A/N: This is my post-canon conclusion to the fates of both Vivec and my Nerevarine. Although technically a spiritual journey of healing, a peculiar romantic love will develop between the two over the course of the story I have planned. I have take some liberties with headcanon, though I have not disrespected any official lore. This story will be cross-posted on AO3 under the same title. My story "Trial of Vivec" is a required read in order to understand the events taking place in this story. It is a relatively quick read of 5,000 words.
Ilsme took an hour to prepare herself before she left to find Vehk, whose current location she was almost certain of. No council member had noticed her leaving the chamber after Vivec's trial and subsequent disappearance, as they had been far too busy arguing among themselves. A smile crept onto her face at the thought of her people's intensely divisive and argumentative behavior, a trait foreigners did not understand. A trait that the Empire would doubtlessly use as an excuse to take some kind of action.
When she allowed herself to dwell on the future of Morrowind, a feeling of dread came to exact its dues. She was certain that the Empire would lose interest in interfering with Dunmeri politics after the fall of the Sixth House, and what was to come with Baar Dau, which would be the final plunge for the Dunmeri people to heal after millennia of living under the Tribunal's hegemony. Always, they must take the longest path toward wisdom. Such was their way, and like Vehk, she no longer had any interest in even attempting to change their minds. They would need to learn how to govern their affairs without either of them, for she would join Vehk in exile. Her reputation would be ruined for many years in Morrowind. The Dunmer had long memories.
The outfits she'd packed were shrunken down into the small, crimson bag that had been given to her by the Ashlanders. Books detailing the provinces and customs of Tamriel found their way into the bag as well, and she wondered if she wasn't over-preparing. Regardless, she would have to leave Morrowind, so she decided it was superior to be over-prepared rather than empty-handed. The gold and silver she'd saved from her many ventures through the province was also shrunken down using an obscure branch of Illusion magic, and stuffed into the little red, accented bag.
For years now, this had been her home. To leave was to formally enter a new era of her life, a new era where Voryn did not haunt her dreams both in waking and sleeping. Where the sight of Sil, burned and unrecognizable, hanging from the rafters of his own make no longer weighed on the fragile order she'd established in her mind's eye. A new era, where the part of her yearned to embrace Almalexia, whose beauty was terrible both in mortality and in godhood, and again, in death. The hegemony was over, and this would mark its final, symbolic end for her. For the people, it would take many years to recover from the intricate web of lies that the Tribunal wove. The web of lies, which had ironically led to the prosperity of their civilization, which was to be the only advanced society remaining from the Age of Mer.
Ilsme allowed herself one final glance at Vivec's temple, and the cloth that covered the magnificent statue which had been made in his likeness. Already, the Dunmer in this city were moving on, and she wondered when the rest would. A tear began to pool in her eye then, at the imminent death of what was once an astonishing empire to behold. The death of a golden age, the beginning of the New. She knew, however, that a thing could not be rebuilt unless it struggled. To collapse in grief at the symbol was to erase all the progress she'd made in appearance over her life, and thus, she turned away and did not let herself look back.
Vehk would be waiting for her, and so she wasted no more time in journeying there, spear and magic in hand. Ilsme was not always so talented with the spear until she became one with the voice of Nerevar, who was a master of the spear, not unlike Vehk. She had bested many opponents with her spear, others with her magic, which she'd trained in since she was young enough to do so. Elven mages were always prized in Cyrodiil's courts.
Making the trek back there was unsettling, even for one who fancied themselves as disciplined as she. Somehow, she knew, she just knew, that he would be there waiting for her. Ever the romantic was he, and she knew it had been this way since the beginning. An orphan who struggled in threadbare cloth and meager sustenance had only dreams, and those dreams were often blanketed with an esoteric abstraction, the contents of which could only manifest through poetry.
When she reached the entrance to Voryn's former stronghold, only then did she allow herself to hesitate for the first time that day. A series of breaths escaped her chest in rapid succession, her lips, lavender in color, becoming darker under the pressure of her teeth. The reminder of oneness, of final oneness with Nerevar, and the peace she'd made with his soul, was the only thing capable of calming her down. The regret of slaying Voryn would only haunt her for as long as she remained here, and though she'd cremated his body already, paying a visit to his final resting place, and the final resting place of the one she anticipated, Nerevar, was due.
The point of puncture.
There was no sign of life in this stronghold now, the bodies of House Dagoth's loyal servants had passed into nothingness, the works of Ilsme, who had tried, and succeeded, to pay her respects to the once noble House of the elf Voryn had once been. Her victory over him had tasted of ash in her mouth, a bittersweet event, the only good coming from it being the liberation it brought. Slaying Voryn, the once proud elf whose loyalty to her and her predecessor endured millennia, had been no menial task. If she answered to the God that was once Vivec, she would've written a fine score of lines dedicated to such an event.
As it were, she had not the time to record her abstracted thoughts onto parchment, for being the Nerevarine was no title of wealth, but of responsibility. Ensuring the stability of the Great Houses had been a rather large priority for the first couple months after Voryn's defeat and Vivec's descent from power. There had also been the matter of Almalexia, a large process that had seemed ironically very small after the matters with House Dagoth. All of these things, she thought over as she descended into the depths of Voryn's fortress once again, knowing exactly the spot where Vehk would be found.
In due time, did she finally find the back of his head, which was now wholly gray in appearance, for he embodied duality no longer. The lies had already been told ages ago. He stood over the remnants of the Numidium, still and his eyes fixed on the chasm below. He did not seem to notice her watching him, but she did not doubt that he knew she was here. While not a demigod anymore, Vehk was both ancient and studied in sorcery of all kind.
The point of puncture.
"You knew I would find you here, Vehk." She finally spoke, filling the silence that had been intermingling with Dwemer machinery, an awful, churning sound.
He did not immediately respond, and she knew that like her, a wave of wistful sentiment had washed over him at the sight of this ancient dwelling. This was where Nerevar died, after all, and where Voryn too, had lost his life – twice. His lips parted long before any words were spoken, which marked the first time she'd seen serenity in his body language once again, since Voryn's death. Consequentially, she prepared herself for a well-rehearsed lie that never came.
"Rivulets of yesteryear water the parched halls of this ancient dwelling where it will remain isolated forever, while a colorless form sits upon the throne of tomorrow. We shall not see their like again, Ilsme." Came his words, and a solemn moment of understanding passed between the two as she mulled over the meaning of what was said.
Such was the way of Vehk, who had always been one who brooded secretly. His deliverance of prose mesmerized most with ears to listen, although this language had lost its power on Ilsme, who had long ago mastered it also.
"We both knew Voryn to be an elf of honor, as strange as the concept may be to our people." She spoke, making her way to stand beside Vehk, thought not too closely. "Watching him gasp his last breath as he left the clutches of this world, his hands grasping my arms, pleading… for something that is still speculative. When finally, the moment had come, there was no sorrow for him. He had bequeathed that burden onto my shoulders, and I do not believe he mourned his own passing. No, we shall not see his like again."
Covering Vehk's body were still the jewels and finery of his former status, echoes of an era bygone as of now. His eyes were like glittering rubies, made brighter by the glow of flowing lava below. Vehk was also unarmed, she noticed. His spear of great renown had been left behind, likely deemed an unnecessary indulgence by the same ones who exiled him from his own country.
Instead of waiting for Vehk to speak, she continued on with her piece, as she had witnessed the terror and excellence of the one who once dwelt here only recently. The elf whose name was Dagoth Ur to the many, but Dagoth Voryn, to the two.
"You should have seen him then, Vehk. You should have witnessed what had become of him. He was no longer himself, he had perverted duty into insanity. When I tore his mask off, and looked him in the eyes, I did not see any trace of Voryn… at first. But when I looked beyond the perversion, the corruption, the pain, there was a shining light in those depths, that shone even in the darkness. It was the last piece of him, a piece buried so deeply that I do not believe even he was aware of it. In that light, I saw one who begged for release at the tip of a spear. In that light, there was an awareness beyond the confines of ordinary awareness, that knew he'd gone too far, to the point where there was no return. It was this light that begged for death, and I did oblige this request."
"I would have told you before, had I the heart to. You possess an impeccable capacity for mercy, Ilsme. Suffice to say, I would not have granted him the mercy of a clean death. You and I have known him differently, and it is intriguing to witness how these differences have been made manifest in this hour of shared grief. I have not felt the hurt of past wounds in an age before now. Every moment spent with you is a moment encased in bitter, and at times, sweet, irony." His voice had lost its reverberating echo, though it was still powerful enough to strike a chord within her being. He was a captivating speaker, though she knew now that he was not using it to seduce.
It was a rare moment of calm between them, a moment of acceptance and not denial. She approached him then, and touched him for the first time in this body, the first time in thousands of years. His head turned in her direction only minutely, but she knew that he was sizing up her next action and planning his own in the event that action was necessary. Otherwise, his gaze remained fix on an uncertain detail before him, which she could not see, and did not try to either. Her small hand, with its long fingers now softened by the months of statecraft and parchment, splayed on the soft, silky skin of his arm, and a moment later, she held his hand in hers. Vehk did not immediately react or stiffen, nor did he speak for several moments.
The animosity which existed for what felt like an era, passed into nothingness with the touch of skin, and likely the only apology she would ever receive from him, the only recognition he would ever give to his most grievous of sins, which was murder, be it intentional or unintentional, of a friend. Nerevar's spirit was indeed murdered, though the death of his body was the only missing link in her memories of him. What is clear, is that while Vehk was unapologetic toward the idea of achieving something diabolical in the name of the God, Ambition, there was a part of him which was remorseful that it had to be Nerevar who stood in the way of he and his splendorous vision.
Ilsme had meant what she said at his trial, when she'd said that it did not matter if Vehk played a part in the murder of Nerevar, for Nerevar's spirit was murdered long before his physical form was.
"It is a strange thing, to be one with the ephemeral again. When I was a youth, I wanted to be as incandescent and undying as the sun, but even the sun surrenders to the moon… every night, thus far." He said, a small smile, both natural and sad, tugged at either side of his supple lips and finally did he take his eyes off of the point ahead of him, and peering down at their conjoined hands, said, "I have been made aware of freedom since last I looked and saw the architect of creation, and discovered that there is a truth behind all lie. Only now, am I able to breathe freedom through my lungs, and exhale liberation. For the first time in a lifetime, I feel directionless. And… it is liberating."
The small part of her still sovereign from Nerevar wondered if he grieved Ayem and Sil, though was reminded that they did not want grief. Where were they now, she wondered? Could they see the reunion of she and Vehk? And if they could see, did they smile?
A rush of lava below brought a hot stream of air past her brow, and her snowy hair blew in the heavy breeze. Her gaze fell to the urn holding Voryn's ashes, the urn she was unsure what to do with now. Voryn was an impressive mystic, whose body had unbelievable abilities to rejuvenate and heretofore unknown abilities that could prove meddlesome, even though he was no longer with the living. The wisest choice would be to carefully spread his ashes in the sea that spanned the distance between Vvardenfell and the mainland. She wondered if Vehk would aid her in this.
"It is only right that we be here together one last time, Vehk." She said, though it was more of a random chain of thought than a reply to his previous words, a sign that the walls that were placed so high between them were coming down. Or rather, that they were learning to climb them and make peace with their height. "Where will you go?"
He no longer watched their hands, his gaze was now focused on her face, and though she no longer felt threatened by the mer, she had to steel herself from getting lost in its beauty. Vehk's eyes narrowed in a haze of emotions – thought, confusion, wistfulness. At the last moment before he spoke, a touch of humor stole the heavy, brooding look on his beautiful face, his next words causing both of them to laugh.
"Somewhere that does not have volcanoes." He answered.
"That omits most of the east. I propose something different." She replied, raising the hand that was free and lifting a finger in a gesture she often used when persuading a crowd, "Come with me, Vehk."
"A most tempting offer for old time's sake, hmm? I believe I shall.. there is much to experience yet, in this new form."
For awhile, they stood together overlooking where Akulakhan once lay. Both of them thought of the same, that two mer of impressive caliber lost their life in this place, and that for many years, there was no rest for their anguish. Now, however, both were harmonious once again, in death. Yes, Ilsme decided, they would all smile.
"There is one last thing we must tend to, and then I believe we should sail immediately." She said, taking her silvery hand from his own and wandering over to the lone urn that stood proudly next to the mask of its owner's ashes.
Her hand brushed the mask of pure gold, feeling the thrum of magic emanating from it even now. It would be of the highest degree of disrespect to leave it here or throw it in the ocean, but it would also be irresponsible to allow anyone else to lay a hand on it. Grasping the mask, she held it firmly in her hand and carried the urn in the other, unsure of what to do with her spear. The practical side of her did not want to make a second trip back into the Red Mountain, and thankfully, Vehk spoke up.
"I will bear the burden of your spear." Was all he said as they left the burning heat of the chamber together.
The journey back outside was silent, for there were no more words to say until they would make their leave from Vvardenfell. As Ilsme had intimate knowledge of the geography by now, it did not take long for them to reach the Bitter Coast. Vehk trailed behind her, spear supporting his movements, and though she'd yet to see him fight, the way his body moved with the weapon was astonishingly natural, as he supported it on his shoulder, and not upright as she and many others often did. It was a queer image, to see him follow instead of lead.
It was nearing dawn now, and she realized that both of them had been awake for longer than a day, and that she had not felt the tug of fatigue one bit. A few exhales escaped her when she bent forward to the untouched, solid soil overlooking the Inner Sea, with a new dawning on the horizon. With a clean, linen cloth she had in her small, enchanted bag, she covered the golden mask, and began using her own hands to dig the soil. A few minutes later, she was surprised to see that Vehk had joined her, leaning down and placing his own hands in the dirt. The significance of the gesture was not lost on her, and the healing of their friendship was now marked and cemented by this moment. His eyes met hers momentarily, and a look passed between them that could have lasted a second or a minute, or perhaps even a year, and neither had to speak – for both hearts felt the same in this moment.
No matter what Vehk had thought of the Sharmat (he'd made his thoughts very clear at one of their past meetings), Voryn had been a trusted friend once, and a rival that deserved high honors. She did believe him, and expected even, when he mentioned he would not have given him a clean death – but Vehk was not the kind to mock the dead, even when he and his brethren told their greatest lie, the lie that had shrouded Nerevar's death in mystery. Perhaps that, to him, was honoring Nerevar, spinning a web of lies to create a tale of a glorious death that was in reality so bereft of glory.
With their hands now covered in the dark soil of the Bitter Coast, did they finally bury the mask and cover it in the hopes that no one would find it. A ward was not placed over top the shallow grave, for that would alert any mages of a significant artifact buried within. Her lips found the soil a moment later, placing a chaste kiss atop it, reminiscent of the kiss she'd placed on Voryn's forehead in his final moments. Vehk watched the exchange with a strange look written on his face, a look she'd never seen before on the mer. His brows were drawn, and a moment later, the look was replaced with a blankness she was beginning to learn was his primary expression when in his mortal form. One final look at the site of the buried mask, and her feet took her closer to the spot of ground overlooking the sea ahead.
The ash looked no different from any other's, but it was, and no one would ever know that the ashes of Dagoth Ur lined the Bitter Coast's Inner Sea. The secret would remain with she and Vehk, a secret they would keep wherever their journeys would find them. Vehk watched her spread the ashes along the surface of the water, his gaze intense though his face vague and expressionless, as his eyes followed the particles of ash falling to the sand below. Though his passionate hatred for the Sharmat was clear, his love for the mer that he once was, drove him to endure the bittersweet parting of an old friend. Truthfully, they were the only ones left with memories of an age now forgotten.
He said nothing as he handed her back her spear, but she did, and when she addressed him, it was not about Voryn.
"You will need a change of attire, I believe, if you are to pass as a lowly mortal."
"You, of all people, should know by now that there is nothing lowly about mortality." Came his response, but nonetheless, he began to strip his person of the jewels he'd worn in his godhood, and she smiled at the sight of him thinking nothing of throwing them in the sea where they'd laid Voryn to rest.
Though a mer of symbol were they both, neither cared much for finery beyond the emblem it represented to the people, and consequentially, to the universe. A secret smile stole at Vehk's lips as he discarded the jewels and the gold-adorned clothing he wore, leaving him in little more than a loincloth by the end of his tirade. A breathy laugh escaped her at the sight, a true laugh like the one she'd uttered when Vehk disappeared at his own trial. Always, he did not allow himself to indulge in moderation. Everything was done in excess and passion, even when symbols of said excess and passion were being removed.
Ilsme borrowed him a robe, not unlike the stitching and color of her own, which was a thin, silver material long enough to cover his tall stature. It reminded her of an image that Nerevar had of Vehk, when Vehk was still not more than a crafty street urchin, though his robes then were much more threadbare and of an inferior make.
"We shall have to find you a spear of equal make to mine, serjo. It would not do for the famed Warriot-Poet to be without an arm. I believe we should travel shortly for Hla Oad, and sail across to the mainland until we cross a ship that can carry us to a still uncertain destination of our liking. There are friends of mine in Hla Oad who would gladly offer a small boat to us, whom I am sure have not yet heard the news that it was I who pardoned you, and if they have, I am almost certain they will not care."
Although now beginning to feel fatigue in her muscles, Ilsme knew that they would find no rest until they arrived in the port city of Ebonheart on the mainland, a journey that would take nearly half a day to complete from Hla Oad. Said village loomed in the horizon as she led them there, Vehk following behind her still. The sun was rising quickly in the sky, and soon they would be out on the water, and the voyage would wash them completely of the sorrow that clung to them on this island.
Baleni Salavel, the smuggler and captain of the Harpy, beamed when she took in the sight of Ilsme and unbeknownst to her, Vehk. Ilsme had turned a blind eye to the operations of Hla Oad, and had benefited the pockets of its inhabitants greatly by hiring many passages to other coastal towns of Vvardenfell. So easily could she have reported them to the Great Houses who loathed the smuggling of skooma, but she had not. These lucrative, underground activities of her people were what allowed the impoverished to prosper and enjoy a culture that was wholly their own, and not the property of the very wealthy and powerful.
Switching to Dunmeris, Ilsme said to the other Dunmer woman, "I must ask you one last favor, sera, before I part from this country entirely. A small boat is what I require, and I have ample coin for the boat that shall likely never return to these shores."
Baleni replied in Dunmeris, "If a small boat is all you need, then I don't see the reason to charge you, Nerevarine. You have done enough already. I guess you can take it as a parting gift, for the wonders you've done for our little economy here."
The rough Dunmer woman led her to a small vessel made of wood, with two oars on opposite ends. Despite its small size, it was not of poor make. A streak of regret found its way to Ilsme as she knew the fine little boat would likely never be on these shores again, for it would be consumed by the ships on the port of Ebonheart. Baleni saw the two travelers aboard the boat that could really be called more of a canoe, and the two said nothing as they sat, their bodies moving slightly with the waves.
"One other thing. Tell no one that you have seen me, and if they come looking, tell them that the Nerevarine was preparing to set sail for Akavir."
She nodded then at both of them, and much to her satisfaction, Vehk nodded back and lifted a manicured hand to his chest in parting. Ilsme did not think she'd properly rowed a boat since her early youth in the Imperial City, though it was an intuitive process and one learned easily. Vehk, she noted, seemed much more practiced at it. Hear spear and a stash of food that Baleni had given to her lay between them, and when the coast was growing farther and farther, did she finally speak again in Cyrodiilic.
"Do you want to see it, one last time?" She asked, knowing he would understand what 'it' was.
Slowly, a smile graced both of their lips as they collectively directed the boat towards Vivec City, whose grandeur was visible even from here. Another hour and a half was all it took to finally be close enough to see its shape clearly for the last time. Baar Dau loomed over the city like a huge cloud, though the light of the sun shined even through it. A soft breeze caught Ilsme's hair, and a breath escaped both of them as they both watched the city from afar.
By now, their rowing had stopped, and the silence did not need to be filled for the moment to be imprinted on both of their souls. How many stories had he written in this city? How many lovers had he courted? How many songs were compiled in the halls of that once abundantly populated fortress? Time would lose the answers to these questions, like leaves swept away from their host trees in the autumnal months, never to return to that spot ever again.
For the countless time in the past day, tears welled in her eyes once again, as she slowly turned around to continue the voyage, and said a silent farewell to the end of that time of both of their lives.
