"Ugh."
Sielaire's quiet grumble attracts an amused glance from Ayrenn, as they trudge up the slope towards a set of rickety wooden doors. They're making their way out of an empty ebony mine, which has long been abandoned due to depleted ore veins. Normally, news of such places don't interest them, but rumours of recent activity had piqued Ayrenn's interest. Sielaire refused at first, fearing the rumours would lead them on a trail towards danger, but she'd caved to her wife's whims as always.
As it turned out, Sielaire's fears were well-founded. Though there had been nothing near the entrance, giving an eerie atmosphere to the dark tunnels, they found some excitement further in – nix-hounds had made their home within the sprawling system of tunnels, and were fiercely territorial of their breeding ground buried deep within. Against Sielaire's counsel to leave, Ayrenn ventured further into the mine with her wife, killing aggressive nix-hounds in their search for something interesting.
They found plenty of trinkets and small treasures scattered over the ground, then stumbled upon a suspicious trail of bodies, which grew fresher and more bloodied as it led them to the single troll that had made a home in a corner of the mines. Sielaire flew into action before the troll had time to fall upon them – a flash of lightning was enough to incapacitate it, wringing a howl from its throat before it was pierced by a spear of magic from Ayrenn. Sielaire had thrown her wife a dirty look then, and Ayrenn had the grace to look slightly apologetic as she gathered the last of the trinkets lying on the ground, then led the way out of the mine.
Their satchels are notably heavier with loot, but Sielaire can't help feeling as if it hadn't been worth the trouble. They are the last people on Nirn who need to scavenge for their fortunes, after all.
"What's wrong, dear?" Ayrenn asks, when Sielaire doesn't stop frowning at the bracer she's worrying at.
"Shouldn't have come in here," Sielaire mutters, running a finger over the scratch left on her adamantium bracer by the troll.
"Come now, Sie. We handled the nix-hounds and troll just fine. And we can get that scratch buffed out by a smith in the next city."
"It's not the troll," Sielaire replies. "That bloody nix-ox…"
Ayrenn chuckles as Sielaire conjures a barrier that hugs close to her skin, and she tries to wipe off the remains of the putrid spit which a lone nix-ox within the mine had spat at them. "We'll go to that lake we spotted and wash ourselves off, alright?"
Sielaire sighs and desists from her futile endeavour. Despite her annoyance, she can't help but feel amused by herself. It's not like she hadn't experienced such…'mundane' encounters before – in fact, dealing with creatures had been a staple in the missions she'd taken in the Fighters Guild, long ago. But after recent years, Sielaire has become too accustomed to fighting other soldiers in the Alliance War, who were opponents of varying levels of skill. Perhaps she now prides herself so much as an accomplished warrior, that she doesn't think of everyday creatures as worthy opponents anymore. Of course, the creatures usually aren't, but such arrogance is often the cause of one's downfall.
So Sielaire quashes the indignity of being spat on by a nix-ox, and smiles at her wife instead. She reaches over to wipe a smudge of dirt from Ayrenn's cheek, then takes her wife's hand as they reach the mine's wooden doors, grimacing when she feels the similarly slimy texture on Ayrenn's skin as well.
They head to the lake they'd glimpsed in the distance earlier that day, and manage to reach it just as the sun has started to set. Since the lake is too close to the main road for comfort, they bathe in the waters with their underwear on. But the potential lack of privacy doesn't stop Ayrenn from cupping a feel or ten, while Sielaire alternates between swimming away and returning the favour. Many cackles and splashes later, they emerge from the water and towel themselves dry.
Sielaire sets to work by the lake, cleaning their weapons and armours while Ayrenn starts a fire, and cooks the remaining perishable meats and vegetables in their packs. It takes a while to get their equipment clean – nix-ox spit has an uncanny ability to slip into every crevice it can find – and when Sielaire is done, night has already fallen. She carries the equipment to the campfire, where she's glad to find Ayrenn waiting for her with a lid over the pan. Ayrenn takes the pan from the fire and sets it on a flat boulder, and Sielaire takes a deep breath of the stir-fry's aroma when the lid is lifted.
"Smells good." Sielaire opens her mouth for Ayrenn to deliver a spoonful of guar meat and peppers.
"How is it?"
"It's great," Sielaire sighs. Her verdict is no exaggeration – the flavour is good for camp fare made from limited rations, and she gives thanks that she'd had the foresight to buy some lard before leaving the last town. "You should cook more often."
"That's if someone doesn't insist on hogging the pan every time." Ayrenn wears a wry smirk, and is about to take a bite of food when they stop dead, hearing the rustle of bushes in the distance.
They turn their eyes to the source of the noise, magicka humming faintly around their hands, and they watch the inky darkness on the other end of the lake. The bushes rustle louder, before parting to reveal two large guars thumping over the ground with their big feet. Ayrenn laughs under her breath at the sight, while Sielaire sighs and gives thanks that it isn't some unsavoury ash-born creature come to ruin their lackadaisical mood.
"Feels like I haven't relaxed since we stepped foot here," Sielaire comments, crunching on pepper strips and juicy meat. "Never know what's going to jump at us next."
Ayrenn chuckles. "Be honest, Sie. You haven't relaxed since we left Alinor. But I agree, the creatures here are…fiercer, at least." She takes a sip of water from a canteen. "But that's one thing I like about Morrowind – the land doesn't go easy on its people."
"You say that like it's a good thing."
"To some degree, I would say it is. The Dunmer are rugged, and they learn to survive in harsh conditions from a young age. It's something to be admired, at least."
"I much prefer rolling green plains than ash-choked soil, myself," Sielaire replies drily.
"Of course you do, darling," Ayrenn croons, nudging her cheek. "Frankly, so do I. And besides, our rolling green plains do hide some dangerous mysteries from time to time. Don't you agree?"
Sielaire grimaces, reminded of the Daedric plot in Summerset years ago. She'd returned home from Cyrodiil, and fought countless monstrous yaghra spewed out by unnatural geysers. She'd even slain a sload which had laired to the west of Alinor, and wished she would never have to face such a creature again. The sload's yaghra minions had been more fearsome than any she'd faced, and Sielaire herself had nearly fallen to its relentless psychic blasts, before managing to sink her blade through its body – repeatedly.
"Sorry," Ayrenn says, cupping Sielaire's face to bring her back. "Bad memories?"
"Just…unpleasant."
"Then let's talk about something else. Or is there anything I can do?"
"Yes, I think," Sielaire says before she knows it, gazing at Ayrenn as a spark of playfulness comes to life. "A kiss might do the trick."
Ayrenn huffs. "Oh, Sie. You've been around me too long."
"Never too long," is all Sielaire can manage, before Ayrenn claims her lips and thoughts. She kisses her wife back, a tender reciprocation which makes her linger as they part, gazing back into Ayrenn's eyes. Sielaire takes what breath she can, captivated by the simple vision of her wife's countenance lit by the flickering fire.
"You know, this is more…how I've imagined my marriage."
Ayrenn tilts her head curiously. "Hm?"
Sielaire laughs, voice soft as she leans back on her hand. "This. Me and my wife, adventuring together. Just the two of us, against the elements and whatever comes our way."
"Oh?"
"Or…sometimes, she'd be a teacher, a healer, a scholar. And I'd bring flowers and gifts home whenever I return from my travels." Sielaire shrugs, feeling a touch of warmth rise to her cheeks as she reveals the dreams of her younger self. "Never crossed my mind that I'd be ordered around by my Empress of a wife."
Ayrenn chuckles as Sielaire's lips curve in a tease. "You say that as if you wouldn't be just as happy being ordered around by your teacher of a wife too."
"Of course I would. My wife, whoever she is, would rule my heart as surely as if she is the Empress."
"Well then, aren't you lucky," Ayrenn purrs, leaning close. "You married a woman who is both."
"Lucky?" Sielaire tries to put on an incredulous expression, but breaks into a smile when Ayrenn pecks her on the lips. "We'll see about that."
Keeping close to the eastern coastline of mainland Morrowind, Ayrenn traces a route she'd taken years ago, when she was a younger mer looking for adventure and trouble. The roads turn from well-trodden soil to rough cobbles, which then give way to neat stone pavements leading up to the large city that is their next destination – Necrom.
It is a high-walled city with sturdy foundations, its battlements and roads patrolled by seasoned Indoril guards, who leer at the Altmer pair through the slits in their helms. Though the city is a place of interest for many scholars and travellers, it doesn't bother to be welcoming to outlanders, Ayrenn explains as they pass through the city gates. Sielaire nods, listening to her wife talk about the city and its main feature – the necropolis, where Dunmer families bring the urns of deceased loved ones for last rites.
Even in the air, Sielaire can smell the Dunmer's reverence for their ancestors – the smoky scent of joss sticks hangs in the air no matter where they walk. Aside from the large quantity of burning incense at the temple, burners in every home and shop contribute to that distinct tang in the air. But it is not an unpleasant smell – some incense emit fragrant aromas that prevent the smoke from being too overpowering.
Sielaire looks around with interest, while Ayrenn leads the way into the merchant district and finds an inn to her liking. Upon their entrance, the Dunmer innkeeper's eyes turn upon them, sharp as a hawk, and he regards them with poorly-disguised disdain before tossing them a key, growling directions to their room. Setting their travel packs down, they leave the inn to walk around the city longer, before returning for a meal and falling into bed for an early rest, tired as they are from the road.
They wake late in the morning, grab a bite to eat in the tavern below, then head out to explore the city in earnest. Ayrenn charts their course through Necrom – making a comprehensive round of the stores in the merchant district, before heading to the sprawling cluster of residences for a stroll in relative peace. Then they approach the temple which houses the entrance to the catacombs, but are barred entry due to their status as non-citizens. Not that Sielaire wishes to stay there for long – her nose is getting irritated from the thick concentration of smoke, and her eyes have started to water. Ayrenn isn't faring much better herself, and pulls Sielaire away from the temple.
They wander back to the merchant district, where something catches Ayrenn's eye – a noticeboard set up near a small shrine. It's a bounty board, Sielaire realises as they walk up to it, recognising the familiar organisation of the notes and reading what little Dunmeri script she understands. Ayrenn, however, hums with interest as she reads the notes easily, and Sielaire finds herself praying that her wife will not reach for a single piece of parchment pinned to the board.
After a few minutes, her prayer is answered when Ayrenn looks away from the board in disinterest – but Sielaire's brief luck is dashed when a Dunmer speaks from where he sits on a nearby bench.
"Those swords on your belts – do you know how to use them?"
They eye the well-dressed Dunmer as warily as he does them, and Ayrenn answers, "Very well."
"Adventurers, aren't you? Interested in a job?"
Sielaire shoots Ayrenn a warning look, but her wife doesn't notice. "Maybe. What are you offering?"
"If we're lucky, a search-and-rescue. If not, then vengeance will do."
Sielaire's brows draw together – she doesn't like the sound of this, not one bit. She grabs Ayrenn's arm, but her wife merely clasps her hand in return.
"Any further details you can give?"
"My partner has gone missing. I've done my own investigations, and I suspect he's been kidnapped, held in a remote location near Necrom. Now I need the muscle to bring him back."
"Hm. You'll have to give more–"
"Ara," Sielaire cuts in pointedly, tugging at Ayrenn's arm with enough force to turn her around. "We need to talk about this," she whispers in Altmeris.
"I just want to listen, Sira."
"And we both know you will not stop there," Sielaire hisses.
"Excuse me," the Dunmer interrupts, and Sielaire glares at him while Ayrenn merely glances back with nonchalance. "I sense there is some disagreement here. If you wish to hear more about the job, I will be at the tradehouse." He nods at the largest building in the district. "Look for Taldis Omaren."
Sielaire looks back at Ayrenn as he nods and sweeps away smoothly. "Ara, we are not doing this."
"Someone's missing."
"And it is not our business."
"Someone is in danger, and we can help."
"It's not a matter of our ability! I am not allowing you to put yourself in danger–"
"I don't need your permission. You are not my caretaker, Siranya," Ayrenn bites back, her tone turning cold for a brief moment, before she thaws. "I know you do this out of love, but you will not dictate my choices–"
Something snaps in Sielaire, and she hisses, "And how can I 'dictate' your choices when you never listen to what I have to say?" Ayrenn reaches for her, but she takes a step back.
"Do as you wish," Sielaire intones. "You always do."
Her heart aches when hurt flits across Ayrenn's features, but just this once, the pang of guilt doesn't put out the anger burning in her chest. Sielaire wrenches her gaze away from her wife, and storms out of the city's gates.
She doesn't know where she is headed, but she doesn't need to. Sielaire needs air, and finds reprieve in the distinct lack of smoke in Necrom's outskirts. Each deep breath of fresh air drives her onward, her feet cutting a reckless path through sparse grass, barely slowing down for the mer she knows is following behind her. But logic soon eases Sielaire's swift strides, and she takes a deep breath. She spins on her heel, waiting for Ayrenn to get close.
"Sie–"
"What am I going to do if something happens to you?" Sielaire snaps, careful to keep her voice low even though they are alone in the wilderness. "If you get hurt, or worse? Go back home and tell the Court, tell Alwin that I let you throw yourself into danger?" That I didn't do enough to protect you?"
Ayrenn takes a step towards her, but she steps back in reflex. "You can't keep doing these…reckless, foolish things, Renn!"
"I know."
Ayrenn's calm agreement gives Sielaire pause, but the steady look in blue eyes tells her that she will not win this argument easily.
"But?" Sielaire prompts, patience running thin.
"But…" Ayrenn sighs with a wan smile. "Sie, you know this. That if I had a choice with no consequences, I would throw the crown to Alwin, and steal you away from Summerset, never to return. I would throw all that I have away, and just be with you, free from all the politics and responsibility of the throne. But I can't. And all I can manage is an escape, this escape for a little while, pretending I don't have the weight of Tamriel on my shoulders."
Ayrenn pauses as if waiting for a response, but Sielaire doesn't speak. "Sie, I know you won't leave my side now. But if this is to work, I need you to stop seeing me as the Empress for our travels."
"You are the Empress," Sielaire growls. "No matter where you go, or what guise you've taken."
"An unfortunate truth." Ayrenn's smile looks forced. "But I won't limit myself because of this. Sie–" She clasps onto Sielaire's arm, only for Sielaire to yank herself away.
Taking a steadying breath, Sielaire is careful not to meet Ayrenn's eyes, and turns away to look off into the distance. Something withers inside her, and she has to fight the urge to fold into herself. Sielaire crosses her arms and closes her eyes, as Ayrenn speaks behind her.
"I'll be back at the inn."
After you've gone to the tradehouse, Sielaire wants to say, but bites her tongue.
"Don't stay out too late, alright?" Ayrenn says.
Sielaire gives no answer.
Sielaire has one answer, and she's only ever had the one since she'd first met Ayrenn years ago. She has known from the start that this argument will end as it always has, and the inevitability frustrates her. It is her weakness, but she has always been content to let Ayrenn hold the reins – as the Queen. But now, they are leagues away from Alinor, from territories where Ayrenn's status is respected without question, and it makes them so vulnerable. Without the protection of Ayrenn's crown, Sielaire's fear runs deeper, manifesting as an acute need to protect her partner, her wife–
Damn it all.
A trickle of regret blends with her anger, and the hour she has spent stewing beneath a tree comes to an end. Rising to her feet, Sielaire pats the dirt from her clothes, and makes her way back to Necrom.
The austere white-and-grey walls of the city are aglow with an orange hue from the setting sun, and Sielaire pauses for a moment to admire the sunlight playing over Necrom like paint on canvas. Then she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and walks into the inn where Ayrenn said she would wait.
Sure enough, Ayrenn is seated at the lone table in their room, and the sight of her poring over their map makes Sielaire feel a lick of irritation. But she clenches her jaw as Ayrenn looks up, both mer watching each other warily before one breaks the frosty silence.
"Sie–"
"No. I want you to listen," Sielaire cuts in, and Ayrenn purses her lips together. "You cannot tell me to stop what has been second nature to me for years. I have said this before, and I will say it again – I do not merely protect you because you are the Empress. You are my heart, a part of my soul, damn it. That is why I cannot bear even the thought of allowing harm to fall upon you."
Sielaire raises a hand when Ayrenn starts to speak. She draws a long, slow breath, and continues, "But I know that I can make you feel…shackled. That is why I've always given in to your wishes despite my better judgment, and…this time will be no different. But," Sielaire adds. "I want you to promise me, that you will take into account my counsel from now on. Just listen to what I have to say, alright?"
Ayrenn cracks a smile, and nods. She raises a hand towards Sielaire, who moves forward to take it, and sits on the chair Ayrenn pulls out for her. Taking the empty cup on the table, Sielaire grabs the bottle and pours herself some sujamma. Knocking back a mouthful, Sielaire sighs from the liquor's satisfying burn, and the relief from words which have weighed on her heart for too long. She looks at Ayrenn's soft smile, and feels the last threads of anger unwind from her heart.
"For what it's worth, Sie. I'm sorry."
Sielaire nods, and breathes another sigh before gulping down more sujamma. "Now, give me the details."
Ayrenn's smile tilts into a smirk, and she pushes the map over to Sie. "This is our destination." She points out a landmark circled in black ink. "An Ayleid ruin. Omaren doesn't know who the kidnappers are, but says to be careful as they've taken care to keep their identities and movements secret…"
The ruin is just half a day's trek from Necrom, and it is there that Sielaire's misgivings turn to reality. On the surface, the ruin is nothing much to look at, and stone doors sunk into the ground deters opportunistic adventurers from trying to enter a ruin with no entrance. But a closer search reveals a hatch behind from the sunken doors, and Sielaire climbs through the hatch first, careful to emit no sound as she moves down the wooden ladder.
Scanning the dark hallway as Ayrenn climbs down after her, Sielaire conjures two wisps of light, and sends one to Ayrenn. They share a glance, and draw their blades as they venture further into the ruins. Navigation is easy through the empty corridors, but something thrums deep in Sielaire's veins. Soon, they find shoeprints on the dusty floor, which leads them down many long corridors until they arrive at a surprisingly well-lit chamber.
Sielaire passes a quick eye over its inhabitants, who seem like innocuous townsfolk at first – but the fresh mer and human corpses carved like roasts on the dinner table shocks her into action. Magicka gathers in Sielaire's hand in a heartbeat, and she throws out a lance of lightning which rends through three cannibals, sending them to the floor as charred bodies. Ayrenn flies in while they're distracted by Sielaire's spell, slashing one human across the throat, and taking down the remaining two Dunmer with spell and blade each.
Ayrenn huffs in distaste, flicking the blood from her sword, then gestures for Sielaire to start searching for their quarry. It doesn't take long; Omaren's partner is laid out on the dinner table, his eye sockets and chest cavity hollow. Between his clavicles rests a topaz amulet, which Ayrenn retrieves as instructed by Omaren, in case of their target's death.
Tucking the amulet into her pouch, Ayrenn casts one last glance over the morbid scene, then tilts her head at Sielaire. They leave the ruin with all haste, and set down the main road at a swift pace, driven on by the urge to fly far from their sickening discovery in the ruin's depths.
Night has fallen by the time they reach Necrom, but they find Taldis Omaren still working in his office at the tradehouse. The Dunmer is distracted by their entrance, and his expectant expression grows crestfallen when Ayrenn hands the amulet to him. Quiet anger draws his face taut as Ayrenn recounts what they'd found in the Ayleid ruins.
"I will inform the guards, and have them clear that place out as soon as possible. But first – I would like to thank you. You have done much to soothe my soul." Omaren stares at the amulet in his hand, then closes his fingers over it. He reaches down to his desk's drawer, and takes a heavy coin pouch which he hands to Ayrenn.
"Your payment. May the Three…or your Divines watch over you."
They remain in Necrom for two more days, before hitting the roads again. This time, they've decided to take a cart to the next town – for convenience, and to indulge in Ayrenn's desire to ride in a guar-drawn cart.
The cart-rider they've hired is remarkably different from his fellow Dunmer – he has a cheerful disposition, and doesn't seem to mind that Ayrenn has taken a seat at the front of the cart, engaging him in light-hearted banter.
"So you're just travelers, eh?" he says, sitting half-turned in his seat so he can face Ayrenn comfortably. "Not looking to settle down, or anything?"
"Why, have many Altmer been moving to Morrowind?" Ayrenn asks in jest, and the Dunmer's smile turns sheepish.
"Not that I know of. But a famous one's settled here, and that's enough to get tongues wagging."
Ayrenn exchanges a glance with Sielaire, and though they have an inkling of who this Altmer is, Ayrenn asks politely, "Who is it?"
The Dunmer fixes her with an incredulous look. "Don't you know? It's the hero of Tamriel, who ended the Planemeld? One of your own people."
"Ah, yes. Aneril of Lillandril, isn't it?"
"Something like that. Heard tell she went to Vvardenfell, living in Balmora now. Apparently she's highly-sought as a merc, but takes very few jobs. Bet they pay damn well, though."
"Hm, that sounds good. Maybe we should pay her a visit, take a job or two off her hands," Ayrenn drawls, turning back to smile at Sielaire, who's obviously biting her tongue.
Sielaire squints at her in warning, then rolls her eyes at Ayrenn's wink, turning away with her arms crossed. Ayrenn sighs quietly, waves at the Dunmer to excuse herself, and moves to join Sielaire.
"I'm just joking, Sie. You know that."
"I never do," Sielaire utters, though she doesn't protest when Ayrenn rests a hand in the crook of her arm.
"I really am this time, Sie. I promise. But I do want to pay Aneril a visit," Ayrenn says quietly in Altmeris, attracting a curious glance from Sielaire. "She left my service quite abruptly – even Raz was surprised by her departure. It's a loose end I want to tie up."
Sielaire raises a brow.
"I have to ensure she doesn't speak of her time with us. And, if possible…it would be useful to have an Eye close to Vivec City."
Sielaire's expression turns thoughtful. "And if she doesn't want to?"
"Then I shall leave her in peace. I won't force her to stay." Ayrenn looks to Sielaire, eyes glinting playfully. "Too bad you won't enjoy the same concession."
Sielaire rolls her eyes again. "I am hardly your agent," she says, lowering her voice to a near–inaudible whisper as she leans in. "Your Majesty."
"No, you aren't," Ayrenn croons back. "You are my beloved wife, remember?"
Sielaire smiles, and kisses her softly. "Every second I am with you, I do."