Author's Note:

After a year, I finally got back to work on 'Heart of Honor'. I apologize that it has been so long. I lost track of where the story was going and got blocked on it. I promise that I will not let it go for so long again. Your reviews are very important to me. Even if you feel that my writing needs work, I would like to hear your opinions.

I wasn't sure of what to say to that. Both of us were silent for a moment. Outside, the wind howled and screamed like long lost souls.

"Would you tell me about your home?" I asked him. I was looking for a way to break the silence, but I was surprised that he actually answered me. Arms still folded across his chest, Shal'ir asked, "What would you know of it?"

I thought for a moment. "Anything you wish to tell me."

"As you wish. Normally, we Dremora do not speak of such things to mortals. But I will make an exception in this case."

In truth, I could see in his eyes that my question pleased him, but I would not injure his pride by calling attention to the fact. "I thank you."

The Dremora sighed deeply, and then spoke. "Much as mortal kingdoms have smaller domains within the greater whole, so it is within our realm within Lord Dagon's. In your language, it would be called Storm Mount.

"As you might surmise, we Dremora dwell in the high mountain peaks. Storm Mount itself is atop one of the loftiest, quite near a massive volcano the likes of which would dwarf even your mighty Red Mountain."

I shivered. "It sounds terribly dangerous."

"Perhaps for mortals, but we Dremora have the means and the knowledge to live amidst the avalanches and earthquakes that shake our realm." He closed his eyes, a slight smile touching his lips.

"You must miss it terribly," I said. I was fairly certain that I would not miss such a violent land. On the other hand, I terribly missed Lake Amaya and Vivec. Shal'ir Kamaya would no doubt find the lake's placid beauty and Vivec's gleaming cantons to be terribly staid and dull compared to his turbulent realm. Beauty, I supposed, was as relative as anything else.

"I have not seen my home in centuries," he said flatly. "Even considering that we are immortal, the years wear on me."

I nodded. "I am sorry to hear that. I've not been away from my home for long at all, and already I miss it terribly."

"Then perhaps you have some inkling of what it is that I endure," The Dremora said. "As for me, I take great pleasure in these ash storms. I revel in the thunderstorms. When the lightning strikes close by and the thunder roars with the voice of a thousand Ogrim, it is almost as if I am home. I had stepped outside to enjoy the ash storm when that vile Perthan accosted you."

Remembering the Spider Daedra's foul advances, I shuddered. "Luckily for me then that it wasn't a bright sunny day," I said with a trace of morbid humor.

Shal'ir smiled a wicked glint in his crimson eyes. "Indeed, you are most fortunate."

Another silence followed as we listened to the wind screaming through the ruins. I thought on his words, trying to see the ash storm through his eyes. The storms were dangerous; they obscured vision, the high winds could do great damage to living creatures and things, and occasionally the storms carried the terrible blight sicknesses.

At the same time, when the storms occurred around dusk or dawn the ash and dust thrown into the air made for spectacularly beautiful skies. Brilliant shades of crimson, vermillion, deepest indigo and purple colored the Ashlands for miles around. The sound of the wind had a melancholy beauty of its own. "My grandfather has said that destruction has a beauty of its own and is as necessary to existence and life as creation," I said, leaning back against the wall.

"Again, your grandfather shows great wisdom. Few mortals can approach such concepts, much less appreciate them."

I yawned widely. "I think I understand…to a point." I explained my earlier thoughts on it. The Dremora nodded.

"Well enough. You see more clearly than most. Now. Listen."

We listened together to the storm's song. Finally, I faded into sleep.

"Mortal. The storm has abated."

The Dremora's words and his hand on my shoulder brought me out of a fitful, dream-cursed sleep in which foul beasts roamed the wastes and hollow-faced horrors worshiped foul gods in blood-red caverns. I shivered, grateful that it was only dreams. I sat up, wrapping my cloak around me in the sudden chill. "What—"

"It is late morning, perhaps early afternoon, as mortals reckon the passage of time," Shal'ir told me. He watched me curiously as I yawned widely and stretched, getting the kinks out of my muscles. Stone floors of Daedric shrines are only slightly more comfortable than the surface of a foyada

"Ah. All right, then." My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since some time before the storm had chased me into the ruins. I opened my pack and rummaged through it, finally finding a hunk of slightly stale bread and some scrib jerky. Water from my canteen completed the filling, if not very satisfying breakfast.

"How is it outside?" I asked Shal'ir.

He shrugged. "Clear and calm, at least for now." He sounded annoyed and mildly disgusted by the pleasant weather. I stifled a grin.

While I ate, I pondered Shal'ir's predicament. I myself wasn't experienced or well-equipped enough to take on a Dremora, to banish him back to his home in Oblivion and break the compulsion. Still, I felt a desire to help him. "Perhaps there's a way I can get you home," I said at last.

Shal'ir, who'd been pacing as I'd been eating, stopped and looked at me. "Speak."

"I can't do it myself. I'm not powerful enough to fight you; you'd stomp me into a thin red paste." His mouth twitched slightly. "But I might be able to find someone who can."

"And if you cannot?"

"Well," I said with a touch of my earlier dark humor, "I guess I'll risk getting pasted one day."

"You would do this for me."

I nodded. "You saved my life. You allowed me to wait out the storm here. And unless I miss my guess, you watched over me while I slept."

Shal'ir resumed his pacing; that was all the answer I needed. I said, "To me, it is more than fair and right. You have my word in this."

At last, the Dremora nodded. "Very well, little mortal: I would be interested to see if you succeed." He smirked. "I will do my best to make my opponent's death quick and merciful."

"Nothing like Daedric sarcasm," I said with a sigh. "May I ask one more question?"

It was his turn to sigh. "Yes, if you must."

"Do you ever get lonely here?"

Shal'ir turned his broad back to me. "Go now, Alaunel Mithryr."

It was all the answer that I would get from him. I left him, still staring at the statue of Mehrunes Dagon with his back to me. I was halfway down the foyada to Ald'ruhn before I realized that he had addressed me by name.