of her own mysticism skills.

She hurried back to her room at the inn – she didn't see Marayan – and collected her things. She was rather disappointed that she'd paid for her room in advance; she was in the mood to hurt someone, anyone, and the management of the inn was a good a target as any.

A single recall spell and Winterbell's holiday ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Back in Balmora Winterbell threw together a late dinner and ate it without tasting any of it. It was all so stupid, she thought. Damage control was probably in order, and if Marayan couldn't be brought around she should probably kill him, she reasoned.

All the reasoning in the world couldn't negate the fact that she deserved everything he'd said to her and more. She rested her forehead on the table and just wished the world would go away. Especially the bit with Marayan Dren in it.

Winterbell awoke with sore neck and a stiff back, her head still resting on the table. She blinked sleepily before the memories of the evening's events pushed her forcefully into wakefulness.

"Well there's no point moping," she said to herself. Guilt wasn't really an option either, she decided, and so she let her anger drown out everything else. Cold, rational, anger.
"Who needs him anyway?" she shrugged.

She glanced at her journal, even though she knew what was in it, and an angry, satisfied smile spread across her face.
"Baladas."

There was almost a spring in her step when she walked to the stilt strider, her boots clopping against the cobbles and her gleaming hammer strapped to her back.

The trek through the Ashlands brought what Winterbell believed was a certain distance and clarity to the situation. There was a lesson to be learned from Baladas here, and that was the pointlessness of worrying about things that were over. And she certainly wasn't going to take centuries to work that out.

How dare Marayan bring up her family of all things, she glowered as she brought down a cliff-racer. Once you were past something it was counter-productive to dig it all up again. A lame corpus finally fell over, three arrows though its skull. All that soul-searching had apparently made him frighteningly perceptive- and she had encouraged him, humph!

As for what had happened that afternoon – no, that didn't bear thinking about at all, and Winterbell was glad she'd arrived at the Dwemer ruin Baladas had described.

Despite being experienced in Dwemer archeology, Winterbell found this ruin was quite a challenge; the number of mechanical guards disproportionate to its small size.

As for the ghost of Dahrk Mezalf himself, he put up a huge fight. A few of Winterbell's spells rebounded off the spectre and by the time the fight was over Winterbell was splattered with glowing ectoplasm and a little singed. Winterbell got down on her knees and forced herself to run her hands though the pile of supernatural goo on the floor until she found the ring.

She tried it on briefly and then carefully put it in her bag. She leant against a wall and drank potions, her mood vastly improved by the fighting. Marayan, she decided, could be categorized with her family and most of the rest of the world as someone who would just hold her back. She was making history here!

She pulled out her map and calculated that Alumsivi intervention ought to take her straight to Gnisis. As it turned out this was not the case, and Winterbell found herself back in Maar Gan.

The stilt strider was halfway to Gnisis before Winterbell realized she'd been doing nothing but think about Marayan. She scowled to herself,
"It's over. Think about something else, you stupid old woman. Someone else."

"Baladas!" Winterbell called up the stairs, fending off Zergonipal with practiced ease.
"Welcome back, Winterbell." The wizard's voice floated down the stairs, "You don't sound like you're in a good mood."

"I'm fine," she declared as she propped her bag against the wall. "And how are you?"
Baladas flicked the feathery end of a quill against his cheek thoughtfully, "I'm writing some letters to the Emperor."
"I had no idea you were on such close terms, although it doesn't surprise me." Winterbell scanned the missive up-side down from across the desk.
"Well, not the Emperor personally. Merely his local representative. They're trying to get me to pay taxes again."
"Oh."
"They weren't this pushy a century ago," he frowned.
Winterbell chuckled, "I can't imagine anyone forcing you to do anything you didn't want to."
"Then why do you sound so speculative, I wonder."
"What?"

"Oh, nothing. So, Winterbell, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Winterbell wandered away from his desk and sat in a chair near the fire.
"This Guild thing is getting complicated," she started.
"Someone else found out? You've handled things like this before."
"This is somewhat different."
Baladas walked over and handed her a mug of tea before sitting in the chair opposite her. "Bribery?" he suggested.
"He's stinking rich."
"Blackmail then."
"I don't think so; he's so honourable it's sickening."
Baladas thought briefly, "Ah, the Dren. Yes, I see your problem. His death or disappearance would cause comment as well."
"To be honest, I couldn't kill him," she confessed. "He is- was a friend."
"Well, there's your answer," Baladas leaned forward, "just talk him around."
"He's Hlaalu. He hates me now." Winterbell couldn't keep some of her distress from shading her tone.
"You're taking this a little personally, aren't you? I mean, it's all going to become public knowledge sometime."
"Humph."

Baladas watched her thoughtfully for a while, and eventually he reached over and put a hand on her shoulder, "You're not thinking rationally at the moment. I'm not really sure- but the point is, take a day or two to calm down. I doubt in that time he could cause you any irreparable damage."Winterbell looked at him, "I'm never going on holiday again," she stated.
"Sounds like you had the wrong kind of holiday."
"Can I use your workbench?" she changed the subject.

Winterbell sat and made potions, feeling somewhat calmer now she was back within Baladas's small, scholarly world. She didn't want to live here, but it was a restful place to visit. Her host was back at his desk, ostensibly working on his letter, although he spent most of his time watching her.

"Winterbell," he finally broke the silence, "let me take you somewhere."
"Huh? Where?" She looked up, startled.
"Out. For dinner. Somewhere where there are no Telvanni, Guild, Hlaalu or anyone else."
Winterbell felt herself smile, "There's a place like that? But I'm not really dressed for-"
"Never mind, it's one of the privileges of being a wizard; you're allowed to be eccentric."
Winterbell nodded, "All right then."

Baladas held out his hand, "It's much quicker by magic."
"We're going now?"
"I don't see any reason to delay."
Winterbell reached out and took his hand as magicka swirled about them.

"I've been here before," Winterbell said as she looked about.
"Dagon Fel; the end of the world. Except that it isn't, of course. However, the food here is excellent."
"We certainly won't be recognized."

It was a very pleasant dinner. Baladas did his best to be charming, and Winterbell found herself a bit dazzled by it. He regaled her with stories about their fellow Telvanni, that may or may not have been true, and she was quite disappointed when the meal was over.

"It doesn't really feel like spring here yet," Winterbell said as they walked outside, their breath clouding in front of their faces.
"It's past midnight, no wonder it's cold. Do you want to go home?"
"Hmm." Winterbell was noncommittal as she examined one of the Dwemer walls that sectioned the town.
Baladas tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe, "Aren't you cold?"
"Maybe," she replied. "I don't feel quite myself."
He stepped closer, "You're still you, Winterbell, it's just a different…situation."
"Am I really such a terrible person?"
"Winterbell!" She jumped as he snarled at her. "I don't know what that boy did to you, but I'd like it if it was undone. Your lack of conscience and your boundless self-assurance; sometimes I think you're more Telvanni than I am. Stop trying to mould yourself to fit the Guild. Be who you are."
"No compromises?" She raised an eyebrow at him.
"None," he grinned.

"I wonder if I can make you regret that," she muttered to herself. She turned to him and said in a louder voice, "Let's go back."
A fleeting expression of satisfaction crossed his face and he held out his hand. Winterbell didn't miss the certain smug air about him, and she took a certain satisfaction from his obliviousness to her true mood.

He can't read me at all, she thought. But I can read you, oh great and mighty wizard, like an open book. I know you thought you were using me; not so sure now, are you? You want Telvanni? I'll give you Telvanni. My absolute worst – Marayan has no clue as to just how vicious I can be. And I'll make him pay. And I'll make you pay.