"And when the Snow Prince fell to ground,
The Ice Elves divided above and below.
Now vanquished and brutally bound,
One moment had shattered all they did know." - The Betrayed
"Vyrthur! He's here!"
The Falmer boy didn't look up from his prayer. Set against the marble floor and columns, he was nearly cloaked by the room's long shadows. Gelebor paused in the doorway, his mouth open. Oops.
"Sorry." He forced his voice into a more serious tone, stowing his excitement. "I didn't realize you were still in the mist of your daily worship." The ritual was important, Gelebor knew, especially since his brother was on the path to priesthood.
"Midst," Vyrthur murmured.
"Huh?"
"The word is 'midst', not mist."
"Oh. Thanks."
Silence fell between them for a time. Gelebor was used to the quiet, by now; priests and paladins of Auriel were not known for their love of long conversation, as a rule. The rays of the setting sun fell below the window. Soon enough, Vyrthur was hidden in darkness. Gelebor waited for his brother. The thrill in his heart would not still.
"Are you sure?" Vyrthur finally asked.
"Yes!" Gelebor grinned. "Knight-Paladin Siprith let me watch through his looking glass. They're coming down into the valley with a hundred horses at least!"
"A hundred?" Vyrthur rose to his feet and wiped the dust off his knees. "What're we waiting for, then? He's probably in the Chapel by now!"
He rushed past Gelebor, grabbing his hand, and they ran down long passageways of alabaster with windows of radiant gold, kept well lit by the lanterns of the Knight-Paladin's standing vigil. It was their sacred duty to keep the Chantry illuminated in the hours that Auriel slept. Sometimes Gelebor sat and watched them for hours, dreaming of the day he would complete the trials and become a warrior of light himself. He was already studying the path of the wayshrines in preparation for the first test.
Vyrthur's own training had kept him in close quarters with Arch-Curate Celekir, so he knew well the path to Auriel's Chapel. As they progressed through the Inner Sanctum, the walls seem to get wider and the ceiling higher. Gelebor fell behind, his limbs still sore from shoveling snow off the sacred paths. His brother disappeared among the throngs of the faithful streaming towards the commotion. Even though he had no memory of any place outside the Chantry, Gelebor still knew that the world beyond the valley was a violent and chaotic land covered in filthy barbarians and worshipers of wicked power. The special arrival to the normally peaceful Chantry belonged to this world, and Gelebor imagined a glimpse of such a figure might afford him a hint of the excitement and terrors the priests were always warning them about.
"Vyrthur! Wait for me!"
Gelebor made his way politely through the crowd, and found his brother sitting on the lip of a column just inside the Chapel's grand doorway.
"You sure we're allowed up there?" Gelebor glanced at the many white robed elves still entering the Chapel. Their footsteps nearly drowned out his voice.
"I've read all the books in the library." Vyrthur crossed his legs. "Turns out, Auriel doesn't care much where you put your bottom. And old Harz is too busy right now to pay attention."
It seemed to be true. Normally, Prelate Harzius was on them like a sabre cat whenever they dared step out of line, but there was no sign of him in the ruckus. Gelebor took a deep breath and climbed up next to his brother.
"Wow."
The Chantry's visitor had brought some horses in with his entourage, and Gelebor could see them standing in a circle near the center of the grand chamber. They were graceful beasts as stark white as the Chapel itself, and far more impressive than the mules and packhorses Gelebor knew from the stables.
The faithful kept a respectful distance from the beasts, talking quietly among themselves. Several warriors dressed in heavy armor stood near the horses and conferred with the more senior prelates and paladins.
"You think anything bad happened?"
"No," Vrythur responded. "The Snow Prince is under Auriel's protection. No harm can come to him."
"What about Cenre, last Frostfall? He loved Auriel as much as anyone in the Chantry. Didn't stop that avalanche, though."
"Then he wasn't faithful enough." Vryrthur looked away. "Maybe. I don't know."
"I thought you read all the books in the library."
"Reading and understanding are two different things. Probably not even the Arch-Curate could explain every text we have."
Gelebor wasn't sure why he was annoyed with Vyrthur's response. He'd felt a divide growing between them as they'd gone farther down separate paths of faith. And Vyrthur's training seemed to provide very few answers to the questions Gelebor had wondered about his entire life. But he agreed with his brother that the Snow Prince had not come to the Chantry with ill tidings. The energy in the room was one of surprise and excitement.
"Maybe he's come to ascend," Gelebor thought aloud.
"I don't think so. We would've heard by now if the war was over."
"I guess." It was hard, sometimes, to reckon the tides of a conflict that so seldom affected the secluded valley. Occasionally they would receive a band of injured or lost Falmer and the priests would attend to them, but the pilgrims that came to the Wayshrines usually left their worldly troubles behind.
"I can't see him," Gelebor complained.
Vyrthur stood, balancing precariously on the lip of the column, and squinted over the masses towards the horses and warriors.
"Anything?"
"No. We gotta get closer."
The two boys slipped down from the perch and made their way through the crowd. Many of the priests didn't much care for children, so it was easy enough to escape attention. By the time Vyrthur and Gelebor reached the front, the horses had knelt down and Arch-Curate Celekir stood with the Snow Prince in full view.
Gelebor gasped. He's beautiful. This mer was composed of fragile angles and flawless skin; there was a strange vulnerability in his countenance, a softness Gelebor would attribute more readily to the kinder Chantry priests than the fiercest warrior of the Falmer.
The Snow Prince's breastplate was near as breathtaking. Etchings of crimson gleamed in the torchlight atop layers of lacquered pale steel, like streams of blood in the snow. The armor appeared to be fresh from the smith but Gelebor knew it had seen battles long before his birth. Long white hair fell down the Prince's shoulders and slipped into the openings in the armor's gorget.
"The Great Chantry of Auriel bids welcome to our Snow Prince," Celekir's voice rumbled. "The truest champion of light in our sovereign's forces!"
The faithful bowed their heads. Gelebor suspected he and Vyrthur were short enough to avoid attention, but he obeyed nonetheless.
When Gelebor raised his chin, the Snow Prince was looking directly at him. Gelebor found it difficult to hold the Prince's gaze, but didn't dare look away. There was a strange melancholy in the mer's face. What could make someone so pretty and powerful sad? Especially here, where Auriel's love is strongest?
The Prince did not speak, and the silence seemed to last for ages. Gelebor could feel Vyrthur's cool hand clasping his, and hear the rustle of shifting cloth from the many figures around them. Suddenly Gelebor shivered. The Chantry had never before felt so cold. His eyes fell to the Snow Prince's armor, and then past him to the colossal windows of the Inner Sanctum and the suffocating darkness of the night.
Four thousand years later, Gelebor looked upon the armor once again, on an island far from the Forgotten Vale and the light of Auriel. He stood in front of a long mirror, unable to tear his eyes away from the reflection. Memory and reality clashed in his mind like the twin dragons that had once lived under the ice lake near the Vale's sacred Word Wall. Gelebor stared at his own face and saw a dead mer looking back at him. Glover Mallory's masterful fitting of the breastplate did not help matters. The Snow Prince's armor was like a second skin, a comfortable weight on his chest and shoulders. I am not him. I could never be him. He looked into his own eyes, and recalled the coolness of a brother's hand. A wave of nausea washed over Gelebor, and he stumbled away.
"Be careful, my friend." Kharjo steadied him. It was a testament to Gelebor's distraction that he hadn't even noticed the Khajiit's approach. "There will be enough time for falling over after this little party, yes?"
"I'm not planning to drink much." Gelebor let Kharjo lead him to the couch. "Especially since we'll be returning to Divayth at midnight. Arriving to Vvardenfell intoxicated doesn't seem like the brightest idea. Thank you."
"It is no problem." Kharjo sat down next to him, and pulled at the tight collar of his shirt. "Kharjo is not so much looking forward to this event, himself. He is more suited to the long road and open sky."
"You don't have to come. I'm sure Nadene wouldn't take offense if you were to remain here until the hour of action."
"No, no. You said earlier that we are a team. We will face this dinner just as we will face Namira: our hands clasped tightly, standing against the winds."
The front door opened and Nadene entered, heavy sacks hanging off her arms. There was a tightness to how she held herself entirely unrelated to the present burden, though. Gelebor had first noticed it soon after they'd teleported from Tel Mithryn.
"Supplies for Vvardenfell," she said. "Can you grab the backpacks from my room, Kharjo?"
"It is Khajiit's pleasure."
When he had gone, Gelebor stood and accepted a couple of the sacks from Nadene. She met his eyes for a moment.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah." She looked away. "I'm fine."
She avoided his eyes and went to the kitchen, disappearing around the curve of the hallway. Gelebor followed. Nadene put her bags down on the ground and braced herself on the countertop, staring into space. He could hear her breath quicken.
"Remember our promise, Nadene." He came up behind her, and leaned his hip against the counter. "No secrets. No guilt. You want to know what I was doing, just before you arrived?"
"I…" Nadene blinked and rubbed her eyes. "What?"
"I was looking at myself in the mirror, and remembering meeting the Snow Prince when I was just a boy. The entire Chantry came to see him. Even the guardians of the most distant wayshrines."
"Oh. He must have been quite the mer."
"He was the best of us." Gelebor smiled. "Even my brother, who cared little for warriors and feats of battle, fell in love at first sight. He wouldn't stop talking about the Prince for months after that day. I was thinking that I don't deserve to wear the armor of a being who led the Snow Elves to such grand heights. I'm little more than the caretaker of a forgotten graveyard, and not even that any longer."
"You know that isn't true." Nadene nudged his shoulder, and they began to walk away. "You're the only n'wah in the world with a right to wear it. Auriel gave you nothing for your years of devotion. I took this chestplate from bandits who weren't interested in anything more than bags of gold. And then I gave it to you. Because you're a survivor, just like me."
"For all the good it's done us."
"No. Don't think like that. You said to Kharjo once that it's not enough, to just survive. You decided to be the kindest fetcher on Solstheim, as well. Certainly kinder than I'll ever be. So accept my gift and wear it proudly. I'm the only one who can tell you to take that armor off."
He laughed, and followed Nadene to the couch. He dropped his own supplies on the ground and let her sit before speaking again.
"You're right. I was being foolish." Gelebor put his arm around her shoulder and she leaned against him after a moment's hesitation. The warmth of Nadene's body felt like nothing he'd ever encountered, like something he'd been waiting for his entire life. "Now. Please, tell me what's bothering you."
"Okay...I was out buying food, and thinking about what I was going to wear to this dinner. And an image flashed through my mind." Nadene sighed. "Of Habi, wrapped in chains in some dark cavern. Tired, hungry, alone. If she's not already dead. And I'm standing in this miserable city thinking about thrice-damned dresses."
"Lord Fyr is sending us to Vvardenfell, tonight. You're doing everything you can for her." He caught her eye, but Nadene wasn't seeing him. "Did you manage to speak to Second Councilor Arano while you were out?"
"Yes."
"And what does he think?"
"Take a guess. He claims Raven Rock has no soldiers to spare, and by the time he and Councilor Morvayn could convince another Redoran lord to send their forces to the most infamously doomed island on Nirn…"
"It would be too late." Gelebor took her hands. "Very well. Listen to me, now. You've exhausted every avenue available to us. If this cult only sent two followers to Solstheim to capture me, the numbers they command can't be too great. Otherwise, they would have attracted greater attention on their journey from Skyrim."
"They took Balmorra. A city of hundreds. We're two withered old elves and a Khajiit with more courage than working body parts. I just...I didn't think it would end this way."
"What do you mean?"
"I've always known I would have to go back." Nadene looked down at their clasped hands. "I escaped the first time when I killed Dagoth Ur. I left the island, thinking my duty fulfilled. Then Mehrunes Dagon's legions of Dremora pushed Vvardenfell to the edge, and Sheogorath's rogue moon knocked it off. And now Namira's followers force my return. This is the thanks I receive for toppling the false gods and restoring the Daedra. I know I have to die at Red Mountain, Gelebor. I just wish I hadn't fallen in love before the end."
"Hush." Gelebor let his forehead rest against hers. "You're not going to...do that. We've both travelled so far to get here. Years and years and oceans of blood. It's our turn to be happy, now. We're going to leave Vvardenfell with Habinsinulu and Kharjo and go somewhere the gods can't find us. But you have to promise me you won't throw your life away."
"I won't. But you don't know where we're going. Vvardenfell was mostly a ruin before the mountain blew up. I can't imagine how awful it must be now."
"We'll get through it together," Gelebor said just as Kharjo made a noisy return. "Let's get packing. Wouldn't want to be late for your party."
"Oh, that would be devastating."
Author's Note: I've started college recently so unfortunately updates will now be every other Sunday, and hopefully longer than this chapter from now on. Please review if you continue to enjoy!