"We know now to survive we must be born anew. Outside, we will appear as though we belong here. Inside, we will carry our truth and our scars." - Diary of Faire Agarwen

The withered book floated through the doorway past Gelebor, already opening to a page covered in utterly indecipherable runes and symbols. The opened tome danced through the still morning air to join the two others levitating before Divayth Fyr. The ancient mer sat nearly motionless in his chair, a roll of kreshweed held tightly between his fingers. On his right knee, he was lightly bouncing a drowsy infant.

Divayth held the kreshweed to his mouth and took a long, slow breath. In front of him, three pages turned, and his sharp eyes flickered to new lines.

"You come from a lost colony," he said, exhaling. The smoke shimmered in the sunlight like void salt. "On one of Skyrim's most distant barrier islands, I think. There are at least a hundred of you there. You wouldn't have survived this long otherwise. Unless your leaders associate with Daedra." Divayth ran his free hand through the baby's thin black hair. "Or perhaps you employ a few particularly gifted sorcerers."

"I'm sorry," Gelebor replied, taking the declaration as a cue to step on to the balcony. "All of that was false. Did Nadene tell you I was a Snow Elf?"

Divayth's brow furrowed, and the books fell a few inches before being suspended in the air again. Gelebor had a feeling not many people in this mer's life had ever told him he was wrong.

"No. Unlike Neloth, I don't need a band of sycophants hovering about to inform me what's in front of my face." Divayth nodded to the chair next to him. The pages turned again. "Sit. Listen, and speak. But slowly. You may be the most interesting thing to happen to me this season. I wish to savor the moment."

Gelebor obeyed. To his surprise, the scent of kreshweed was not overpowering. In fact, it seemed nonexistent.

"A pathetic habit, I'm aware. I've managed to prolong my life for millennia, but no amount of magicka seems capable of staying the ache from my blighted knee." He patted the leg on which his baby softly bounced. "Dremora got me with a Daedric Crescent, about a hundred years ago. Damned near tore the leg off. Sometimes I wish the bastard had finished the job. Then I could've built a new one, rather than resort to this disgusting ritual just to keep myself sane."

"It's fine," Gelebor said. "I can't smell anything, actually."

"Oh. I'm containing the air around my upper body." Divayth exhaled again. "For the baby. You can say hello. Her name is Tyrena."

"Hello, Tyrena. An Argonian name?"

"Hah. Yes." Divayth grinned. "I'd never have pulled off a successful birth without Athtera's assistance. Only right that she got to name one of the little scribs. But enough about me. I'm far more fascinated with you."

"Very well." Gelebor said, tapping his fingers on the arms of his chair. "Err. What do you wish to know?"

"Firstly, I'll require you to settle down. Your back is as stiff as a board." Divayth chuckled. "I have no desire to dissect the first true Falmer I've seen in thousands of years." The pages of his books turned once more.

"You've met others?" Gelebor leaned closer, unable to keep the hope from his voice.

"A long time ago, as I said." Divayth set the remnant of his kreshweed roll down on a small tray. "But it's your turn to speak. You seem quite dismissive of my colony theory. So tell me, Snow Elf. Have you traveled through time, perhaps? Come into contact with an Elder Scroll? Or was it a deal with the Daedra that landed you in the Fourth Era?"

"Again, none of those. I lived through the war between the Snow Elves and the Nords, though I was still a young mer when my race was driven underground and corrupted by the Dwemer."

"You mock me." Divayth's leg stilled, and he glared darkly. "That would make you four thousand years old, if not more so. As old as I am." His books closed and lowered gently to the ground.

"Yes."

"I know the look of four millennia, boy." Gelebor was beginning to feel the fire of Divayth's gaze, and he shifted uncomfortably. "That much time leaves a mark on anyone. But you seem as whole and fresh as a spring comberry. If you're going to attempt to deceive the oldest mer in Tamriel, you might at least be clever about it." Tyrena looked up at her father, eyes filled with tears.

"I speak the truth," Gelebor said, a bit of heat in his voice. "I stood vigil in our Chantry to Auriel. In the Forbidden Vale, a frozen oasis hidden in Skyrim's heartlands. Until the Betrayed came and brought ruin to the Chantry, it was my sacred duty to guide pilgrims through our wayshrines on their way to enlightenment."

"Auriel, you say?" Some of the anger left Divayth, and he went back to bouncing his child before she could begin to cry in earnest. "Hmm. I've never been to Skyrim. By the time I had the opportunity to travel so freely, the only inhabitants I was interested in speaking with were extinct. Do you have any evidence of your claims?"

"No," Gelebor said miserably, and then remembered. "Wait. Yes! I have the ancient texts, that the Dragonborn found. The books are far away, in the College of Winterhold, but I memorized them. They're in my head."

"Ancient texts?" Divayth raised an eyebrow and reached for his discarded kreshweed. "Stored in your head? Marvelous. Are you literate in Cyrodilic or Dunmeris?"

"Pardon?"

"Parchment. Ink, and quill." He stroked Tyrena's hair again while exhaling the smoke. "Can you use them to make words I can read? Or can you just write in Falmeris? I'm eager to learn your language, but I don't expect we have the hours to spare."

"Oh. Yes, I can write Cyrodiilic."

"If you would be so kind, go to my writing desk and put down into words whichever of these texts you think I'd be most interested in." Divayth inclined his head towards the open doorway. "I already know your manner of speaking. If the book you hand me came from your own mind instead of one of your long-gone siblings, I will know you as a liar and eject you from this tower."

"What was that?" Athtera appeared in the doorway holding a baby of her own. "You won't be ejecting any of my guests, Divayth."

"Just a moment, dear." Divayth stood, holding Tyrena at his hip, and ushered Gelebor past his partner. "Let me brew up some formula and prepare you some breakfast, and then I'll explain why I threatened our lovely friend here. Come, now. I've some fresh kwama eggs I think you'd be most interested in..."

Their voices faded away. Gelebor found the writing desk easily enough, in a small well-lit room nearby, and spread out his materials in preparation. His first marks were uncertain and messy, as his hand didn't seem to want to cooperate and his mind approached the task with equal parts reluctance and confusion. When was the last time I put my thoughts into words? He'd never had anyone to write letters to. In his time at Nadene's tower he'd had to relearn his sums and equations in order to make records of their stores. Transcribing an ancient Falmer text was an entirely different beast.

Several sheets of parchment were wasted before Gelebor was satisfied with his first page. Fortunately, the inkwell seemed to refill itself whenever he wasn't looking. He bent his head to the work, scarcely looking up to note the passage of time. Finished pages were deposited in two neat piles to the left of his elbow. Before too long Gelebor's hand began to cramp, but he stubbornly pressed on.

Tel Mithryn woke up around him. The door to the guest room opened in the main chamber, and he heard a groan of irritation.

"You need some blasted shutters on that roof, Divayth!"

"Take it up with Neloth. I can't make any alterations until I'm certain of his death. Now stop wailing like a nix hound and come drink your tea..."

Gelebor blew the ink dry on another completed page and slid it into his pile. He was gladdened by how easily the words spilled from his mind to the parchment, after all the years that had passed. The Dragonborn hadn't been able to read the texts himself before bringing them to the College of Winterhold for translation, but he'd allowed Gelebor to look over them in the Vale before he and his vampiric companion departed. I could likely go to the College myself and ask for some copies, should I ever have need of them. Gelebor rarely thought of his future, but seeing Lord Fyr and Athtera's life together had kindled an unfamiliar flame in his heart. Perhaps someday I'll have a place to keep books.

Several minutes passed. The door behind him opened, but Gelebor didn't look up from his work.

"Divayth have you writing down your life story?" Nadene asked. She put a steaming mug down on the corner of the desk, as far as possible from his parchment. Gelebor glanced at her. Nadene was wearing a soft blue dress with decorative embroidery along the seams. She must have borrowed it from Athtera, as it hung a bit loosely on her. It was strange to see Nadene in something other than her glass armor or leather traveling clothes. Strange, but not altogether unwelcome.

"Something to that effect. I'm making a copy of an old Snow Elf text."

"Oh. I see." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You want to do this, right? Sometimes Divayth can forget we aren't all as formidable as he is. If remembering is too painful for you..."

"It's quite fine." Gelebor set down his quill. "The text in question isn't a particularly emotional work."

"Your people had emotional works?" Nadene rested her hip against his desk. "I figured they were all like you. All stoic and polite, hiding all their emotions behind flawless alabaster skin."

"Not so flawless these days. And I do feel things, Nadene. Otherwise I would still be standing alone before a Wayshrine, praying at the sky."

"Of course." She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this. Having friends, and all."

"Think nothing of it." Gelebor rubbed his forehead. "There was one record. Brought me to tears, in front of the Dragonborn. A diary written by Faire Agarwen. A companion of the Snow Prince. She was beloved to the Falmer, even to the secluded mer of the Chantry. This woman survived the war and took refuge underground with the dwarves, like so many did. Faire was betrayed by the Dwemer. And by Auriel. Sometimes I dream that I was with her and the others, when they lost their sight to the poisoned fungi. I wonder if it would have been better, in the end. At least they had each other, in their twisted new lives."

"Do you think there's any hope for them?" Nadene put a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened for a second, surprised, and then relaxed.

"I don't know. They seem to have improved somewhat since the beginning. They keep livestock, fashion weapons and tools, practice magic. The Dragonborn even told me the Falmer in Blackreach keep human slaves, if that can be said to be a sign of development. In truth, I don't really like to think about them."

"I'll leave you to your work." Her hand withdrew.

"Nadene?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you." Gelebor looked back at her, and offered a weary smile. "For checking up on me."

"It's...it's no problem." Nadene returned the smile, somewhat weakly, and opened the door. She paused for a moment. "Listen. We need to talk later, okay?"

"About Vvardenfell?"

"No. Divayth has already told me what we'll need for the journey. I've been preparing the ingredients." Nadene drummed her fingers on the door. "About...something else."

"Certainly. I look forward to it."

Before the next hour came, Gelebor was finished. He gathered up the two neat bundles of parchment and emerged into the sunlit main chamber, wincing slightly. Infants were burbling somewhere in the direction of the kitchen, and he heard Nadene laughing with Athtera.

Divayth was in much the same spot on the balcony, minus the baby, the books and the kreshweed. He was staring out at Solstheim, the caps of distant mushrooms just visible above the ashy haze. This side of Tel Mithryn faced away from the sea, so the horizon was empty. Gelebor did not miss the sight of Red Mountain.

"I've finished," Gelebor said, not wanting to sneak up on him. As if I could, even if I wished to. Nadene is the most powerful mage I've ever come across, and I suspect this wizard wields ten times her power.

"Two books?" Divayth asked, his eyes lighting up as he turned his head.

"No." Gelebor handed over the bundles. "One copy in Falmeris, one in Cyrodiilic. I had to do it that way regardless, to make sure I got the translation correct. I'm no scholar."

"Oh, splendid. If you're trying to get on my good side, you're doing a fine job. Please, sit."

Gelebor did so, and watched as Divayth delicately placed the books on his lap.

"Touching the Sky?" Divayth ran his long fingers across the title text. He flipped through the first pages, his sharp eyes dancing from word to word. "Beautiful. This is a fine gift you've given me, Gelebor. And with the Falmeris translation, as well...I could spend weeks poring over every letter."

"I'm glad you're satisfied."

"More than satisfied. And please, let me return the favor."

"You don't owe me anything," Gelebor said. "You're already helping us get to Vvardenfell."

Divayth waved his hand. "A simple ritual, though a bit of a tedious one. Costs me nothing but time. But I noticed your interest earlier, when I mentioned that I'd met some of your kind before..."

"Ah." Gelebor swallowed. "I assume they're long dead now."

"Certainly." Divayth closed the book . "It was thousands of years ago, but still long after the true Falmer were thought to be extinct. Back when my skin was sunlight instead of ash. The closest I ever got to Skyrim was an isolated island to the northwest of Winterhold. This was when the city was still the capital, but even then none of the natives dared to sail very far into the treacherous Sea of Ghosts. Even with my extraordinary powers, I still found the journey challenging. I'd stopped on what I thought to be a particularly sunken glacier when I sensed movement nearby. Four bone-white elves rushed from the darkness, wielding horker spears, clad in garments of heavy fur and wool. They attacked my campsite."

"You killed them?"

"Of course not. Do you take me for some bloodthirsty Redoran? I paralyzed the savages and kept one to study. The others I sent back into the night, their heads filled with happy illusions of a successful hunt."

"What of the captured one? Did you manage to communicate?"

"In a sense." Divayth leaned back, stretching his arms. "After the first annoyingly violent day had passed, the mer seemed open to more diplomatic forms of discourse. But our languages were hopelessly disparate. Perhaps you could have understood him, but not I. Fortunately the silence gave me ample opportunity to study the mer's physiology. The elves was remarkably similar in appearance to depictions of the ancient Falmer. They maintained their appearance far better than their subterranean counterparts. Not surprising, considering they received adequate daylight and a more balanced diet. I could not make a true comparison, of course, until I met you yesterday."

"You're saying he looked like me?" Gelebor pushed down the little flames of hope. Even if what Divayth says is true, the elves he met are long dead.

"If millennia had not passed, I would have thought you to be from the same island." Divayth tilted his head. "I released the elf after several days and set sail once more. Though I tried to find the island again on my return journey, it seemed to have vanished entirely into the mists. I only met a small group of these mer. I had no way of knowing if they were a fraction of a much larger population, or the last struggling remnants. My captured specimen seemed well fed. That's all I can say."

"Well, thank you." Gelebor rubbed his forehead. "Though I'm not sure what use this information is to me." He thought of his strange dreams, of the Snow Elves on the shore. Was I being shown the same elves Divayth speaks of?

"I will tell you: it is useless. Unless you intend to die cataloging every island in the Sea of Ghosts. The waters were treacherous enough before an entire capital of large buildings slid underneath them. Even if these lost Falmer survived to the time of the Great Collapse, they were undoubtedly wiped out by the subsequent tidal waves."

"I suppose you're right."

"Stow your unhappiness for now, my boy." Divayth glanced back as the tower door opened. Nadene stepped out, wearing her glass armor and bow. She was holding Gelebor's mace. "You'll be on Vvardenfell soon. That will give you reason enough to weep, without thinking of your long-dead brothers and sisters."

"Speaking of Vvardenfell," Nadene interrupted. She stepped up behind them. "Can we leave, now? I've gathered everything you need for your ritual."

"In such a hurry to be free of my hospitality?"

"My granddaughter has been taken, Divayth." Her fingers tightened on Gelebor's chair. "Too much time has passed already. I want to move now, before another ash storm hits and grounds us here."

"Very well." Divayth stood, and the two Falmer texts floated away. He yawned and ambled to the railing. "I originally came here to compare my own research to Neloth's. On the subject of Heart Stones, specifically. Little pieces of Red Mountain, blown to Solstheim during the eruption. I'll need one of these stones, a particularly powerful specimen, to complete the ritual and teleport you to Vvardenfell."

"Hmm. Sounds promising enough, I suppose." Nadene asked. "From where do these stones derive their power?"

Divayth turned, his long white hair twisting in the wind. "I thought you'd ask. These molten rocks laid next to the Heart of Lorkhan for centuries upon centuries. Ironic, isn't it?"

"Yes. Great."

"I don't quite understand," Gelebor said.

"The Nerevarine prophecies culminated in the destruction of the Heart of Lorkhan at Nadene's hands, so that the sorcerers of Morrowind could no longer wield its power in their false crusades." Divayth smiled. "Now the Nerevarine will use that same power to return to Vvardenfell, centuries later."

"Spectacular," Nadene grumbled. "Poetic, even. You can write a book about it. Tell me where this blasted stone is, so we can be on our way."

Divayth nodded to the horizon. "A reaver stronghold sitting on the shoreline, to the northeast. A few hours walk. I was going to wipe them out myself before the babies came upon us. I suspect they believe the Heart Stone to be a valuable gem of some sort."

"Is it not?" Gelebor stood and joined Nadene. She smiled at him for a moment, her expression a bit strained, and handed over the mace. He clipped it to his belt.

"No merchant in Raven Rock would buy one. The stone is useless to anyone who doesn't know how to utilize its power. So, to anyone but Neloth and I, for the most part."

"Alright." Nadene crossed her arms. "So we kill a bunch of pirates, grab the Heart Stone, and then we can go to Vvardenfell?"

"Not quite. As I told your friend earlier, the ritual is relatively simple but a bit tedious. I'll need about a day to prepare the Stone for the process, and you'll need to return to Raven Rock in the meantime to gather a few ingredients for me. I assume you have a Recall marker there?"

"Yes." Nadene groaned. "I thought you said this would be a quick way to the island!"

"Quicker than a ship," Divayth said, ignoring her frustration. "Cheaper, too. But you should hurry to the reavers. I have no desire to stay long in this tower, either. I've stolen the spores I required from Neloth. Athtera and I will soon return to Black Marsh with our brood, and Tel Fyr will rise again. The first Telvanni tower in the land of Argonia."

"I'm happy for you." Nadene grabbed Gelebor's hand and pulled him to the railing with urgency. "I hope it all works out."

"Travel safe," Divayth advised. He returned to the tower without looking back at them.

Gelebor was getting used to the sensation of spells washing over him, and so wasn't overly surprised when he and Nadene began floating over the balcony.

"What about Kharjo?"

"He needs the rest. If he's coming with us to Vvardenfell, he'll need his full strength. The fight yesterday was rough on him. Besides, we're just fetching a rock." Nadene guided their descent down the length of the main tower and past Neloth's walls. They landed softly just outside the boundaries of Tel Mithryn. The haze of the morning had cleared, and the sky above was blue and empty of clouds. It was a good day for travel.

They shared a comfortable silence during their trek along the coast. Gelebor was still chewing over Divayth's story, and trying to decide whether it affirmed the truth of his dreams. The Snow Elves in the vision had seemed to live on a temperate shore, not one that could be found in the freezing Sea of Ghosts.

But they could have migrated, certainly, and would have been forced to if they had wanted to survive the Great Collapse of Winterhold. Elder Othreloth had once told him that Azura spoke to the most loyal of her servants on Vvardenfell, and warned them to flee the island before Red Mountain's doom. Could Auriel have provided a similar warning to the last conclave of the race once most beloved to him? If so, would it have been too much trouble to kick a damned map my way?

Waves heavy with collected ash pushed and pulled at the thin gray beach. They walked just beyond their farthest reach, so the soft rhythmic pounding filled Gelebor's ears. It was not unpleasant. He had an odd fondness for the ocean, perhaps because he'd been deprived of the sea for so many years.

"What did you and Divayth talk about?" Nadene asked. They kept a brisk pace, but his legs were so much longer than hers that he had little trouble keeping up.

Gelebor hesitated. Will she mock my hope, as she mocked Auriel before I lost my faith?

"If you don't mind sharing."

"He told me of some Snow Elves he met thousands of years ago." He kicked a seashell into the oncoming waves. "A pointless story. They've been dead for so long now."

"Oh." Nadene glanced at him, squinting in the sunlight. "I've never known Divayth to provide useless information. He's usually not the sentimental kind."

"Then why share such an anecdote, when I can never hope to act on it?"

She shrugged. "Better an old story from a friend than a vision from a god. At least Divayth has no ulterior motives beyond his curiosity, in your case at least. He's given you more now than Auriel ever has."

"I suppose that's not wrong."

The silence returned until Nadene stopped their advance with a raised hand. She pointed down the shore.

"I don't see anything," Gelebor admitted.

"The sand is disturbed along the waterline," Nadene said, crouching low. He followed her lead.

They crept along the beach, hiding behind the low dunes. A couple of minutes later, they reached the scattered sands. There were footprints from heavy boots, and a large circular imprint beside them.

"B'vek," Nadene murmured. "That's from a bucket, most likely. If they're bringing seawater up for purification, they must have a mage."

"That does not bode well," Gelebor agreed. He was acutely aware of his lack of armor.

"I'd wager their tower is just beyond the beach. We'll probably see it once we clear the dunes."

It was as Nadene said. They moved further down the shore a distance before carefully sneaking inland at a spot where several large mushrooms hid their ascent. To the west, a citadel of ancient stone and steel rose above the low hills of Solstheim. Distant figures moved across the walls and ramparts, too calculated in their movements to be ashspawn and too tall to be rieklings. No doubt about it. These are Divayth's reavers.

"What's our plan?"

"First, we get closer. I want to know how many of these s'wits we're dealing with."

They approached their adversaries slowly, scurrying from the cover of one mushroom to another. It was a strange thing, Gelebor thought. Despite all the time that had passed, this would be the first time he and Nadene entered battle together willingly, without being forced into action by some approaching threat. Her presence by his side was a surprising comfort.

Finally, they were upon the citadel. Gelebor sat with his back against a boulder while Nadene peered at the towering fortress from the side. She grabbed his hand and squeezed.

"Feeling nervous?" He asked.

"No. Come look with me."

Gelebor obeyed, bending his back at a painful angle to stay hidden. He had to get quite close to Nadene to match her gaze, but she didn't seem to mind. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. Gelebor swallowed. They looked up at the citadel together.

"Watch," Nadene whispered, and cast a spell. At first Gelebor thought the incantation had failed. Nothing seemed to change. And then glowing shapes of crimson appeared like fireflies at dusk, one by one, all along the watchtowers and through the thick walls of stone. The shapes moved, and the red energy moved with them. Gelebor was enchanted.

"What is this?"

"Detect Life. Won't tell us if that mage has any Daedra around, though. I count thirty six reavers."

Gelebor looked again, trying to ignore the pleasant weight of Nadene's arm. "Yes. I get the same. Seems like quite a lot, given we're only two."

"Yes. Too many for a straight battle." She grabbed his shirt between her fingers and rubbed the thin cloth. "Especially with you without armor. Damn. We'll have to be clever. It'll take longer, but I think it's the only way."

"Oh?"

"I have an idea." Nadene bit her lip, looking at him. Her face was so close Gelebor could see the reflection of his face in her large red eyes. "You're not going to like it."

They left most of her glass armor and all their weapons in a neat pile behind the boulder. Gelebor wore the bracers, the only piece they could adjust to fit him; Nadene claimed it added a certain flair to the presentation.

They approached the portcullis. She walked slightly ahead in the simple clothes she wore under her armor. Gelebor swore the reavers must be able to hear the frantic beating of his heart. This is a horrible plan.

The first reaver spotted them, and a piercing whistle split the air. More whistles echoed down the shore as his companions answered. Oh, good. They're coordinated.

"Stop, you lot!" A Dunmer in tattered bonemold armor aimed a crossbow at them from above the portcullis. "Drop your swords."

"I come unarmed, good sir," Gelebor responded. "With a business proposition for your leader."

"A what?" The bandit grinned. "You've come to the wrong part of Solstheim, n'wah."

More reavers joined him, cursing and spitting and aiming their own weapons. Gelebor didn't like the way they were looking down at Nadene.

"What've you caught, Senso?" A slender Nord leered at her.

"Hands off, ye bastards." Senso pushed the others back. "I saw them first. They're claimed."

"If any harm comes to me or my property," Gelebor warned. "Your master will be quite displeased."

"Maybe I oughta take my chances." He reached for a lever. "You look like a rich fetcher. I bet those silk pockets are full of clinky coin."

"If you allow me to meet with your leader, you and all your friends will have more wealth than you could ever imagine."

Senso's fingers hesitated on the lever. "How's that figure? I could just kill ya now and take all the gold for meself."

"Err, no. This future wealth is theoretical."

"So it's not real, then?" Senso frowned.

"It is real. It's just...okay, say that you loot one hundred gold off of my corpse. But if I can give you that same gold today, and then that same amount a fortnight from now..."

"How long's a fortnight?"

"Two weeks," a heavily armored Orc at his side offered.

"Yes." Gelebor forced a smile. "So, if you allow me to meet with your master now, at the end of the month you will have far more gold than if you had simply killed me today. And if I'm lying, you can kill me anyway and take the gold. And the fine Dunmer woman I brought your leader as a gift."

Senso appeared to ponder for a moment. Gelebor risked a glance at Nadene. She was affecting a countenance of weary resignation, but he could tell she was watching the vagabonds closely.

"Fine." He'd shoved away most of the others, and they were slowly returning to their posts. He'd evidently convinced them the two elves at the portcullis were no threat. "I'll take ya to Netchbreaker. But you'd best keep your word, or the lady's in for a world of hurt after I'm done with you." He pulled the lever, and the iron bars slid up.

Gelebor pushed Nadene forward, to help maintain the illusion. He dearly hoped the glare she gave him over her shoulder was for the same purpose. They passed beneath the stone walls. After a moment, the bars lowered back in place. We're in it, now. No escape. No turning back. He steeled his heart, grabbed Nadene's arm, and stepped forward.