Gelebor hesitated before stepping inside. Morning sunlight washed past him to bathe the dimly lit Temple in rays of orange and white. The scent of incense and ash was almost overpowering. He blinked, feeling an intruder. Whatever I'm looking for, I won't find it here.
"Hello?" A white-haired Dunmer with a braided beard stepped out of the darkness, holding up a hand to shield his eyes. Elder Othreloth. "Who's there?"
"Apologies," Gelebor said. "I've come to the wrong place by mistake. Have a good day."
"Hold on one moment." Othreloth moved closer, recognition dawning in his eyes. "It's been some time, Gelebor. I'd been wondering where our resident priest of Auriel ran off to. Please, come inside. I was just about to have some tea."
"Please, don't trouble yourself." Gelebor stood in the doorway. "I'm sure you have more important matters to attend to."
"Just dusting urns." Othreloth grabbed his arm with surprising strength, and gently pulled him into the Temple. The door shut behind them, and the sunlight vanished with a hollow thud. "I've missed our little talks. Where have you been, my boy?"
"I've been living with someone, out in the wilds."
"Someone?" Othreloth led him past smoking candles and walls of urns.
"Yes. She's my..." Gelebor strained his mind to think of the right word. Nadene certainly didn't pay him to follow her, but her gifts had been beyond value. They could mostly tolerate each other, at this point, which seemed to make him an exception in her view. But the word 'friend' seemed too simple to describe their relationship. "I'm not exactly sure what she is."
"Sounds like an interesting someone." They came to a small room, mostly bare of furnishing, with a small hearth quietly blazing in the center. A kettle hissed on a tray above the coals. Othreloth coaxed Gelebor into a chair and attended to the tea.
"Hmm. Interesting, if nothing else." Gelebor leaned forward, watching the fire spit and pop.
"You like it sweetened, don't you?"
"Yes, please."
"Here you are." Othreloth handed him a steaming cup and took the chair opposite. "Not as good as when Galdrus makes it, of course."
"I was wondering where your apprentice was." Gelebor replied diplomatically. "He was usually quite present during my prior visits."
"I've sent him to Blacklight, to receive further training." Othreloth smiled. "I'm sure you didn't fail to notice his...overenthusiasm, for tithing."
In truth, after the first time Gelebor had come to the Dunmer Temple he had been careful not to return with more than a few coins on his person. Inevitability, all the gold he carried would end up as an offering to the Reclamations. This was made all the more impressive since Galdrus incessantly mocked and cursed Auriel during his visits.
"But I sense you didn't come here to speak of Galdrus Hlervu," Othreloth said, and sipped his tea. "You seem changed, my son. Did something happen to you, during your adventure with this woman in the woods?"
Gelebor hesitated. Before, their conversations had mostly been academic. The differences between their faiths, for the most part, and the struggles of walking the right path. Othreloth still thought him a particularly pale Altmer, who had a strong devotion to Auriel. But they had never spoken of personal matters.
"Have no fear, Gelebor," Othreloth said, perhaps sensing his reluctance. "Just because we worship Daedra, that doesn't mean dremora will materialize if you dare show weakness. All are safe from judgment within the walls of this temple."
"Thank you, elder." Gelebor leaned back. "I've been turning this problem over in my head these past few days, trying to work through it. Wherever I've found myself doesn't feel much better than where I started. In truth, I've lost my faith. I no longer feel love for Auriel."
"Ah. What prompted this turn? You seemed a most loyal disciple when I last saw you."
"I'm weary of his ambivalence. For many years I've done nothing but praise Auriel, wanting neither recognition nor reward. But the rewards he has seen fit to bestow upon me only prolong this endless cruelty, and in the light of eternal life, his ignorance is all the more agonizing."
If Gelebor's confession shocked Othreloth, the old Dunmer did not show it on his face. He set down his tea cup and pursed his lips.
"Eternal life, you say," Othreloth mused. "Not the most uncommon gift, and perhaps the most shared among the Aedra and Daedra. The latter often use eternity as selfish weapon, to ensure they have a strong and loyal servant on the mortal plane for as long as possible. Do you believe Auriel is prolonging your life with the same intention?"
"I don't know," Gelebor replied. He put down his own cup and rubbed his forehead. "I would say such an act would be out of character, but for all the time I've spent serving Auriel I can't say I know him well. What I've seen of his mercy leaves much to be desired."
"Our faiths are quite different. Servants of the Daedra can ask the Princes their desires, and oftentimes even receive a response. The Reclamations are no exception. Azura spoke to the Nerevarine to guide them on the path of prophecy, and Mephala and Boethiah also communicate with those they deem worthy. Many former followers of the Aedra find this transparency refreshing."
"I see." Gelebor tapped his fingers together nervously. Othreloth laughed at the look on his face.
"Don't worry, son. I'm not trying to convert you. Tell me. How much do you know of the Dunmer faith?"
"Mostly, only what you've told me." You, and Nadene. "Your people once worshiped a Tribunal, I know."
"Yes." All the spirit seemed to go out of Othreloth. "We were misled. And as punishment for straying from the right path, the Daedra sent Morrowind back centuries, if not thousands of years. Red Mountain exploded with the fury of our forsaken gods. Even us Ashlanders, who had remained loyal despite the Tribunal's heresy, were not spared the fire and ash that rained from the sky."
"You truly believe the Daedra caused the Red Year?" Gelebor leaned forward. "That's horrible." He almost continued, but then thought better of it.
Othreloth smiled wearily. "Go on. We both know what you were about to ask."
"How can you worship gods that treat your lives with such disregard?"
"Finally, you have arrived at the crux of Dunmer faith." Othreloth spread his hands. "It's a bargain. We endure pain and hardship in service to merciless masters, in return for rewards that servants of other faiths can only dream of. But such an arrangement means that if the returns for fierce devotion are so great, the reckonings from disloyalty must be all the more severe."
"I don't quite understand."
"No, I don't expect you would. Despite what you say, your spirit is still twisted towards worship of Auriel. But think about what I've said. The disparities between Aedra and Daedra are not so strong as people believe. Have you ever known your god to abandon his followers?"
Gelebor's mind flashed to the burning Chantry, and Vyrthur, left to the eternal torment of Molag Bal.
"Yes," he replied grimly.
"And has he abandoned you?"
The question struck him like a blow. Gelebor looked down at his hands, nearly as whole and unlined as they had been when he left the Chantry five years ago. The rest of his body was in a similar state of health.
"I don't know," Gelebor admitted. "Perhaps I've just been extraordinarily fortunate."
"Ha." Othreloth stood and accepted Gelebor's offered cup. "Consider this, Gelebor; Auriel has no method of communicating his wishes to you, beyond his gifts. If he has given you years of life, maybe he expects you to figure out yourself what to do with them."
"Maybe. But it's not enough." Gelebor followed the elder back out into the central chamber, where midday worshipers were already quietly entering the temple. "For centuries of love and loyalty, I deserve more to go on then 'do it yourself, you lazy elf'."
"There's your mistake. Love is for mortals, son," Othreloth said, guiding him gently towards the door. "The gods have moved past such weaknesses. Pray that you never join them."
"Thank you. Truly." Gelebor offered his hand. Othreloth grabbed it and pulled him into a hug. "You don't know what it's been like, not having anyone to speak with."
"I do. But you're not as alone as you think." Othreloth pulled back and watched him searchingly. "What of this woman you mentioned? Don't you think she would understand?"
Gelebor thought of how Nadene spoke of Azura. "Yes. Perhaps better than most. But I sense she's almost as lost as I am. Piling my troubles on top will do neither of us any good."
"I suspect you're mistaken. But only time will tell. I wish you good fortune with your faith, Gelebor. The doors of this temple will always be open to you."
He thanked the elder again, and departed the temple before any more entering Dunmer could send him rude glares. The sky was blissfully clear, so Gelebor rolled up his cloak and tucked it into his pack. Walking down the temple steps in only cloth pants and a thin shirt, the heat was nearly bearable, and the soreness in his muscles had faded to a distant ache. Three days had passed since their arrival in Raven Rock, and the rest had done them both some good.
Nadene's house was far from the Temple, but she'd asked him to make a stop on his way back. The docks. Gelebor was fortunate, and caught the courier alone almost as soon as he stepped out of the depot office.
"Good day. Might you have any letters addressed to-"
"Nadene Othryn?" The courier handed him an envelope. "Ya ask me near every day. This time, I actually got somethin' to offer."
"Many thanks. I have another matter for your attention." Gelebor followed the young Dunmer as he went off down the street a brisk walk. "Could you change the place of residence for miss Othryn to the oldest house in Firemoth Plaza, in the Old Rock district?"
The courier stopped, and Gelebor nearly ran into him.
"Firemoth?" His eyes widened. "Nary a soul lives down that way, muthsera. I've been on this beat a decade. And the oldest house, ya say..."
"Correct." Gelebor patted the boy's back, and clumsily slipped the tightly wrapped coins into his pocket. "And we'd both appreciate your discretion."
"Of course, serjo, of course." The courier grinned. "Discretion is my middle name."
"One more thing, Mr. Discretion. If anyone should inquire as to where these letters are going, please let us know with all possible haste."
The courier nodded and delivered a faltering imitation of an Imperial salute before sprinting off towards the Netch, no doubt in a hurry to catch up on his deliveries. Gelebor watched him go, brow creased. There'd been no sign of black robed Bosmer arriving in the city, according to Geldis Sadri, but that meant nothing. The cultists had watched the tower for weeks before striking the first time. And there were many places in Raven Rock where one could remain hidden. They'd learned that all too well, in their search for Kharjo.
Kharjo had asked to meet Nadene in the Retching Netch, months ago now, and had known she was the Nerevarine. Tell her that servants of darkness walk once more in the shadow of the mountain. Tell her that she must return where she began. And tell her that she is not forgotten; that the Twin Lamps shine in remembrance, even now. The first two lines of the message obviously referred to Vvardenfell, but the last part still eluded Gelebor. Mysterious. Even more mystifying was the question as to how Kharjo knew her, given that the lifespan of his race was similar to that of man. Nadene had left Vvardenfell long before the Khajiit had ever been born. Or so she claims.
Passing the tavern, Gelebor cast a glance through the open doors and was surprised to see Nadene setting at the counter, engaged in conversation with Geldis. Hmm. We must have ran out of sujamma at the house. He stepped inside the Netch, wincing at the wave of noise and movement. Gelebor had not quite acclimated to city life when he'd left Raven Rock in search of Nadene, and the second time around didn't seem to be going much better. She seemed of a similar mind, because once she saw him heading towards the bar she dropped some coins on the counter and pointed towards the door.
"Come on," She said as she passed. "I've gotta lead on Kharjo. Might be a wild guar chase, but who knows?"
"Splendid." Gelebor followed closely. He'd learned Nadene was adept at moving through crowds, small as she was. Walking in her footsteps was not always possible, with his superior height, but it certainly helped matters. "Good tidings from the courier. You've finally got a letter."
Nadene accepted the envelope and slipped it into her pocket.
"You're not going to read it?"
"Nah." She slipped out the Netch doors, nearly running into a couple of Redoran Guard, and went off down the lantern-lit street. "I like to save Habi's letters for when I'm really feeling down."
"Oh." Gelebor supposed if he had someone sending him letters, he'd probably do much the same. "Where are we going?"
"A more forgotten part of the Old Rock district. Geldis said one of his regulars spotted a Khajiit entering one of the broken down warehouses."
"Oh dear. I hope Kharjo's alright."
"If he's looking for my help, he's got to be pretty desperate." Nadene pulled her hood up. Though no one in the city seemed to recognize her face, she never stayed long out in the open before covering up. Perhaps I should follow her example. My paranoia would certainly be justified, considering there are insane cannibals trying to eat me.
They didn't speak for a long while, as Nadene led him deeper into the bowels of Raven Rock and the shadows around them grew longer. In a way, Gelebor viewed their time spent together at her tower as a sort of trial period. He was beginning to see that he'd never really met the real Nadene before the night it all burned down, and so their relationship was truly only a week old, if that. But Gelebor knew she shared true face with no one else, save the Ashlander girl who wrote her letters.
Eventually they walked the streets alone, and saw the buildings ahead only by the light of poorly maintained lanterns. Night had fallen on the sleeping city. Not even guards patrolled these ancient parts of Old Rock, for there were no tax-paying citizens or merchants to watch over so far from the docks and other beacons of commerce. The air smelled of filth and dead fish.
"This way." Nadene hesitated. "I think." They came to a warehouse in a state of near ruin. The most stable part of the structure was the door, which Nadene opened with a single finger. She slipped inside as quietly as a sleeping mudcrab, and Gelebor did his best to follow her example.
The interior was shrouded in darkness. Shafts of moonlight came down through the shattered roof and prevented their eyes from adjusting to the gloom.
"Hello?" Gelebor spoke. "Is anyone there?"
There was no response. After a couple of minutes had passed, Nadene let out a frustrated sigh and sat down on a nearby crate. Gelebor joined her, hands clasped on his lap.
"I've been meaning to ask," he said. "How did it come to pass that this Khajiit knows you're the Nerevarine in the first place?"
She shrugged. "The last one of them I knew from Vvardenfell died a century ago. They don't live much longer than Imperials or Nords. Maybe he's as blessed as we are."
Gelebor smiled tightly. "Yes. Blessed, for certain."
"Um," said a voice. They both looked up. "I beg your pardon. But did this one hear you speak of the Nerevarine?"
A decrepit Khajiit crept out of the shadows. Though it appeared his fur had once been white, now a thin layer of grime covered all. One of his ears was torn off, and his left eye was milky and clouded. Despite all this, Gelebor recognized the amulet around his neck.
"Kharjo?" He asked hesitantly. It was hard to reconcile his memory of the knight he'd met at the Sixth House shrine with this ruin of a figure. Kharjo seemed to have faded away, like the words of a book left out in the sunlight.
"This elf knows my name." Kharjo looked closely at them with his good eye. "Oh. I apologize. The memories, they come and go. You were the one at the monument, looking to make guar babies. So long ago."
"Scarcely two seasons have passed," Gelebor said. "For you, they appear to have been long ones indeed."
"This island has not been kind." Kharjo smiled sadly. His teeth were chipped. "It's no less than Khajiit deserves."
"I got your message, nonsensical as it was." Nadene asked. "So what do you want from me?"
"You are the Nerevarine?" Kharjo's eyes flickered to Nadene's ring. "By the Mane. Even in such squalor, I am honored. Though if my words made no sense, then you have forgotten more than I feared of your time on Vvardenfell."
The warehouse doors swung open. Mogrul and Slitter entered, accompanied by two other Dunmer of thuglike demeanor. The latter elves carried crossbows, and were currently pointing them in an uncomfortable direction.
"Well, well," Mogrul spoke, sounding all the world like a villain from a children's storybook. "Look who's crawled back to Raven Rock. What was your name? Geldbear?"
"Gelebor."
"And you made a lady friend." Mogrul leered at Nadene, who glared daggers back at him. "A pretty one, too."
"I advise you to step away from my new companions," Kharjo said. "This matter is between Khajiit and Mogrul only."
Mogrul didn't take his eyes off Nadene. "Slitter, take the cat's amulet."
Slitter advanced, and Gelebor could do little but watch with a crossbow aimed at his heart. Kharjo could barely stay on his feet. Slitter punched him in the stomach, and he fell.
"Very brave," Nadene said coolly. "Robbing the unarmed. And bringing four to do it. Were you afraid there was fight left in him?"
"Not robbery, sweetheart." Mogrul accepted the blue amulet from Slitter, and rubbed his thumb over the jewel before sliding it into his pocket. "Debt collection. But now you've put big ideas in my head, and those toys you're carrying look oh so shiny." He nodded, and Slitter drew his dagger.
Nadene tried to hide her ring, too late. Mogrul caught sight of the gleaming clasp himself and stepped forward to grab her. Gelebor reached for his mace, but Slitter's blade was at his neck.
"Ooh," Mogrul crowed, stretching Nadene's arm so the ring caught the moonlight. She hissed in pain and made her free hand into a fist.
"If you put that on, you'll die," she said coldly.
He laughed. "Of course I will, honey." He pulled at the clasp, but it wouldn't budge.
"I'll take it off, f'lah. Just let go of my arm for a minute."
"Nah. Don't think so." He seized her ring finger and pulled, hard.
Nadene cried out. Moon-and-Star fell to the straw floor.
"Nadene!"
Mogrul pushed her away. She retreated, cradling her broken finger. Is this what it was like, Vyrthur? Did you feel this same hatred brewing, towards Auriel?
"Hmm. Interesting." Mogrul was examining the ring in his open palm. Moon-and-Star had already expanded to fit its new owner. "Enchanted?"
"Yes." Nadene smiled bitterly. "It brings the wearer unparalleled power." She looked at Gelebor, still at the mercy of Slitter's dagger, and some of the coldness seemed to leave her. "But I wasn't lying. Only I can wear it, fool. You'll fall dead where you stand."
"We'll see about that." Mogrul looked around at them with an ugly smirk. Kharjo groaned in the corner.
"Don't do it!" Nadene pleaded. "It's not meant for you. The magic will respond to me alone."
"Too late, bitch." He caressed the dwarven clasp. "Don't worry. You'll be feeling this ring again soon."
"Please! You're going to die!"
Mogrul slid Moon-and-Star on to his finger, and died. The candle of his life was blown out in an instant. None of them had time to blink before his body fell.
"Told you," Nadene said miserably.
"You blighted witch," Slitter growled, and pushed Gelebor away. He turned, dagger raised. "I'll make you pay."
Gelebor acted without thinking. He stepped forward, grabbed Slitter's head, and twisted it sharply in a direction it was never meant to go. The snap seemed deafening. Slitter fell to the ground next to his master. I haven't taken a life in years. How easily it all comes back.
One of the crossbowmen aimed at Gelebor. The other looked down at the ring, which had slipped from Mogrul's cold finger.
"Nerevar, Moon-And-Star," the thug whispered reverently.
"B'vek, Fervnil!" The other one barked. Point your bloody crossbow! I can only cover the n'wah."
"That's...the Nerevarine." Fervnil pointed a trembling finger towards Nadene. "You know the stories! She killed Dagoth Ur, saved Morrowind from the blight. I'm not gonna shoot the fucking Nerevarine, Trilnis!"
"Then you shoot the n'wah." Trilnis adjusted his aim. "I don't give a guar's arse who she is. It's us or them."
"Put that down!" Fervnil pushed away his partner's weapon, accidentally setting it off. The stray bolt embedded itself in the wall near Kharjo's fallen body. Gelebor rushed forward to tackle Trilnis.
They grappled on the floor, twisting, as Fervnil tried to point his weapon at Gelebor. Nadene drew her bow.
"Drop it," she commanded. "There are enough dead fools lying here already."
Fervnil obeyed, and knelt. Trilnis was not so eager to give up. Gelebor pushed him away, both of them covered in cuts and bruises, and the Dunmer yelled in fury.
"Get on the ground." Nadene nocked an arrow.
"To Oblivion with that." Trilnis spat blood and teeth. "I'm going to have fun with you, girl."
Everything happened at once. Kharjo sat up, a wooden shiv held high. Trilnis moved quicker than light, and Nadene's glass arrow loosed. A Redoran Guard burst into the warehouse.
"Dagon's eyes, what's going on here?"
Gelebor turned, and a bonemold armored fist flew towards his face.
He received no Falmer dreams that night. Gelebor awoke in the ashy cell with little warmth in his spirit, and an aching bruise on his cheekbone. Nadene and Kharjo were with him, resting on thin cots, and he soon discovered the reason why. All the other cells were filled with drunks and rabblerousers, many of them joined together in an effort to fill the Bulwark Jail with a rough performance of "The Dragonborn Comes." Gelebor couldn't decide between laughing and crying, so he resolved to simply lay his head back down and wait for the end.
"Belieevvee, believvee, theee Draggonbborrnnn commess.."
I wonder what Vyrthur would think, to look upon me now.
"I didn't mean for the orc to die, you know." Nadene was quiet, but he heard her clearly through the noise. "I tried to warn the fool."
"I know."
"I don't enjoy killing people. Even scum like him. I did enough of that on Vvardenfell."
"I believe you." He idly twisted one of his cot's loose threads between his fingers.
"Anndddd theeeee leggggendddd yett growwwss..."
"Is your finger alright?" She was holding the injured hand carefully, not letting it brush against the floor.
"It's fine." A lie. He saw a glowing bracelet on her other hand, likely put on by the guards to prevent magicka use. She can't heal herself.
Gelebor stood, stretching his sore muscles, and walked over. Nadene glanced up, eyes widening.
"It's really okay."
"No, it's not." He knelt down and took her wounded hand gently. She hissed and pulled away.
"Come, now. I can't make it better if you don't allow me to look."
Nadene reluctantly acquiesced, and Gelebor studied the hurt finger. Hmm. Stiff and swollen, but no visible bone.
"Not too severe," he said. "I've had to learn to treat injuries like this myself, guarding the Chantry for so long with no magic skills to speak of."
"I'm going to need a small stick of some sort to make the splint," he mused. "Do you have anything that might do the job?"
She shook her head. "They took everything but my clothes."
"I may be of some assistance, Knight-Paladin," Kharjo said, rolling over to face them. From his pocket he produced a thin wooden stake. "The guards did not care to touch Khajiit for longer than was necessary, and so his meager possessions were protected."
"Many thanks, Kharjo." Gelebor accepted the stake, not correcting Kharjo's use of his title. Evidently the Khajiit had just woken up. "This will do splendidly."
He splinted Nadene's finger. The construction was a bit rustic, he had to admit, but it would work until she could heal herself.
"Thank you," Nadene said, licking her lips. "I wasn't looking forward to the hours of pain."
"Try to keep it elevated," Gelebor advised, and returned to his own cot. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried in vain to think of the beach Falmer, and the kind woman who promised him a world he could never have.