When Nerevar returned, he saw the frozen comet above his lord's city. He asked whether or not Vivec wanted it removed.
'I would have done so myself if I wanted, silly Hortator. I shall keep it there with its last intention intact, so that if the love of the people of this city for me ever disappear, so shall the power that holds back their destruction.'
Nerevar said, 'Love is under your will only.'
Vivec smiled and told the Hortator that he had become a Minister of Truth.
The ending of the words is ALMSIVI. -
36 Lessons of Vivec, Sermon 33
When Gelebor awoke, he and Nadene were alone. The winds had withdrawn and the air was calm, but there was no sign of the Khajiit they'd slept next to during the night. Gelebor despaired at first, searching every craggy corner of the cave. Perhaps he found the trials of yesterday to be overwhelming.
"What darkens your thoughts on such a lovely morning?" Kharjo stepped into view, a steaming bowl in his hands. "Come outside. Khajiit has made breakfast for his companions."
"Thank the gods," Nadene mumbled, and rolled to her feet. They followed Kharjo and the scent of cooking meat and herbs to a campfire outside, over which a dwarven pot was bubbling merrily.
"Hey, isn't that my pot?"
"Yes." Kharjo beckoned them to sit down on some tree trunks. "Khajiit found it among the tower ruins."
"Fair enough." Nadene took her stew and dug in.
"You should have told us you'd gone," Gelebor said, accepting an offered bowl. "You've not healed completely, friend. Wicked creatures roam these woods, and they prey on the weak and injured."
"Kharjo is not-" He bared his fangs, something unfamiliar flashing across his face. The Khajiit took a deep breath. "Kharjo is not weak. But thank you for worrying, Knight-Paladin. My wounds have been masterfully healed."
Gelebor exchanged a worried glance with Nadene over their bowls.
"We're a team," Nadene said, studying Kharjo with hard eyes. "Last night, what I did, teleporting us without warning into peril...that was a mistake. I'm sorry. We should have talked first. I understand more now. Or maybe...maybe I'm just remembering what I shouldn't have forgotten. I've been alone, fighting alone, for too long."
"That goes for all of us, I think," Gelebor said, stirring his bowl absentmindedly. "The people we're up against are cold, calculating, and ruthless. If the cultist who captured me hadn't stopped to...have a taste, I'd have been captured that night."
"No." Nadene asserted. "I'd have saved you."
"Regardless, her passion was her weakness. We can't make the same mistake. There are more of them, and they know we're coming." Gelebor looked at his companions. "No rash actions. No heroic sacrifices. We act as one, or Habisunilu will be lost and the cultists will get what they came for."
"Agreed." Nadene raised her dripping spoon.
Kharjo hesitated, his whiskers twitching. "Khajiit mostly likes the sound of this plan, but for one part. I must be the one to strike down their leader. The witch monster Eola. She was the one who dragged the knife across Zaynabi's throat."
"I would have it no other way," Gelebor agreed.
"Then I will stand beside you both until the end," Kharjo declared, raising his own spoon. "We will make Namira howl."
They ate in silence. The forest was still, the branches of the trees drooping from the weight of fallen ash. In time, the creatures of Solstheim would return, but for now they were still in hiding and so the three of them were alone around the fire. Gelebor found he preferred this to Raven Rock, where he never quite felt safe. Even with Mogrul and Slitter gone, the Dunmer city could never be a home to him. His bright skin attracted eyes both distrustful and deceitful.
"Alright," Nadene said. She set down her bowl. "Tel Mithryn is to the south and east, maybe a half day's journey. But if another ash storm hits, that could turn into three days or more. I'm not waiting that long."
"I got the impression when we first met you aren't on the best terms with the Telvanni," Gelebor replied. "Has anything changed?"
"No." She helped Kharjo stamp out the last embers of their campfire. "I only met Neloth once, before I was Nerevarine. I'd come across his grand tower in Sadrith Mora, and wandered inside. He pretended not to hear me talking until I left."
"Perhaps the centuries have mellowed him."
"Ha. The best case scenario is that we're tolerated, and that maybe he'll let us use whatever form of transportation he has. Probably in return for some despicable favor."
They ducked back into the cave to gather their meager supplies.
Kharjo spoke, "This one wonders if this mage lord holds reverence for the one who defeated Dagoth Ur, if not for Nadene Othryn."
"Maybe." Nadene tossed Gelebor his satchel. "Though we've shared Solstheim for two centuries as the two most powerful elves, and he's never sought me out. Neloth's either willfully ignorant of beings he considers beneath him, or extraordinary self-centered."
Gelebor replied, "From what you've told me of the Telvanni, likely both."
"Do not worry," Kharjo said, after catching sight of Nadene's face. "Kharjo will take us to Vvardenfell himself if he has to, in a dinghy with a scathecraw sail."
"I appreciate the thought. If we arrive too late to save Habi, I'll..."
"Don't think of it," Gelebor urged, placing a hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the cave. To his surprise, she didn't stiffen. Perhaps our talk last night had a lasting impact.
They stepped out into the morning sunlight. With the ash storm over, and a brisk wind rising in the air, Solstheim was nearly tolerable. Nadene looked up at the sun, squinting, and set off towards the treeline. Gelebor and Kharjo followed.
After a while the Nerevarine's forest thinned out and their feet sunk deeper into the ash. On this part of the island great mushrooms had sprouted up to serve as a substitute to the absent trees. At first they brought to mind Nadene's tower, and it was with bittersweet countenance that Gelebor marveled at their towering beauty and fortitude. Where the snowy sentinels of Hirstaag Forest had once stood, now were the fungi, and they were a vastly preferable sight to the barren ash wastes of western Solstheim.
"How did they get here?" Gelebor wondered aloud. They were passing beneath a scattering of the mycelial towers, the sunlight shining through their translucent caps. "Surely the eruption should have destroyed them, as it did the forest."
"Don't know," Nadene said. There was a rigidness in her shoulders and a stubbornness in her step; they hadn't stopped for hours, ever since leaving the cave.
"Khajiit reckons spores may have blown here from elsewhere. During his travels in Skyrim, he saw great mushrooms growing in the volcanic steamflats of central Eastmarch. He believes they were sent there from Vvardenfell by the eruption."
"Remarkable." Gelebor glanced at Kharjo. The Khajiit walked slower than them; that was to be expected, given his long months of poor living. But now he noticed that Kharjo limped slightly, and winced every now and then when he thought no one was looking.
Kharjo caught Gelebor's eye and shook his head, glancing meaningfully at Nadene's back. Gelebor grimaced and then nodded. He doesn't want to be the reason we stop, though I suspect Nadene wouldn't hesitate if he made his pains known. Well, Kharjo could hold on to his pride for now, but if his condition worsened then Gelebor would make up some excuse for them to rest for a while. His own body was still aching from last night's fight. The waves of ashspawn staggering towards them in the darkness...that was an image that wouldn't leave his mind for a long time. It had to be worse for Nadene, knowing that the monsters had once been elves. Maybe even elves that she'd once known.
But I can't think of such things. There are enough dead to mourn already, without conjuring up new ones.
Kharjo stumbled on a trama root and nearly fell, but Gelebor caught his arm at the last second. Nadene turned and looked at them sharply.
"Are you okay?" Her voice softened. "Do we need to stop for a little while?"
"How much longer to Tel Mithryn?" Kharjo asked.
"Two or three hours, if the weather holds."
"Khajiit will live." Kharjo steadied himself, brushing the ash off his trousers. "Surviving is what he does best."
"I've found there's a difference," Gelebor said, "between the first and the second. A being can endure unimaginable agonies in the name of survival."
"My love and our two children died screaming amidst gnashing teeth and tearing nails, Gelebor." Kharjo didn't look at them as he passed. "I'll never know the depths of their suffering. And I have already sworn not to act rashly. But if my legs hurt a bit so I may avenge them faster, so be it."
Nadene looked at Gelebor and shrugged. The sun beat down at them from the open sky, sending trickles of sweat down his skin. Red Mountain was starkly visible on the horizon, the always present smoke trickling out like steam from a kettle. Gelebor cursed and followed after them.
The mushroom tower of Tel Mithryn was a pleasant and painful sight. Looking up at the three towering fungi, Gelebor could not help think of Nadene's own lost home once again. To his surprise, this settlement was obviously less mature than her own had been; the skin of the mushrooms was less weathered, and the tower as a whole seemed to hold an altogether younger spirit. While the largest of the mushrooms seemed to be finished growing, its two smaller counterparts were still in the hands of nature, judging by the arching wildness of their appearance.
"How are these towers made?" Gelebor asked. They approached Tel Mithryn from the north, coming down carefully from the rolling hills. Past the settlement, sunlight glittered like moonstone off the waters of the Inner Sea. The scent of woodsmoke drifted past. Neloth is home. Reassuring to know we haven't come all this way for naught.
"Not really sure," Nadene replied. "Grew mine mostly from guesswork and instructions from old tomes. At the time, days after the eruption, I wasn't sure if there were any Telvanni left alive. Wasn't sure that the Dunmer race hadn't been reduced to a thousand or a hundred. That's probably why mine never got as tall as Neloth's. I didn't know what I was doing."
"I think you did a fine job."
"Well, thanks."
"If this one may ask," Kharjo said, stepping deftly over a large rock. "Where did the Nerevarine live when she roamed Vvardenfell? We may need a place on the island to hold out, if Balmora has fallen to Namira."
"A wise thought," Nadene said, "but in vain. I lived in a manor on Bal Isra, in the western Ashlands. Though I had a Recall marker in my bedroom, the whole estate is likely buried under a mountain of ash now. After the Red Year, I never heard from any of my stewards or oathmen again." Her voice took on a gloomy, reflective quality that Gelebor didn't much care for. He was reminded of the night at her tower, before he'd known she was the Nerevarine, when she'd told him she'd once lived on Vvardenfell. She was falling into one of her moods. Gelebor wished he knew how to pull her out.
"Kharjo is sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. I deserved it. We all did, mostly. Except for the children."
Gelebor winced. "Nadene..."
They stopped under the shadow of Tel Mithryn.
"What? Nothing you say can save me, Gelebor. All the infants I saved from Dagoth Ur and the Blight lived to the ripe age of eleven before their mouths filled with ash and fire. I watched the ground melt and I heard the children scream and then stop screaming. And I would have died with them, if I could have. If Habi's family hadn't been clutching my hands..."
Gelebor opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted.
"Halt!" A sharp voice called down. "Who's come to visit the mighty Neloth, greatest of all the Telvanni?"
They all looked up at the balcony of the central tower, where a slender white-haired Dunmer was bent over the railing. The mer was wearing Daedric armor. Gelebor reached for his mace.
"You're not Neloth," Nadene said breathlessly.
"Thankfully." the Dunmer replied. "If you have come seeking an audience, you will leave disappointed. Neloth is away at the moment."
"Divayth? Divayth Fyr?"
The word seemed to sober the old mer. He straightened, wizened eyebrows furrowing, and peered at them suspiciously. Gelebor held his mace by his side, and matched the Dunmer's gaze. Kharjo watched them all in silence, his whiskers twitching.
"There are precious few walking Tamriel who know my face." Though the Dunmer brandished no weapons, Gelebor could feel the power and threat pointed towards them. "Step out of the shadows. You have me at a disadvantage. I must know you as ally or adversary."
"Be cautious," Gelebor warned. "This one wears the armor of our enemies."
"It's okay," she replied, and moved away from him. "It's me, Divayth! It's Nadene!"
"What?" Fyr seemed shocked. But then his lined face broke into a cheerful smile. "Nadene! Nerevar Incarnate! Lord Captain, lost child of destiny! I can scarcely believe it!"
He cast a spell, and floated down from the balcony. Gelebor took a few steps backward, still wary, and Kharjo matched his stance. Nadene, on the other hand, moved to meet the descending stranger.
"I thought you died," she said, her voice weak. "Everyone was gone, and the sky was on fire, and I thought..."
"Oh, no. Remember who you speak to, my dear." Fyr landed with grace, and took Nadene's hand. "I did not live four thousand years to be defeated by a minor apocalypse. But you..." He looked into her face, his brow furrowing.
Four thousand years? Gelebor could barely restrain his curiosity.
"What?" Nadene asked. "What is it?"
"I see the years have not been kind. Your face is as young as I remember, but your eyes show your true age." Fyr stroked her hand and frowned. "Please tell me you took my advice. Given so long ago, with the best of intentions. I see you brought some friends. But how long did you spend alone?"
"I...I don't know." Nadene trailed off, and Gelebor's heart ached at the pain in her words. "A few years, maybe..."
Fyr tilted his head.
"A century," Her voice broke. "Two. There were some guars, along the way..."
"Two hundred years, Nadene? All by yourself?" Even Gelebor, to whom emotions were still somewhat strange and alien, could hear the pity in his voice. "That was unwise."
Nadene collapsed, her face wrenching up with a sob, but Fyr caught her and held her as she wept against his ungodly chestplate. Gelebor met eyes with him over Nadene's shoulder. Fyr seemed immediately interested, his sharp crimson eyes taking in Gelebor's skin in an instant, but he said nothing for the moment.
Kharjo spoke, "This one does not mean to interrupt, but could we perhaps go inside? His legs are preparing to give up the ghost, and his throat aches for some warm tea."
"But of course." Fyr slipped his arm around Nadene's shoulder. "Follow. I will provide you with the hospitality befitting followers of the Nerevarine. We will afterwards discuss the foul tides of destiny that brought me to this farce of a fortress."
Kharjo followed him, and Gelebor joined them after a moment's hesitation. He was uneasy about the way this Divayth Fyr looked at him, but Nadene obviously trusted the elf. They'd come across people she'd met before, like Second Councilor Arano, but never someone she so obviously cared for. The sight of Nadene collapsing into this stranger's arms...it upset Gelebor, for reasons he could not fathom.
Why doesn't she trust me enough to take her mask off in the light of day, after all we've been through? Nadene hasn't seen this elf in two hundred years, from the sound of things, but she lays her soul bare to him in seconds. Thoughts unworthy of even the most godless of Snow Elves. Gelebor pushed them away the best he could, and followed Kharjo past the round doors of the largest mushroom.
The inside of Neloth's tower was pleasantly temperate; Gelebor presumed the air was regulated by some unseen magical means. They entered at the lowest point of the structure, at the base of the tower stem. In front of them was a circular platform glowing with runic energy. Fyr was already on the upper level, looking down. There was no sign of Nadene.
"The platform is enchanted," Fyr explained. "Neloth had it created so that his retainers could ascend to the main level without knowledge of levitation spells. Strangely thoughtful. Perhaps his black heart has softened since last we exchanged words. Merely step on to the platform and you will ascend."
Kharjo stepped closer to the platform, drumming his claws nervously against his thigh. Eventually, the weight of Fyr's stare seemed to convince him, and he acquiesced.
"Aah!"
Gelebor had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at the sight of Kharjo's arms pinwheeling through the air.
Divayth Fyr had no such reservations, and was still chuckling to himself when Gelebor landed next to Kharjo, with markedly more grace.
"Hah. I understand now why Neloth had this put in." Fyr grinned. Up close, the strange mer was even more interesting to look upon. His long white hair stretched wildly past his shoulders, and there was a mad intensity in his eyes that Gelebor found near overwhelming. He could not long hold Fyr's gaze.
"Khajiit is glad he could amuse you so," Kharjo said, his arms crossed.
"You are certainly entertaining. Thank you. Neloth is a bore at the best of times, but I'd hoped to at least investigate his trinkets and items of power. I should have known the miserly bastard would take all his toys with him to Vvardenfell. I've had to content myself with reading through my personal library for the hundredth time."
"Neloth is on Vvardenfell?" Gelebor asked.
Fyr once more gave him that searching look before replying. "Yes. We will talk soon. After Nadene and I exchange private words."
"Is there some reason Kharjo and I can't take part in this discussion?"
Fyr nodded. "I do not know you. Presently, I care more about discussing matters with my old friend than I do about introductions. I will take the first step before leaving you in Athtera's capable hands."
As if on cue, a sapphire Argonian emerged from a side chamber with a tray of steaming tea cups. Past her, Gelebor could see Nadene sitting at a table, looking down into her cup with an unreadable expression. He felt the strange urge to comfort her.
"Neither of you are scholars or mages. Otherwise, you would have recognized my name. I will not hold this against you." Fyr accepted a tea cup from Athtera. "You stand in the presence of Lord Divayth Fyr. I am the most powerful sorcerer in Tamriel, living or dead. This is not a boast. It is a matter of fact. Once, I was the Telvanni Mage-Lord of the tower Tel Fyr on Vvardenfell. I have since outgrown that portentous title."
Fyr went to the side chamber, moving across the tower with the easy agility of a much younger mer. Nadene looked up at him and smiled, something vulnerable and peculiarly young in her expression, and then the door closed.
"Please, seras, feel free to relax." Athtera led them to a couple of chairs near a cluttered alchemy table. She set the steaming cups down on a small table between them.
"You were certainly prepared for company," Gelebor said. "Thank you."
"Divayth knew we would have visitors today," Athtera replied. "But he mustn't have known one of them would be Nerevarine. I've never seen him so excited! Isn't it wonderful?"
Gelebor returned her toothy smile. Despite his worries, the Argonian's good cheer was infectious. Then he noticed for the first time how stiffly Kharjo was sitting.
"Is there something wrong with your tea, serjo?" Athtera asked.
Kharjo leaned forward, his eyes on the door to the side chamber. "Kharjo can get you out of this place. But he must know first: are you being tracked by your master in some way? A magical ring, maybe, or an ankle clasp?"
Gelebor was sure Athtera's shocked expression matched his own. Then he comprehended, and his heart gave a leap.
"Oh. Oh!" Athtera cackled. "Divayth always spoke fondly of the Nerevarine, but he never mentioned what gracious company she kept. By the egg, kind Khajiit, I am no slave."
Kharjo merely nodded. If his race could blush, Gelebor was fairly certain he'd be red from ear to ear.
"An ankle clasp." Athtera giggled to herself, walking away. "Now there's an idea…"
"Don't feel embarrassed, my friend." Gelebor squeezed Kharjo's shoulder. "And drink some of this tea. It's damn good."
Kharjo mumbled a curse under his breath and hid his face behind the teacup. Several minutes passed, and they both drained half their cups. Afternoon sunlight streamed through a large circular window stretching across the mycelial ceiling. He's already looking more alive than he has since we left Raven Rock.
"I am a fool." Kharjo traced the rim of his cup with one claw. "I insulted the Nerevarine and spit in the face of her friend's kindness with my prying."
"Your intentions are true. And for all we know of this Divayth Fyr, that Argonian very well could have been serving under duress." He fought to keep a note of bitterness from his words. "For all Nadene knows, even. Apparently she hasn't seen this almighty mage in two hundred years. I've seen mer change beyond recognition in much shorter periods of time, twisted by fate or betrayal."
"You are not wrong," Kharjo admitted. He opened his mouth, but then closed it again.
"Something else?" Gelebor asked gently.
"Ah, it's nothing."
"Come now, Kharjo. You should know by now that I won't judge you for speaking freely."
"Well." Kharjo hesitated. "Khajiit just wanted to say that it is admirable, how you have weathered our trek so far."
"Un. Thank you?" Gelebor still didn't quite understand.
"Given your...condition, that is."
"Pardon?"
Kharjo's hands twisted in his lap. "It's just, I'm not sure of how much time you have left."
"I am going to be honest." Gelebor set down his cup. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."
"Your sickness. Kharjo assumed you did not speak of it for a reason, and so remained silent himself. Apologies if I have overstepped my bounds."
The corner of Gelebor's mouth turned up. "Sickness?"
"Yes. You are paler than any High Elf I've ever met. Paler than death. And the difference in your manner of living, from our first meeting to our second...your illness must have worsened dramatically, to provoke such a change."
Gelebor laughed, warmth spreading through his chest. With all that had happened the last few days, he'd utterly forgotten that Kharjo had no idea what he was.
"Kharjo is happy to see you are taking it well. Laughter must be the only relief left to you, at this stage."
"Oh, my." Gelebor wiped a tear from his eye. "Kharjo. I'm a Snow Elf."
Kharjo's eyes widened. "By the Twin Moons. This Khajiit has seen them before, during his travels in Skyrim. This is more serious than I feared. How long until you must go below the dirt, and lose your sight?"
"No, no. Those are Falmer. The Betrayed. I'm a Snow Elf. Please appreciate the difference."
"Oh. So you are not sick?"
"Decidedly not." Gelebor smiled wearily. "Though if I have to live on Solstheim much longer, I'm not certain my body won't start destroying itself in protest."
"Gah. Kharjo had embarrassed himself once more. Perhaps he should use his head before his tongue."
Before Gelebor could reassure him, the door to the side chamber opened and Lord Fyr emerged with Nadene. She wasn't crying any longer, Gelebor was happy to see, though her face still seemed a bit red. Fyr nodded to them and went to Athtera, who was washing some dishes on the other side of the tower. Nadene came towards Gelebor.
"I'm sorry I left you two alone," she said. "It's just… I thought Divayth Fyr died with Vvardenfell."
"No need to apologize," Kharjo said.
"None at all," Gelebor agreed. Nadene smiled tightly.
"Is it okay if I hold your hand?" She asked, in a tone of voice he'd never heard before. "Seeing Divayth again…I love him, but seeing him again has left me a bit raw."
Love him? Nadene must have noticed him look away, because she immediately shook her head.
"Not in that way, endling. The elf is like a father to me. Without him, I'd have died on Vvardenfell."
"Oh," Gelebor replied, feeling foolish. It's none of my concern, anyway, who she loves and in what manner. He took her hand and squeezed it lightly. Two chairs similar to the ones he and Kharjo sat in were floating towards them. Impressively, Fyr seemed to still be engaged in conversation with Athtera while performing this feat. Nadene sat down in the chair that landed next to Gelebor, their hands still clasped.
"Nadene." Kharjo whispered past Gelebor's back, none too quietly. "Did you know Gelebor was a Snow Elf?"
"No kidding?" Nadene faux-whispered back. "I thought he was a vampire. Too bad. All the innocent blood I collected is going to go to waste."
Kharjo took a moment to respond. "This is a joke, yes?"
Gelebor grinned. He felt strangely at peace, in this tower apparently inhabited by the most powerful sorcerer ever to live.
Said sorcerer now approached them with a mischievous glint in his eye. The blue Argonian came with him.
"Athtera tells me you offered to free her from her chains of servitude." Lord Fyr said to Kharjo.
"This is true." Kharjo met his piercing gaze. "Kharjo will not apologize for this. He has heard of secluded Telvanni in Morrowind who still partake in this most vile of practices."
"No need for an apology. I am pleased to know Nadene's friends are as wise as they are entertaining." Fyr bowed low, his Daedric pauldrons bending fluidly. "This is not my tower. But if it were so, I would offer you a high position in my ranks. It is easy enough to stand up to tyrants when they threaten you. But to attempt to save another, after you've been told of the great power her master wields…you are a rare sort, Kharjo. And please, all of you, call me Divayth. I am the lord of no one, in these times."
"Ah…thank you."
Divayth stood up, pulled Athtera close, and kissed her fiercely.
Gelebor marveled at the anatomical deftness involved, and after a few seconds of watching them, felt a strange twinge of longing. Nadene squeezed his hand tighter and smiled.
"Ah!" Divayth pulled himself away. "Lovely. This is the Argonian who saved me, Nadene. Athtera. No Imperial name. She's never been to the Empire. Fortunate for her, eh?"
"Definitely." Nadene raised her brow. "You said you'd tell me where you've been since…you know what." She glanced at Gelebor. "If you're comfortable talking about it in front of them."
"I would not have bid us leave the side chamber otherwise." Divayth sat down.
"Is it time?" Athtera asked, standing behind him. Divayth was still so tall, even sitting, that only her head and shoulders were visible.
"Not yet." He considered. "After I speak of the Red Year. That is the worst of it. Certainly the worst."
"Agreed." Athtera rested her head on his shoulder. Divayth took a deep breath.
"'Twas the fourth of Sun's Dawn. Winter was winding down to an end. Little patches of moss were sprouting on the wet rocks of Azura's Coast. You'd last visited us a couple of months before. Brought me those Akaviri specimens I'd been asking after, and your boyfriend thoroughly embarrassed himself in my Corprusarium."
"I remember," Nadene said, smiling sadly. Boyfriend?
"Khajiit begs your pardon," Kharjo spoke, "but he does not know this word...corprusarium?"
"Divayth kept victims of the corprus disease in the caverns below Tel Fyr," Nadene explained. "To try to understand the powers corprus inferred: immortality, and immunity to all other sickness. All in the interest of finding a cure, of course."
"Of course," He affirmed. "Now, if you will let me continue this tale. The sky was clear. As clear as it ever got, anyway. There was no sign of the ruin to come, and altogether the day looked to be a boring one. I was examining one of your blood samples when we felt the earth shake. Some of my more delicate instruments shattered on the ground. I was more furious than concerned, and my daughters tried their best to soothe me. Little did I know that they had already put their plan into motion.
"Beyte was in Vivec when the rogue moon Baar Dau fell on the city, you see. The youngest of my daughters. Buying art supplies or some such. The others felt her die. They knew what was coming. I suspect Alfe was the mastermind behind it all; she was always the sharpest of them. They sat me down in a chair amidst my ruined experiment and pushed a cup of tea in my hands. I drank deeply, suspecting nothing. I had become too soft, getting fat and lazy in my tower. All I could think about was a conversation I'd had the day before with Yagrum Bagarn."
Nadene interrupted, her eyes shining. "Yagrum. Did he…"
Divayth continued. "I woke up in the Temple of the Divines in Firewatch, the Imperial outpost on the mainland. There was an amulet of Divine Intervention around my neck, and four flowers placed delicately in the pocket of my cloak. The city was just across the Inner Sea from Vvardenfell. Nearly close enough to see the shore. I rushed outside just in time to watch the top of Red Mountain vanish in a cloud of ash. Poison filled the sky. A fireball fell from the heavens, obliterating the temple I'd just left. I tried to Recall to Tel Fyr, but my daughters must have dispelled my marker. Blind with panic, I cast Almsivi Intervention, but I was just teleported further in to the mainland. To Necrom, I believe. City of the Dead. Fitting. If I'd remained in Firewatch, I'd have died with my daughters. The city fell into the sea shortly after my departure."
"Gods, Divayth. I'm sorry."
"It's strange." He stared past them, seeing ghosts. "I hope you'll not begrudge me a moment of vulnerability. In four millenia, I've left behind more people than you will ever know. I always think it will hurt less each time. But alas. The pain is a constant. It merely takes on a different flavor. All four of my daughters burned away with Tel Fyr, as did Yagrum Bagarn, the last living dwarf. As did my work of centuries. As did you, for all I knew."
The last living dwarf? Gelebor opened his mouth to speak, intensely interested, and only the fragility in Divayth's tone stayed his tongue.
"I could not remain in Morrowind. This was not a matter of emotion; the air was thick with death and ash, from Mournhold to Blacklight. I travelled south, to Narsis on the border. For the first time in my life, I found myself sick of Resdayn. I cursed Vivec for letting the rogue moon fall. I cursed myself for missing the signs. I even cursed you, in my weakest moments, for destroying the powers that held Baar Dau in the sky. The sight of refugees streaming into the city was sickening. I crossed into Black Marsh. For nearly two hundred years I remained there."
"Alone?" Nadene asked, without mockery.
"Yes." Divayth leaned back in his chair. Athtera rubbed his shoulders. "I did not heed my own advice. I lived in the deep wetlands, where even the most foolish Argonians feared to tread. In a small hut, sequestered in gloom. In truth I spent little time in Mundus. The mortal world had disappointed me. For years I travelled the planes of Oblivion with reckless abandon. It's a testament to my power that these bitter sojourns did not spell the end."
"Excuse me," Kharjo interrupted. "You say you can travel to Oblivion?"
"Oh, yes. I am the premiere authority on extra-planar travel. My writings are taught the world over." Divayth made a thoughtful sound. "Or, they were. I'm not appraised of the current state of Tamrielic academia."
Nadene asked, "What were you looking for, when you went on these trips?"
"A question I often ask myself. The monsters of Oblivion were all too eager to fall to my sword, yet I divined no grand knowledge from their smoking remnants. Hermaeus Mora tried for decades to ensnare me, but no other Prince took much notice of the old Dunmer rampaging through the planes. Something kept me from going too far, from pushing too deep. An old foolish notion of self-preservation. Or the thought of what a tongue-lashing I'd receive from Alfe, Beyte, Delte, and Uupse, should we meet in the afterlife."
Occasionally this good sense failed me. I spent almost a year in Coldharbour. Molag Bal's domain. When I finally returned to Black Marsh, my body was a ruin, and twelve different poisons were slowly killing me. I did not have the strength to stand, or the magic to levitate. It seemed to be a fitting conclusion to a life that had gone on for far too long. I closed my eyes and held my daughters' flowers to my breast."
Divayth reached for Athtera's hand on his shoulder. Their fingers intertwined, gray and blue. "I awoke in Athtera's bed a month later. A masterful alchemist, living in a small village nearby. She nursed me back to health. Wouldn't let me return to my hut, after. Said I'd ruin her good work. We started arguing, and you can probably guess the rest. Ten years later, here we stand. It's time, my dear."
She withdrew, squeezing his hand one last time, and walked to a chamber door none of them had yet entered.
"Time for what?" Gelebor asked.
He just grinned. Athtera returned, and in her arms were two Dunmer infants. A dusting of black hair covered their heads. Nadene cried out in delight, and Gelebor could not help but share in her happiness. He'd not seen a baby since the Betrayed had lured him away from the Chantry with one of their own younglings.
"Yours?" Nadene asked, happily accepting one of the infants from Athtera. She cooed softly at the child. Watching her with the baby sent butterflies through Gelebor's stomach.
"Yes. One hundred percent Fyr."
Gelebor was sure he misheard. "Um. How does that work, precisely?"
"The same as it worked for the four daughters I lost. They are born of my flesh. For these two girls, just a fortnight ago. I thought I'd lost the secret to the process, but Athtera has spent a decade helping me rediscover my research. It was fortunate that traces of corprus were left on the flowers my girls left me. More likely Alfe intended it that way. No doubt it was her idea. Not bad for someone born in a jar, eh?"
"Oh...yes."
Kharjo cleared his throat. Gelebor glanced at him.
"May Kharjo…" He cleared his throat again. "May Kharjo hold one of your children? Just for a moment?"
Athtera smiled. "For as long as you wish, kind Khajiit."
Kharjo accepted the small bundle and took a moment to sit back down in his chair. He looked down at the baby's small face, and seemed to go someplace where only he and the child existed. Divayth and Nadene spoke in the background, and Athtera went to fetch more tea, but Kharjo did not look up. Gelebor was almost as enchanted with his friend's reaction as Kharjo was with the child. Eventually Kharjo held the babe close to his chest, with practiced hands, and leaned back with his eyes closed. He rocked softly, murmuring the words to a song in a language Gelebor did not know.
The light from the ceiling window dimmed. Masser and Secundus rose high, bathing them in a pale light. Athtera attended to one of the babies when it began whimpering, but the other slept soundly in Kharjo's arms.
In a moment where conversation lapsed, Gelebor caught Nadene looking down at one of the babies herself, biting her lower lip.
"Don't worry." Gelebor reached for her hand again. "We'll find Habinsinulu."
She didn't respond, but nodded gently, a strange expression on her face.
"The hour grows late," Divayth finally said. "I could talk for hours more. I suspect you three are less capable of such, from what Nadene has told me of your journey. We will speak tomorrow of Vvardenfell. Though the surprising success of my new children will prevent me from joining you personally, I can at least help expedite your voyage. Athtera will show you to the guest room. Please excuse the clutter. Neloth's steward must have been hired during a time of great desperation."
Gelebor followed Athtera and his friends. He'd been given much to think about. Lord Fyr has to be nearly as old as me, if not more so. Such a long-lived elf he'd never met, for as long as Gelebor's memory could stretch. Divayth would be old enough to remember when the true Falmer had walked the snows of Skyrim in daylight. Even if he'd never travelled so far west himself, he'd surely know more about the Snow Elves than anyone else Gelebor had ever encountered. And he spoke of a dwarf...strange that Nadene never mentioned meeting one of the Dwemer.
He asked her about it, when Athtera closed the door and left them to their sleep. Nadene looked up from her pillow in the bed beside his.
"Oh. Sorry." She shifted closer, and lowered her voice. "After you'd told me you lost your faith...I didn't want to stress you further, endling. Though I've done a poor job so far."
"Why would speaking of dwarves bring me stress?"
"Because he never mentioned the Falmer. Never even spoke the word." Nadene's eyes glowed in the darkness. "Maybe he'd just forgotten. This was thousands of years after your people were thought to be extinct, you know. And Yagrum was a Resdaynian Dwemer, not a Skyrim one. He might never have met a true Snow Elf."
"Oh." Gelebor leaned back into his pillow. "I won't say I'm not dissapointed with that answer, but I think I understand. Thank you."
"For what?"
"For…" Gelebor fought for the right words. "For considering my feelings, I suppose. Few have ever taken such care."
Nadene didn't respond for a long while, and he assumed she fell asleep. He'd closed his own eyes when she finally spoke again.
"Divayth and Athtera. They seem happy together, don't they?"
"Hmm...yes." Gelebor opened his eyes a sliver. "I'm glad your friend could find new joy, after all he went through."
"Me too." Sheets rustled. She was looking towards him. "Makes you think...maybe there's hope for elves like you and me. We've been abandoned by time and gods. But perhaps...perhaps we don't need either. I've been thinking about your promise."
"Promise?"
"To take me away from Morrowind, if we survive all this. I think I'd like to go someplace cold."
Gelebor smiled. "By my reckoning, that seems a marvellous plan. Though I have to rule out Skyrim. Unless we stay in the woods and avoid all contact with the local population."
"That's pretty much my go-to, pal."
There was a sigh from the third bed. "Kharjo is delighted that his elf friends are getting along so well. Kharjo wishes to sleep, now."
"Goodnight, Nadene. Apologies, Kharjo."
"Night, Gelebor. Sleep well, cat."