In my dreams, a tall figure in a golden mask spoke to me. "Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia! Long forgotten, forged anew! Three belied you, three betrayed you! One you betrayed was three times true! Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur, steadfast liegeman, faithful friend, bids you come and climb Red Mountain! Beneath Red Mountain, once again, break your bonds, shed cursed skin, and purge the n'wah from Morrowind!" - Journal of Nadene Othryn, 3E 427

Senso met them at the bottom of the steps. Up close, the stench of the reaver was near unbearable. Senso led them to an armored door and pushed them inside. The general aroma of the citadel was not much of an improvement. Gelebor wrinkled his nose as they walked through the fortress.

"A little too raw for you, mate?" Senso snorted. "Ye ain't dealt with our kind before, by the looks of it. I hope you got a good story for Netchbreaker. He's not one to play around with."

"As long as he likes gold, I think I'll do just fine."

Several reavers tried to accost them as they passed, and one even slipped out of a dark corner and slid his hand around Nadene's waist. Gelebor seized the Dunmer's arm and wrenched it backward. The elf cried out and stumbled away.

"Ha!" Senso smirked. "Maybe you ain't so innocent after all, sera. Haven't seen a limb broken like that in too long."

"Just tell them to keep away from her," Gelebor said, his shoulders stiff. The sudden fury that had risen in him was unfamiliar. Nadene didn't look back.

It was strange, putting on a face not one's own. He channeled what he could recall of the Altmer he'd met in Skyrim: haughty, apathetic, superior.

They ascended a long staircase leading to the top of one of the citadel towers. Inside, a muscular Dunmer wearing the skull of a werebear counted coins from a satchel. The Heart Stone was lying on the edge of his desk, glowing softly.

Gelebor had once wandered into a skooma den by mistake, during his years in Skyrim. The air had been sickly sweet and fragrant with the illicit spice. Netchbreaker's den had much the same aroma.

"What's this?" Netchbreaker asked.

"Some rich n'wah," Senso replied. "Says he has a preposition for ya. And a gift."

"Does he, now." Netchbreaker leaned back in his chair and swept the coins aside. He fastened his gaze on Gelebor. There was a blankness in his countenance, but it was not the empty stare of a simpleton. There was simply nothing behind the mer's eyes. "Leave."

Senso obeyed. For an eternity, Netchbreaker studied them. He seemed particularly interested in Nadene.

"This elf is your gift." Gelebor sensed it was not a question. "A valuable token, meant to stay my urge to simply murder you and rob your stinking body. How old?"

"Um." Gelebor studied the back of Nadene's head, his mind racing.

"You don't know the age of the slave you offer?"

"She's forty seven." Reasonably young for a Dunmer, he thought, but not too young.

"Hmm. Perhaps." Netchbreaker stood up, his head nearly brushing the ceiling. He came towards them, looking over Nadene all the way. "Lines at the corners of her eyes. And speaking of which..." He stroked her face, rubbing his large thumb over her eyelids. Gelebor restrained the urge to clench his fists. "How long has she been a slave?"

"Mere days." Gelebor count count on one hand the number of beings he'd met that were taller than him. This mer was the mightiest of those.

"I can tell." Netchbreaker pinched her cheek. Gelebor wished he could see her face, to know if he should intervene. "There's fire, there. An ardor of passion. Breaking her in will be half the fun."

"That bodes well for our future business arrangement," Gelebor said. He didn't have to fabricate his icy smile.

"What is it you propose?"

"It's simple." Gelebor fought to maintain eye contact. "You often raid settlements nearby and ships passing through the area. I merely ask that you keep an eye out for women such as this. I'm in the business of moving bodies, and I can promise you a fortune if you keep me well supplied."

"Oh?" Netchbreaker made a thoughtful sound. "Why don't I just take this little mer, kill you, and sell any beauties I capture myself? I already have to share my profits with the fodder downstairs."

"You don't have the means." Nadene had prepared him for this question. "Few on Solstheim are wealthy enough to traffic in flesh. But I have contacts in the underworld of many nearby cities, including Blacklight, Port Telvannis, and Windhelm. If you went within ten leagues of their ports, your ships would be at the bottom of the Inner Sea in minutes. Even in disguise, you would attract attention. My way is the only way."

"What you say..." Netchbreaker ambled back to his desk, running a hand through Nadene's hair as he passed. "May hold some truth. But what if I don't care? I've had a run of good luck recently. Acquired this crimson gem, for one. I'd wager it's worth seasons of the work you're offering."

"If you don't care for the deal," Gelebor said, as sharply as he dared, "I'm sure one of your competitors on the island would be eager to earn all this gold in your place."

"Maybe they would. Tell me, what part of Alinor do you come from?"

"I was actually born in Skyrim. I've never even seen the isles, to speak truly."

"I see. I spent my own youth on the streets of Blacklight."

"Ah." Gelebor fought to keep the panic from his voice. "It's much changed from those days, I would imagine."

Nadene held her left hand behind her back and crossed two of her fingers. The message was clear, but there was no painless way of leaving this conversation. He was beginning to see that they had been on trial the second they stepped into the room.

"Oh, I don't know." Netchbreaker leaned back, his chair creaking in protest, and rolled a septim between his fingers. "Some things never change. Do you know Gilnos Gorvethi?"

"I...I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

"Understandable enough. The Camonna Tong don't often deal with outsiders."

Nadene's hand went into a fist, the knuckles whitening. Gelebor took a step back, pulling her along. Netchbreaker's eyes followed.

"The Redoran councilor of Solstheim," he said, almost bored. "What's his name?"

"The First Councilor is Lleril Morvayn, and the second is Adril Arano."

"Aye." Netchbreaker let the coin slip from his fingers and roll across his desk. "Perhaps we can do business after all. Just one last question."

"Yes?"

"Tell me the color of the Blacklight docks."

Gelebor swallowed. The corner of Netchbreaker's mouth turned up, and he began to stand.

Nadene cursed and thrust forth her hand. The Heart Stone flew off the desk faster than Gelebor's eyes could track. Halfway through its trajectory, it paused in the air. A figure cloaked in black stepped out of the corner next to Netchbreaker. His own hand was raised.

She released her telekinetic hold and reached back for Gelebor's arm. He felt the Recall spell pulling them away, and then Netchbreaker's desk was flying through the air towards them.

He was still dizzy when a giant hand pulled him to his feet.

"Come, now." Netchbreaker scolded. "Did you truly think I'd meet with you alone? You don't get to stand on the backs of so many worthless bandits without learning a few tricks along the way. Make sure that bracelet is tight, Gamlen."

"'Tis, sir." He squeezed the enchanted clamp around Nadene's wrist. There was a cut above her eye, and blood ran down her face. "This 'un seems to promise excitement. Can I have her?"

"Not yet." Netchbreaker grabbed Gelebor's chin, and held his face up to the torchlight. "These little elves have engaged my attention. Why would they walk into a camp of dozens of outlaws? All for that red stone? Must be worth more than you suspected."

"Torture, then?" Gamlen licked his lips. Nadene glared at them both in silence and Gelebor resolved to follow her example.

"Soon enough. For now, throw them in the pit. Spread the word: the pretty mer belong to me. If I catch any of those fetchers down below interfering, they'll be decorating my saddle by dawn tomorrow."

"As ya command," Gamlen said, and bowed. To Gelebor's dismay, the scrawny mage then tied their hands behind their backs and blindfolded them. We should have taken a better measure of these reavers. Gamlen led them in darkness down stinking corridors. Occasionally Gelebor heard laughter or muttered comments, but for the most part the other bandits seemed to keep their distance. Obviously they had more respect for Gamlen than for Senso.

They walked for so long a time that Gelebor was sure they must have left the citadel, but not once had he felt the sunlight on his face. Gamlen stopped. The world around them was nearly silent, but for the gentle pull of air in an uncertain direction.

"Is this the pit, then?" Gelebor asked.

"Naw." There was a smile in Gamlen's voice. "This is."

He pushed, and Gelebor fell through the open air. Without free hands to brace himself, the landing was rough. He rolled over and coughed, trying in vain to banish the ash his impact had sent up. Nadene landed on top of him.

"Sorry!"

Gelebor spent five minutes trying to catch his breath. There was ash all in his hair, and he was almost certain Nadene had broken one of his ribs with her fall. Maybe it'll pierce one of my lungs, and I can be free of this madness at last.

"It's...fine." It hurt to breathe, now that he was capable. He wriggled around until he was sitting up, and searched the darkness for Nadene. Gamlen had closed the trap door after pushing her in, leaving them without light. "You okay?"

"Yes."

"Your face." Gelebor shook his head to try to clear some of the filth away. "Hurt."

"It's fine." She opened her eyes, so he could finally see where she was sitting. "Head wounds bleed a lot."

"Sorry. My fault." He laid his head back down and took a measured breath. The pain wasn't as bad, now. "Bad acting."

"Not the worst I've seen. There was this Breton acrobat I met in the Foreign Quarter once, Marcel Maurard. I had to either kill him or find him a job. He was lucky Crassius Curio had such low standards."

He was surprised. "You're not mad?"

"It was my plan." Nadene sighed. "I should've been the slaver. You just can't pull off darkness and deception, no offense."

"Um...none taken. I suppose I'd have been a convincing slave, if my kin are any indication. Aren't you upset at the time we're wasting?"

"I don't know." A minute passed. "Giving into despair hasn't helped before. Didn't help Divayth, when he was dying alone in his swamp hut. Won't help Habi, wherever she is."

"I suppose you're right. So how are we getting out of this?"

"I was planning on kicking back and waiting for Kharjo."

"Nearly forty bandits, though..." Gelebor sat up again. "Even for all three of us, that would be a challenge. Will Lord Fyr come?"

"No. The way he looked at his new children...he won't leave them alone on this blighted island, not even to save me."

"It seems the onus has fallen on us, then."

"Seems so."

They stared at each other in the darkness. His eyes were adjusting, and he could nearly see the blood drying on her face. It made Gelebor sick, for reasons he could not put into words.

"Earlier, when I was transcribing. You said you wanted to speak to me about something?"

"I had a different place in mind for that conversation."

"Here seems as good as any." He nodded his chin towards the trap door. "Either of us could be taken away at any moment to be tortured or killed. We might not get another chance."

"Oh." Nadene's voice wavered, or perhaps it was Gelebor's imagination. She leaned back, face softening, and it was as if he could see her shields slipping away. "Well. I've been in situations like this before, but I've usually had my magic at least. This could be the end of us, yes."

"Would that make you sad? To have a conclusion, after all this time?"

"I'm not sure. Sometimes...sometimes I feel I've lived too long. And some part of me has always known that my end would be violent. Slipping away in the night, warm in bed, surrounded by friends and family...that's not the way you and I will go, Gelebor."

"I know. I've often felt that way, living in the shadow of the Betrayed. And Auriel must want me to die on some hot-blooded crusade, seeing as how he has withdrawn all other options. Perhaps watching his last true child fall to the blades of the corrupted would bring him pleasure, somehow."

"Not all other options, surely." Nadene shifted closer to him. "Have you considered...the alternative?"

"More times than you could imagine." Gelebor smiled tightly. "I'd tell you something in me wanted to keep fighting, but in truth I'm just terrified that what comes after won't be an improvement."

"Yes." She stared into the darkness. "And I'm frightened that wherever I end up, they'll be waiting. Vivec, Almalexia, Sotha Sil...Voryn Dagoth. I'm not sure where dead gods go. But I never want to find out. And...I don't want to leave Habisunilu on her own in this world. B'vek, I should never have let her return to Vvardenfell..."

"I'm sorry. It's not your fault, you know. Turn around. Let's try to undo these binds."

They shuffled around awkwardly on the ashy ground until they were back to back. Gelebor could feel her fingers, and the tight rope around her wrists. The magicka-draining clamp pushing against her binds made them difficult to work with. Several minutes passed.

"What I wanted to talk about." Nadene's voice was measured. "I kinda have to go back a little while. To when you discovered Habi's letter, the night the tower burned down."

"Yes?"

"The real reason I was so mad." She made a frustrated sound. "Damn. I'm not good at this sort of stuff, so please...don't interrupt. When most people see me, they don't really see me. The Dunmer in Raven Rock, Divayth, Kharjo. Even Habi, sometimes. They see my face and they think Nerevarine. Nerevar the Captain. Born on a certain day to uncertain parents, and so on and so forth. Do you understand?"

"I think so."

"But you. You were sheltered from the world for so long, that even with all the clues you didn't know what I was. I was just a woman living in a strange house. You knew nothing about Nerevar, or the prophecies. No one has looked at me like you do since I walked out of the Cavern of the Incarnate with Moon-and-Star on my finger. So when I saw you reading the letter...I thought everything would change. Our little charade out of time would be over, and you'd start treating me like everyone else does. I was so upset that I ruined our relationship myself before you could have the chance. So...I just wanted to say again, that I'm sorry. And I wanted to ask you a question."

"I've already forgiven you." His fingers paused their work. "What's your question?"

"After all that's happened, all we've been through, and all you've learned about me." Her free hand wrapped around his wrist. "Am I still just Nadene?"

"Undoubtedly." Gelebor smiled. "Perhaps that's blasphemy, on an island of Morrowind. But I care little what Azura thinks. May my twilights be cursed until the end of time, if it means I can make you happy."

Nadene laughed, and pulled her hands free. The clamp was still tight around her wrist, but they could worry about that in a moment. She pulled him to his feet, nearly falling over, but Gelebor steadied her in time.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for someone to say that to me," Nadene said. She reached for his face, and he lowered his chin to feel her calloused fingers. "I...I had a boyfriend on Vvardenfell. He died saving his tribe's children from the flames. I thought, for a long time, that part of me burned away with him."

"There have been no others since then?"

She shook her head. "Sometimes I'd hire local Dunmer to assist me at the tower, but none of them usually stayed longer than a week. Unlike you, they knew of the Nerevarine. They'd go snooping around where they shouldn't, and I'd have to teleport them back to Raven Rock. Few even took the care to speak my real name, after they learned what I was."

"I wouldn't be able to handle that level of attention, especially for so many years."

"Have you ever loved, Gelebor?"

"My brother, Vyrthur. A few of my comrades in arms. But that's a different kind of love, I think."

"I think so, too." She raised her brow. "So does that mean you've never..."

"Well." Gelebor's jaw tightened. "The adventurers that came upon my Wayshrine...some were curious. I was lonely. You can guess the rest."

"I see. Did you love any of them, in the way Divayth loves Athtera?"

"No." He stared past her shoulder, going to a different time. "It was difficult to form attachments to people I would be burying in days or hours."

"That's terrible." Nadene chewed her lip. "I've told you what you mean to me. But I want to know what I'm supposed to be to you. Losing Auriel must have left a scar. When I turned my back on Azura, after the Red Year, I felt your pain."

"I'm just doing my best to forget him."

"I just…" She sighed. "I can't be his replacement. You know? I'm not a god, endling. I'm just an old woman with a fucked up sense of the world. I don't want a follower, a servant, or a slave. This needs to be a partnership. Equals."

"I agree."

"So what do I need to change to make that happen?" She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Because what we've been doing isn't healthy. You tiptoe around me like I'm a cliff racer with the blight."

"Very well." Gelebor looked away. "I'll speak truly. The memory of that last night in your tower haunts me. When you sent me away, with so little warning and for so little reason…"

"Gelebor-"

"Hush. I know you've apologized more than once. But that is not enough. I can't be afraid to say what I feel, or us being together...it won't work. You have to promise. Promise you'll never abandon me like that again."

"I promise." Nadene grabbed his hand. "No, I swear. I'm so sorry I did that to you. Know that my words that night were born of fear, not hatred."

"Thank you for promising." He met her eyes, and pleasant shivers went down his spine. "I must admit that I...I'm rather fond of you, Nadene."

"Oh, my." She fanned herself. "Such lecherous talk!"

Despite Nadene's levity, he could see the tears at the corners of her eyes. Gelebor knew it was no small feat for this woman to lay her heart bare to him. His own emotions felt raw, like a wound laid bare. He wiped away the wetness with his thumb, and withdrew a handkerchief from his noble shirt to gently clean the blood from her face.

"Thank you." There was a new intensity in Nadene's voice. She looked up at him, her eyes bright. "I'm quite fond of you as well, you know."

"I've had my suspicions."

"So. I've been thinking."

"You continue to impress," Gelebor dared.

She punched his shoulder. "I've been thinking that we'll still have to spend another day on Solstheim, even after we bring the Heart Stone to Divayth. We'll need to return to Raven Rock for supplies anyway, and to pick up your fitted armor, and…"

"And?"

"I think that stupid Redoran formal dinner is tommorow evening, and Arano and Morvayn won't let me get away with skipping it if I'm in the city. So I was wondering. You know." Nadene fidgeted. "Are you really going to make me ask?"

"Of course I'll go to dinner with you, miss Othryn. What an honor."

"Thanks. I didn't want to face down all those Grand Council bloodsuckers on my own. I'm going to invite Kharjo too, though I doubt he'll even want to come." She grinned. "But who knows. We might even enjoy ourselves."

"I can hardly wait. Though I might remind you that there's still no guarantee we'll leave this place alive."

"Impatient, are you?" Nadene stood on her tip toes and pressed her lips against his, quick as a nix-hound. A delightful shock sprouted from her touch and spread to all corners of his body. His legs melted. Gelebor raised a hand to his face, and swallowed. The nocturnal visitors to his Wayshrine had not been into kissing, as a rule. They had never made him feel this way.

"Now let's see about getting out of here, huh?"

Gelebor nodded dumbly.

Gamlen's head slunk into view from the open trapdoor, a distasteful shadow from which two small red eyes peered into the darkness. He vanished for a second, and then a weathered rope came down.

"Jus' the girl," Gamlen said.

"She's hurt." Gelebor stepped out, his hands behind him. "The fall broke several of her ribs. Slaves are such fragile things, really."

"Twasn't a slave. Ya couldn't fool the boss and ya can't fool me, n'wah."

"Nevertheless. I doubt your master will be happy when he hears you've damaged his prize."

"To Oblivion with Netchbreaker." Gamlen spat. "Stupid fuckin' name. He don't know about this little visit, and he ain't gonna find out. Was me that kept you from runnin' off with that bastard's pretty stone. Don't expect I'll be seein' any of that gold, so I'll get my cut in a different fashion."

"Well, it's my property you'll be damaging. Don't expect me to keep quiet."

"I don't. That's the beauty of the illusion school, innit?" Gelebor could see the mer smile even from down below. "She'll 'ave a good time, and I'll wipe both yer heads after. Everyone leaves happy. Even if ya won't remember why."

"Fine. Have her, then. I'll wait in the corner."

"No. I ain't that thick. Step mores into the light, so I can see yer bindings. Hurry, now. Boss wants ya both at the feast, so I got to have my fun quick."

Gelebor turned so the mage could see his retied binds. Gamlen snickered and lowered his hand through the trap door. For a moment, a brilliant green light filled the pit, illuminating piles of bones and Nadene lying supine. The spell washed over Gelebor and he collapsed into the ash as stiff as a corprus victim.

"Now you, girl. Or the next one'll be a fireball. I don't give a damn what Netchbreaker says."

There was no answer from the darkness.

Gamlen let out a stream of curses and grabbed the rope, slowly descending. He kept one hand free, green tendrils of magic swirling around his fingers. Gelebor watched black boots land softly in the ash next to his face.

"Come out. I know ya got that clamp on, so ain't no use in fighting."

The sharp light from the open trapdoor kept Gelebor's eyes from adjusting to the dark, and he was sure it was having a similar effect on Gamlen.

"How many tries do you have left?" Nadene called softly.

"Huh?" Gamlen turned, his hand raised.

"Paralysis is a tough spell. How many times can you cast it, before you have to rest?"

"Don't ya worry about that." Gamlen licked his lips. "Once'll be enough for a little lady like you, I think."

"Probably," Nadene replied, closer than before, and Gamlen fired his spell. The pit exploded with light, and she rushed forward as the orb of energy flew into a bone pile.

Nadene tackled Gamlen and they wrestled on the ground.

Gamlen punched, stunning her, and pushed away. He was scrambling to his feet when Nadene's bone dagger found the back of his calf. Gamlen howled and fell, blood spurting.

"Don't need magic to kill a rat," Nadene hissed, and crawled forward with her dagger. Gamlen stopped making sounds seconds later, and a few minutes after that Gelebor could move again.

"Thank you," he said, accepting Nadene's hand. She was already wearing the bandit mage's robes and rubbing her sore wrist. She'd healed the cut on her forehead, and did the same to his rib. "Are we still going with the original plan?"

"I don't see why not." She knelt down before Gamlen's still form. The mer's neck was a ruin, and his sightless eyes stared up at the trap door. Nadene put her hands over his face, and when she took them away it was her own eyes that were revealed.

"Revolting," Gelebor murmured. "I'd heard of a face sculptor down in Riften, but to see such a thing performed..." The sight of Nadene lying dead, even knowing it was a facade, sent waves of dread through his heart.

"It's powerful alteration magic." Nadene fished around in the robe, and took out a blue potion bottle. She downed the whole container and tossed it aside.

"I would have thought illusion."

"No." She turned away, covering her own face. "Illusion magic alters mortal perception of the world. Alteration alters the world. Many think that the path to power lies in fireballs and lightning bolts. They have no idea." Nadene glanced back at him wearing the face of the dead mer at their feet. Gamlen's eyes were small and cruel, like those of a skeever.

"Let's get this over with." Gelebor swallowed.

"What? Miss my ugly mug already?"

"Quite dearly."

Nadene's grin faded. She reached for the swaying rope.

"Dead?"

Netchbreaker spoke softly, but every bandit in the feasting room fell silent. Gelebor stood behind Nadene, his head bowed.

"Aye. Don't know if the wench did it to herself, or the boy 'ere is to blame."

"This is...disappointing, to say the least." Netchbreaker's hands squeezed the arms of his chair, but he did not rise. "The woman seemed the more exciting of the two by far. You're certain none of these s'wits were responsible?"

"Cast me best trespassing spell on the trapdoor. Was still there when I came back for 'em."

"Ah." Smart. Remind him why he keeps Gamlen around, so he's less likely to cut both our heads off. "Well, I suppose there's nothing for it. Leave the body. I believe Mathesu's tastes trend in that direction."

"Right you are." Nadene began to slip away. Conversations resumed around the hall.

"Oh, Gamlen?"

"Boss?"

"I want another living girl by sunset tomorrow." Netchbreaker smiled. "Or we're going to find out just how long someone can survive in the pit before they start eating their own body parts. Yes?"

Nadene nodded. Glad we won't have to honor that particular promise.

"Do what you need to with the other one, there. Find out why he wants the red stone. But after the feast. Screaming ruins my appetite."

"You got it," Nadene replied, but Netchbreaker had already lost interest in them. He turned to one of the few reavers seated near him, presumably one of his lieutenants, and began a low and animated conversation in Dunmeris. Gelebor and Nadene slipped away into the crowd of bandits noisily eating and laughing.

As Gelebor noted before, the vagabonds seemed to give Gamlen a wide berth. Nadene led him to a secluded corner of the hall, bathed in shadow. They sat down at a small table with their backs to Netchbreaker. A risky move, but the bandit leader had already demonstrated an aptitude for sniffing out treachery. Seeing his pet mage and newest prisoner engaged in a private talk would no doubt arouse his attention.

"I'm still not sure about this next part," Gelebor said quietly. "There seems to be a significant chance one or both of us will catch an arrow before the end."

"I've been thinking about that," Nadene replied. "Netchbreaker being so damned smart might actually work in our favor."

"How so?"

"Cause he's curious." She grinned. It was the same expression Gamlen had worn when describing how he was going to use his illusion magic. Gelebor was queasy. "Just like us. That's why I didn't let you get eaten by that werebear, when we first met. Any other bandit captain would've had us killed on the spot for trying to steal from him. But this fetcher must be awfully bored. And he's gonna die for it."

"That may be the case.. But can you say the same for every bandit in this room?" Gelebor inclined his head towards the stinking crowd. "You think they won't fall on us in an instant?"

"I guess we gotta rely on their fear of Netchbreaker. You saw how they went all quiet so fast before."

"True. But I still don't like this."

"Hey." She let the gravelly Gamlen voice fall away. "If you want, I'll Recall both of us to Raven Rock right now. We could find some other Heart Stone, or another way to Vvardenfell."

"You know that would take days, if not weeks," Gelebor said. "Habisunilu may not have that time."

"It won't matter anyway if we die here." Nadene nudged his foot under the table. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes." He swallowed. "I'm ready."

"Don't be gentle," Nadene ordered, her eyes smiling.

"Not a chance."

Gelebor roared and flipped the table, sending plates exploding against the stones like comets of ceramic. Nadene scrambled out of the way, but he grabbed the back of her robe.

"The bastard's loose!" She yelled, and every sword in the hall was unsheathed in a cacophony of rasping metal. Gelebor grabbed the sword at Nadene's waist and tossed her away, none too softly. He didn't look where she landed.

"Stay back, all of you." Gelebor pointed his blade at the cursing band of vagabonds. "Or suffer the fury of the last Snow Elf in Tamriel!"

At that declaration, several reavers that had been edging closer dissolved back into the crowd. Many of them looked back at the raised steps and their leaders.

Netchbreaker stood, but drew no weapon.

"A Snow Elf, you say?" He squinted at Gelebor, and raised a hand to still the eager horde. "An interesting deception. Better than your previous, in any case."

"This is no lie. You stand before Knight-Paladin Gelebor. For millennia, I guarded the sacred Chantry of Auriel, hidden away in the frozen mountains of Skyrim."

"Pretty words, that mean nothing." Netchbreaker scratched his chin. "I suspect you're nothing more than an Altmer con man trying to tread water while you plan some sort of daring escape. If this is the case, you will fall easily to my lieutenant's sword. Mathesu, cut down this fraud."

One of the mer seated near him rose with a thin smile and drew his weapon. Mathesu was clad in chitin armor, but wore no helmet. I must buy Nadene the time she needs. That's all that matters.

"This is an uneven match," Gelebor complained. The nearest bandits spat at him. "I wear no armor, but your man is protected from neck to toe."

"Would a Knight-Paladin need armor to defeat scum like this?" Netchbreaker sat back down in his chair. "I found Mathesu drowning in a Blacklight gutter at the age of eleven. He's no Umbra, that's for sure. So shut your mouth and die quickly, or prove you're who you say."

Gelebor didn't dare glance to the corner of the room to see if Nadene had begun. I must have faith.

Mathesu came down the steps and passed through the agitated crowd, his eyes boring into Gelebor.

"This will be too easy," Mathesu said. "You're gonna wish you stayed on your island, goldskin. Been too long since I cut one of you n'wahs down to size."

"I'm no Altmer." Gelebor hadn't realized before how much he liked saying that. "And I'm sorry, but you are going to die."

Mathesu yelled a curse and ran forward with his sword, relying on his armor to shield his approach. Gelebor twisted away, barely escaping the blade's reach, and delivered a blow to his opponent's leg armor. The attack barely left a dent in the chitin.

Blast. This sword is as dull as daily prayer. Never before had he so yearned for a good mace.

They circled each other, swords raised. The other bandits kept their distance, but yelled mocking commentary whenever Gelebor drew near. On the raised steps Netchbreaker watched the duel intently.

"Frightened, boy?" Mathesu smirked.

"Not particularly," Gelebor replied, and lunged. He feinted left and immediately punished Mathesu's block, driving his elbow into the other mer's face and slashing at a gap in his thigh armor.

Gelebor danced away as Mathesu screamed. He held one hand to his broken nose, and barely kept the sword up with the other. Blood seeped around the chitin plate on his leg.

"Perhaps you are more than you seem, after all." Netchbreaker's deep voice carried over the laughs and jeers of his men. "Let's find out. Throw aside your sword."

"Pardon?"

"Mathesu is obviously no match for you, even with his advantage." Netchbreaker rested his chin on clasped hands. "Drop your blade, or I'll have you filled with arrows. I will not ask again."

Gelebor swallowed and tossed his weapon away. Mathesu watched him, seething, blood staining his teeth.

"Continue," Netchbreaker ordered, and Mathesu charged.

This time, Gelebor wasn't quick enough. He ducked under the blade but could not avoid the hilt. His forehead exploded with pain, and he stumbled away with black stars in his vision.

Mathesu advanced relentlessly. Gelebor managed to dodge the sword again, but then the flat of the blade was coming towards his head from behind. He was knocked to the ground. Mathesu stood over him, the sword held high. He was breathing heavily, but he looked towards Netchbreaker.

"You've fought well," Netchbreaker remarked. "You may even be a 'Knight-Paladin', as you say. But you've wounded Mathesu gravely, and I won't deny him his revenge. Your life is in-"

"By Azura!" A bandit cried from the back of the hall. "Gamlen lives!"

"Silence!" Netchbreaker roared, obviously unaccustomed to interruption. All eyes were drawn to the shouting bandit, and the emerald brilliance convalescing around him.

"It's Gamlen!" The bandit said again. "I thought he musta been killed by that throw. But he's standing here, right as rain! Well, ain't standing, exactly."

"None of you s'wits move. I want to see this." Netchbreaker stood up, urgency in his voice. "A lantern, you fool!"

The lone bandit grabbed a fallen lantern off the ground and took a few seconds to light the wick. All the while, the green light grew brighter. Nadene's arms and legs moved in harmony, and Gelebor could not help but be enchanted. The air tasted charged, like power and potential coming together.

"See? 'Tis him, isn't it?"

"Gamlen? What in Oblivion...are you dancing?"

"Nope," Nadene replied in her own voice.

Netchbreaker leapt just as Nadene drove her fist into the ground. The room exploded in waves of emerald, silverware and tables soaring in every direction. The bandits were showered in soup and bread. Every being in the room went as still as death, and Netchbreaker landed like a statue on the ground, his arms still outstretched. Gelebor was not immune. He watched helplessly in the cage of his body as Nadene collapsed. The master spell had drained her utterly.

After a minute Nadene began to move again, and reached a shaky hand into her robe for a potion bottle. She drained it and crawled towards Gelebor. It seemed like an eternity passed before Nadene grabbed his hand and he felt the Dispel effect wash over him. She put her hands over her face, and when she removed them Gamlen was gone.

"Too weak, now." Nadene rasped. Gelebor hopped to his feet. "Gonna have to carry me."

"How much time do we have?"

"Minutes."

Gelebor hesitated. His eyes went to Mathesu, and the blade in the frozen mer's hands. There might be enough time to slit the throat of every reaver in the room. They all deserved death, certainly. The pit had been full of bones, no doubt the remains of innocent travelers and traders. But for whatever reason, the thought of performing so many cold-blooded executions seemed abhorrent. I must remember: Auriel is gone. He can judge me no longer.

Leaving the reavers to continue their vile work seemed almost as deplorable. If Netchbreaker put Divayth's family to the sword sometime in the future, however unlikely that occurrence, the blood would be on Gelebor's hands.

"Nadene?" He wanted her counsel, but she made no response. Damn. I think she's fallen asleep.

Time was running short. Gelebor tapped his fingers together, agitated.

"You'll make a fine rug, cat!"

Kharjo sighed. It seemed these Solstheim bandits were no more creative than their Skyrim counterparts. He advanced, blocking every one of the incoming arrows with his shield.

"You remind me of my cousin's cat! Killed that, too!" Kharjo shook his head. This was just embarrassing.

The bandit's last arrow went wild, and Kharjo destroyed the bow with his shield and sent the bandit to his knees. He kicked the slender Nord to the ground and put an armored boot on his chest.

"Now you are the rug, yes?" Kharjo didn't feel the need to draw his sword. "What? You do not laugh?"

"Please!" The bandit blubbered. "Mercy! Mercy!"

"Hush, hush. Khajiit has an amazing sense of smell, and excellent hearing. He will tolerate a stinky rug or a loud one, but not both."

"Mercy!"

"Kharjo is regretting his purchase. He thinks he will return this unpleasant floorcloth. But he must know something first. Two elves; one tall and white as the sands of Elsweyr, and the other small and fiery. These are his friends. Where have they gone?"

"Inside!" The Nord pointed frantically towards the largest tower, squirming around on his back like a great turtle. "Senso brought 'em in around noon. That's all I know. Please, mercy!"

"You are fortunate, rug. The great Divayth Fyr gifted me this armor of shimmering ebony, and I have no wish to cover it in your blood and tears. It is him you can thank for your life. But first, remove your clothes."

"Huh?"

Kharjo pressed his boot down until the Nord was gasping for breath.

"This Khajiit wants his rug bare. You may leave this citadel with your pride or your soul. Make your choice swiftly."

The Nord began wriggling out of his clothes, and Kharjo stepped away so he could complete the process. In a minute the bandit was naked and shivering.

"Ha. This amuses Kharjo. You know the path to Raven Rock?"

He nodded miserably.

"Your face may be known there. Admit your crimes to the Redoran or not, it makes to difference to me. You have nothing. You are nothing. Know that it was Kharjo that made you this way. And should you return to your lawless ways, know that it will be he who hunts you down."

"Thank you. Thank you! Praise Talos!"

"Do not praise Talos. Praise Khajiit! And one last thing."

The bandit's bottom lip trembled. "Yes?"

"Go find your cousin a new cat. And do not kill it this time, you bloodthirsty snowman."

Kharjo watched the pale figure stumble down the tower steps and vanish around the curve of the shore. No doubt the man would die on his way to Raven Rock, with all the dangers on the long path west. But there was no time to waste thinking of such a worthless floor covering.

Four more sentries were dotted around the exterior, and none were eager to surrender as the Nord had. Kharjo dispatched them with ease, and found a bridge leading to the central tower. He pulled on his ebony helm, cursing how it obscured his peripheral vision. Better a bonked head than a severed one. No doubt the bandits inside would have heard the commotion. He kicked open the doors and rushed in.

He stood alone in the entry chamber, his adrenaline going to waste. Kharjo was not foolish enough to lower his sword. He focused his ears, but could not hear even the sounds of normal habitation. Footsteps, doors opening and closing, muffled voices. There was simply nothing. The air smelled of copper and ozone. Blood and magic, yes? Perhaps the Nerevarine and her Knight-Paladin have taken care of the entire tower. Most impressive.

The feasting hall was an utter mess. Tables, plates, and food were scattered everywhere, and there was a pool of blood on the floor. Not enough to be from a corpse. Interesting. He knelt, studying the blood. There were red drops leading out of the room. Kharjo followed them.

An absolute darkness filled the corridor, but Kharjo could see with perfect clarity. He followed the blood trail into the bowels of the tower, pausing every now and then and listening. A foul smell was growing nearer.

Finally, Kharjo heard movement ahead. Someone was pushing a sizable object with all their strength, groaning with the effort. Marvelous. Khajiit can catch them unawares. He crouched down, sneaking as best he could in the ebony armor. There was light down the next hallway.

Kharjo was stepping over a dead body when it reached out and grabbed his hand. He yelped and scurried away, nearly dropping his sword in the process.

"Kharjo?" Nadene asked, rubbing her eyes. "It's me. Put the blighted sword down."

"Ahh. Forgive me, Nadene. Khajiit has a great fear of the undead. You startled him."

She sat up, her back to the wall. "I can see that. Pretty armor, by the way. Have you come to rescue us?"

"This was Kharjo's intention. Though it appears you require no saving."

"Was a close thing." She yawned. "And I'm bloody exhausted. Gelebor, too. You should go help him out."

"A fine idea." Kharjo continued down the hallway, towards the loud noises. There were empty bottles on the ground that smelled of netch jelly and salmon roe. "Knight-Paladin! Your friend Kharjo is coming to assist you. Do not stab him!"

"Okay," came the weary reply.

He found Gelebor bracing himself on a large dresser, panting. His skin was drenched in sweat. There was a trap door in the floor in front of them. Kharjo wrinkled his nose. It was from there that the awful odor came.

"This is where you put the dead?" Kharjo asked.

"No." Gelebor took several deep breaths before speaking again. "Not dead. Paralyzed. Maybe broken limbs, on some of them. Little bit...of a fall."

Kharjo glanced at the dresser again, and comprehended. "Ah. Khajiit understands. You are certain they will not escape?"

"We killed their only mage." Gelebor patted the dresser. "With this over the trapdoor, even a team of trolls would have difficulty."

"From the smell, I would not be surprised to see such creatures down below."

He helped Gelebor push the dresser into place, and let the Knight-Paladin lean on him as they returned to Nadene.

She let Kharjo help her stand. And then she went to Gelebor and hugged him tightly. Kharjo watched, blinking. Perhaps his elf friends are closer than Kharjo thought. That would be a pleasant development. His own mind went to Zaynabi, her fur soft and warm, but he pushed aside his grief with little effort. We will see each other again, soon enough.

"Let's grab the Heart Stone and get back to Tel Mithryn," Nadene grumbled. "I could use a bath and some ash yam soup right about now."

"Kharjo heartily agrees." He slid his arms around their shoulders, happy to help his friends along. "He is eager to leave these stinky bandits behind."