"Farewell, sweet Nerevar. Better luck on your next incarnation." - Dagoth Ur

"Look long upon my face. Not a mirror, but a memory. You call our lost siblings the Betrayed, but none more rightfully deserve that title than I." Vyrthur floated before him, a glimmering apparition in the void. He was young; as young as he'd been when the Snow Prince had first graced the Inner Sanctum with his holy presence. His pale face looked soft as doeskin; his eyes held no trace of the corruption that would one day take root. "We were found together in the snow. Two forgotten babes, abandoned and alone. You were my brother. The only family I had. And you murdered me."

"No," Gelebor gasped, or thought he did. He had no sense of his own form. His attention was locked on to Vyrthur, unblinking, unwavering. Physical pains were being withheld. There was only the grief, the regret, the tortured memories, festering in his dreams like a sickness. "You were ill. Molag Bal had twisted your mind towards evil. The Dragonborn, his friend...putting you to rest was the only way to save."

Vyrthur smiled sadly. "Evil? You've read too many children's tales. I'd been trapped inside the Inner Sanctum for centuries untold, dear brother. I hadn't seen a single mortal soul in my living memory. Perhaps I could have weathered the storms of time, with Auriel's guiding hand. As you did. I certainly never killed another for their blood. Could you honestly say the same about the woman you sent to murder me? The daughter of Coldharbour?"

"I trusted the Dragonborn's judgement. The things he said...you may not have taken any lives with your own hand, Vyrthur, but they informed me what set them on the long path to the Vale. If not for the prophecies of madness you whispered into Lord Harkon's ear, hundreds of souls would not have been taken in the name of the Prince of Domination over the course of that wicked crusade. Your lust for revenge against our father ruined any chance of redemption you might have had."

"There never would have been need for any vengeance, had he just provided a cure. There is a cure to vampirism. Did you know that?"

"I...have heard rumours."

"You could have saved me," Vyrthur hissed. "I didn't need Divine Intervention. I needed my brother. You had millenia at your disposal, Gelebor. You left me to rot inside the ravenous prison of my ruined form, until the day came when you could pass off the duty of execution to those who actually had the strength to do what had to be done. I did not even have the honor of dying at the hand of a true Falmer. You sent a child of Molag Bal and a half-breed Altmer exile to put me down. A hero of the Nords, those people that put our proud race to the sword. Your shame is far greater than mine."

"I couldn't abandon my duty." Gelebor's words sounded pathetic, even to himself. "If I'd fallen fighting my way to the Inner Sanctum, no one would have remained to guard the wayshrines."

"And who guards them now, hmm? The Betrayed have torn the Vale from your grasp, my poor sweet foolish brother. You failed in the only worthy task that will ever be given to you, and you failed me. Just as you're failing the child of Veloth you travel with presently."

"Please, stop this." He whimpered like a child. "You are not my brother. He was kind. He loved me. Leave me to die in peace." Maybe I'll finally see my true sibling, again. Will Auriel accept me, after all I've done?

"Oh, yes." The corners of Vyrthur's mouth turned upward. The cruel smile looked strange on one so young. His face was aglow from a pale flame that knew no source. "Soon Nadene Othryn will discover how weak you are, and she will leave you as we all have. You will lose her, and you will lose the Prince of Dusk and Dawn, she who promised you the impossible. Twilight will fall, and blood will spill. Never again will you look on the face of a Snow Elf. Only when you realize the full extent of your failure will you be permitted to die."

"You lie. No one can know the future, for certain." Gelebor could hear the desperation in his own voice. "Not even Azura." That's what Nadene said, on the beach. That's what I'm holding on to.

"Azura?" A darkness passed over Vyrthur's countenance. "She, too, will reap what she has sown. Before the sun rises again, the fate of Vvardenfell will be sealed in ash and blood. None will escape my judgement. Time to wake up, son of Auriel. Fire and war await you."

Gelebor awoke with a scream in a tangle of sheets, in a small room with a ceiling he recognized not. A hand with an ironclad grip closed around his flailing wrist, and a tingling spell washed over his skin. His arms and legs went limp and he collapsed on to the bed. His head spun like a Dwemer contraption.

"Listen. This is the last time I'm going to say this." Neloth stood over him, a harried expression on his face. "If you wake up thrashing about like that one more time, I will paralyze you for a day instead of a minute. Your friends will be forced to carry you around like some sort of deficient flesh atronach. Lie there like a helpless idiot if you understand."

He had little choice but to obey. Neloth left the room, muttering curses under his breath. The ceiling was a mottled shade of brown, with curious spots of blackness on the periphery. Mushroom. I'm in a Telvanni tower. Memories rushed in to his mind, and he was seized with terror. It turned out to be a good thing, after all, that Neloth had paralyzed him. Nadene, he wanted to scream, Nadene! An ocean of blood had covered her. No one could lose that much and keep on living. Small tears ran down his motionless face. Vyrthur was right. This is all my doing.

Soft footsteps, from the direction Neloth had left. A small gray face entered his vision. The Ashlander child. Eldrus, who lost his mother. His grandmother is Sakani, she who receives visions from Azura and pushes the Nerevarine to lead her tribe into battle. How disappointed the wise woman would be to learn Nadene had perished in this ruined town, without felling a single one of the cultists.

"It's okay. She's not dead," Eldrus said quietly, as if he had been listening in to his thoughts. He gently wiped the wetness from Gelebor's cheeks with a clean square of cloth. "Just hurt. Sleeping in the other room. I helped the wizard take care of her, on account of my grandmother taught me some things about healing. Do you want some tea?"

Sensation was gradually returning to his body. He nodded slightly. "Where...Kharjo?"

"He's been pacing around the tower for hours and hours. He was really worried about you two. He's driving Neloth mad. Or, madder than he was to begin with, at least."

"Neloth. Treating us kindly?"

"He's okay. Kind of reminds me of my grandmother." The boy's smile fell from his face. "She wasn't always like that, y'know. One day she just changed."

What a strange thing to say. Gelebor sat up in bed as Eldrus left to fetch the tea. This tower was darker than Tel Mithryn or Nadene's home had been; there was little need of windows, when all you would see through them was Vvardenfell. He wanted to go to Nadene's side as soon as possible, but his legs didn't feel up to walking yet. Crawling to her room probably wouldn't endear him to Neloth, either. Sacks of yam flour took up a whole wall of his chambers, and the other side was cluttered with shelves of alchemical ingredients and baskets full of empty soul gems. The air smelled sharply of power, of rising energy. What is Neloth up to, in this town of petrified Dunmer?

When Eldrus returned with a steaming cup of tea, Kharjo came with him. The Khajiit sat down on the edge of the bed and studied Gelebor's face intensely. He began to feel a bit examined as he sipped from his cup.

"Is the bruise on my head so distasteful to look upon?" Gelebor asked.

"Hmm. No. Khajiit is watching for something else. Your night was not restful, Knight-Paladin. Our loathsome host had to paralyze you so often, I feared you might never return to wakeful sanity. Do you feel well, now?"

"As well as could be expected."

"You have not been...visited, by anyone? Or anything?" Kharjo's whiskers twitched. "This one remembers darkly the tale Erandur told us, of Balmora's dreamers. We are so close to the end, now. It would not astonish Khajiit to see Namira attack us in our sleep, especially knowing now that her followers wield the Staff of Corruption."

Gelebor's mind went to Vyrthur, and he almost began to speak. But something held his tongue. Shame, perhaps. It's no business of his, what happened between my brother and I. It has nothing to do with Namira. "No. If I had any visions, I don't recall them. The last thing I remember is watching Neloth step into the doorway of the little house. Please, tell me. How is Nadene?"

"What you said a minute ago. 'As well as could be expected.' That is true for her too, I think." Kharjo traced circles on the bedsheet with one of his claws, a troubled look on his face. "Master Neloth may be the most distasteful elf this one has ever had the misfortune to encounter, but he treated Nadene with care and respect." He inclined his head towards Eldrus. "And our young friend did wonderful work, as well." The boy looked down, blushing.

He set down the cup of tea. "So tell me why you look as if she's died."

"The cleaver the cultist Hogni used was enchanted. Neloth told us a scar made with such a weapon could not be healed. The bandages can be taken off, now, but our dear friend bears the mark of battle. To speak plainly...Nadene has lost her right eye. It is fortunate she did not lose her life with it, but I do not know if she will see it that way."

Gelebor's heart fell. "You do not know? So she hasn't woken up, yet?"

Before Kharjo could finish shaking his head, Gelebor was up out of the bed and stumbling towards the door. He barely registered the sight of the Snow Prince's armor, lying in a pile in the corner of the room. I have to see her. I have to apologize. The world seemed remarkably more unsteady than he'd left it. He nearly knocked over Eldrus before Kharjo grabbed his shoulder with a firm hand and steadied him.

"Be careful," Kharjo said. "And when you speak, keep doors shut and voices low. The cultist we have captured is being kept in the lower level, securely bound."

What? He's alive? But there was no time to ponder on that, now. Gelebor nodded wearily and let Kharjo guide him out of the room. The center of the central chamber was an empty circular space. He could see an upper level, through the railing, and another floor below them. No levitation platforms, here, Gelebor noted distantly. He supposed Neloth had been forced to levitate them all up here, with Nadene incapacitated. They passed several other rooms before coming upon one with a securely latched door. Kharjo opened the portal and released his hold on Gelebor.

"You're not coming in?" He asked.

"Khajiit thinks it best that you speak alone, first." Kharjo patted his shoulder. "I'm not sure if you wanted me to know, but it has become hard to miss the affection between you and the Nerevarine. I'm happy for the both of you, and I hope you survive this island so that you can go have a blissful life in a place where ash does not rain from the sky and people do not eat each other."

Gelebor blinked, unsure how to respond. "Thank you for saying so, Kharjo. Wherever we end up, you're welcome to join us."

"No thanks are needed. I would not have made it here without my beloved elven companions. I can feel the hour of reckoning coming, Knight-Paladin. The witch priestess is close. When my blade reaches her heart, I will have vengeance for Zaynabi and my kittens. Then I can rest at last."

Before Gelebor could reply, Kharjo gently pushed him into Nadene's room and closed the door.

He swallowed and turned to Nadene's bed. This room was clearly a makeshift library, of sorts. Where pieces of wheat and blisterwort had filled the shelves in his own sick quarters, dusty tomes and old scrolls took their place in these chambers. His love lay face up on top of her sheets. White bandages covered half her head. The expression on her face was one of fear, loss, pain. She looked so young. What have I done to this woman, who was so fierce and invincible? Who rose up a forest on Solstheim to cover the scars of a cataclysm? My love has unmade her. It was just as Nadene had said, after rescuing him from the cannibal Sanyon on that island cove. 'You've made me weak, Gelebor.' She had to have known she'd end up like this. Why persist? It was beyond his understanding.

Nadene stirred. Her uncovered eye blinked, and she began to breathe rapidly. Gelebor hastened to her side, pouring a cup of water from the pitcher next to her bed. A difficult task, with shaking hands.

"You're alright," he whispered. "You're in Neloth's tower."

Her eye widened. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a hollow croak. Gelebor gently held the cup of water to her lips and helped her drink, like a vale sabre cat feeding one of its young. After she finished, she sat up on the bed, reaching for the bandages on her face.

"Hold on a moment, dear. There happens to be..." Whatever gods may be listening, please give me strength. He could hardly swallow, past the lump in his throat. "There's something you need to know."

Her hands paused in the air. She studied his face, the small tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"It's gone, isn't it?" There was resignation in her tone, and defeat. He'd never heard such things in her voice before. She did not cry; it was possible she had no more tears left to weep. "The n'wah cut out my eye."

"I'm so sorry." It was all he could think to say. I can't make this about my failure. It wouldn't be right. He would know, in the solitude of his own thoughts, the reason why the woman he loved had ended up like this. Not-Vyrthur's words echoed inside his head. Soon Nadene Othryn will discover how weak you are, and she will leave you as we all have.

"Not your fault." Nadene licked her lips. She stared past his shoulder, her mind gone someplace he could not follow. "I never should have been fighting that close. But damn. Spellbreaker? I've heard rumors of such a shield…just my fucking luck that my first encounter with it leaves me half-blind."

"Neloth did all he could." Gelebor fell to his knees, his eyes cast downward. "Eldrus, too. The weapon was enchanted."

"That explains why it hurt so much. Must have been an agony charm, or some similar rune of Daedric origin. We should have figured they'd be collecting artifacts from Oblivion, after Erandur told us about the Vaermina staff." She sighed. He could tell she was talking so she wouldn't have to think about what happened. "Stand up, endling. We're both alive. That's all that matters."

"Yes," he replied, struggling to his feet.

"Are you alright?" Nadene smiled weakly. "Your head looks like an angry eggplant. I forgot how easily that pale skin of yours bruises."

She's been maimed, and still asks how I'm doing. It was all he could do not to collapse.

"I'm fine. Just a little dizzy."

"And the others?"

He glanced towards the door. "No one else is hurt. Kharjo was apparently very concerned as to how we were faring, to Neloth's annoyance. Eldrus has proven himself to be quite a capable young healer. And…"

She raised her eyebrow. "And?"

"The cultist. Hogni." Gelebor bit the inside of his cheek. "He survived our encounter, barely. Neloth is keeping him secured on the first level of the tower."

"Truly?"

He nodded.

"Good." Nadene leaned back against her pillow. "I'm glad you didn't kill him. Now we have a bargaining chip that might catch Eola's attention. Not to mention a powerful shield that will come in handy if we're forced to attack Red Mountain."

He breathed an internal sigh of relief. A small part of Gelebor had expected her to order him to finish what he'd started; to go down and kill their prisoner in cold blood. The terrifying thing was, he was fairly certain he wouldn't have been able to refuse her. Little by little, I'm turning into the monster Azura wants me to be. It had felt so right, beating the life out of the cannibal. The Nord had taken a part of Nadene away from her forever. Such a wretched creature did not deserve to live, surely.

Neloth entered the room without so much as a knock. Kharjo and Eldrus followed after him. The latter two moved to stand around Nadene's bed, looking down at her wearing identical expressions of worry. The master wizard stood a cautious distance from them all, his arms crossed. Gelebor hadn't known Neloth long enough to know if the sour look on his face was for them, or if he was just generally an unhappy mer.

"You should be aware," Neloth spoke, "if you were not the Nerevarine, I'd have tossed you outside to fend for yourself. Consider it a mark of my respect that I let you and your unwashed companions stay in my tower."

"How'd you know?" Nadene sat up straighter. "That I am who I am. I misplaced Moon-and-Star a little while ago."

"Must you insult my intelligence by having me explain the obvious? Fine. My suspicions were aroused when the wound opened by that filthy cleaver showed no signs of festering. While you healed, I studied a sample of your blood. Either you are Tamriel's oldest and most miraculously fortunate corprus victim, or the Nerevarine. Considering I do not believe in miracles, there was only one sensible conclusion."

"Well, you're right, I guess. Congratulations."

He turned away from them, appearing to study a book on the shelf. "Let's dispense with the sobriquets, in any case. We will not speak long. Who helped you reach Vvardenfell? I thought the Redoran, at first, but they're too incompetent to have responded so quickly to this little crisis."

"Divayth Fyr."

Neloth's hands tightened into fists. "I should have suspected. I knew it would take more than a rogue moon falling on Vvardenfell to excise that particular thorn in my side. My recent research into the Black Books of Hermaeous Mora has no doubt attracted his attention. Well, you can tell Fyr he doesn't have a monopoly on the field of extra-planar travel! If he's been skulking about Tel Mithryn, searching for my relics, he'll be sorely disappointed. I left nothing there for his envious talons to seize upon."

"Um." Nadene took a moment to collect her breath. This wizard makes simple conversation an exhausting event. "I don't know anything about your feud with Divayth, or any special books."

"Sure, sure." His tone was mocking. "Of course he swore you all to vows of secrecy. Well, no matter. Soon I will return from this waste of an expedition, and my work on Solstheim will continue. The Black Books will be my breakthrough, of course. Fiddling around with heart stones has brought me nothing but misery. Do you know how long it takes to train a competent Telvanni researcher? Let alone almost a hundred? Bah. Such a squander of time and magicka. Now I have a town filled with soulless husks, and hardly a single publishable treatise to show for the trouble."

"Soulless husks, you say? Doesn't seem like Namira. I figured her followers were more into the meat surrounding the soul, not the other way around. In Balmora, they used fury potions to turn the city against itself."

Neloth made a thoughtful sound. "Oh, I'm sure the moron they sent here intended to do much the same. He was certainly a much better cook than he was an alchemist. My spellwright handles the employment of all the riff raff, of course, but I had the final word. I never met this chef, but his credentials were impressive, and the meals he prepared were simply divine."

Kharjo chuckled darkly. "Surely it did not escape the wise elf's attention that his new cook was a Nord?"

"As a matter of fact," Neloth replied, glaring, "my spellwright informed me our new addition insisted on wearing a chitin helmet at all times, for some reason he would not divulge."

"Not suspicious at all," Nadene commented.

"I'm not in the business of caring what the mer who prepares my meals does with his face. This Hogni Red-Arm was the finest chef I've ever had in my employ. Everything was going splendidly up until the day of the botched poisoning. After we broke our fast, I began to notice that everyone around me was slowing down. Not a remarkable occurence, so I continued on with my work. By nightfall it was clear that something had gone amiss. My assistants had reached unacceptable levels of lethargy. Only my spellwright, the chef himself, and I were left unaffected. I suppose he didn't want to take any chances on us."

Gelebor asked, "Your spellwright. Where is he now?"

"I sent her to confront the cultist." Neloth glanced at a timepiece on one of the shelves. "That was approximately two days ago. I don't suppose she could have anticipated he would be wielding an artifact as powerful as Spellbreaker. Oh, well. She was the one who hired the slimy wretch."

A sudden tide of anger rose in Gelebor. "You could have provided us warning, or fought Hogni yourself. I thought you were supposed to be one of the most powerful wizards of the Telvanni. Nadene would still have both her eyes, were you not such a coward."

"Gelebor, it's no use getting upset at him," she said. "He's always been this way."

"A coward, am I?" Neloth's lip curled. "I expected better from the last living member of the Falmer race. I'm sure Fyr was simply fascinated with you, but I am hardly impressed. I've lived for thousands of years, child. I possess centuries of knowledge in fields of study you've never even conceived of. I survived the Sixth House, the Red Year, the return of the First Dragonborn. You think I would risk my life in a scrap with some halfwit from a minor cult of Namira? If you had any sense, you'd have never come to this waste of an island. I've just finished rebuilding the arcane conduit to Port Telvannis, and I intend to leave Vvardenfell as soon as possible."

"You could have departed already," Kharjo pointed out. "The ships floating in your dock appear to be seaworthy."

"I beg your pardon. Have you mistaken me for a gondolier? The day I'm forced to pick up a barnacle-encrusted oar is the day I know it's time to abandon this cursed plane of existence for good."

"Wait," Nadene said, trying to rise. "You can't just leave. We need your help to fight Namira."

He rolled his eyes. "That's just too bad for you. I've already lost years of progress to this mess. Not to mention the heart stones I'd been collecting for decades."

"They took your heart stones? Whatever for?"

"I do not know, I do not care." Neloth turned to leave. "The cultist downstairs is your problem to deal with. I don't suppose I can stop you from lingering in my tower, but I'd advise you all not to touch anything that looks dangerous if you value your lives. Staying too long is also inadvisable. No doubt other Telvanni will show up someday soon, to pick at the bones of my failure. They may not be as fond of you as I have been."

Nadene leapt from the bed and staggered towards Neloth. He paused in the doorway, a pained look on his face, and waited impatiently. Gelebor followed a step behind Nadene, in case she should suddenly collapse. When she was close enough, she stood on her tiptoes and whispered something in Neloth's ear.

"No," he replied vehemently, after she'd finished. "That is insanity, plain and simple. Insanity and suicide."

"Please." Nadene's voice held a desperation utterly alien to Gelebor. "I know it's a long shot, but I'm going to need you. Just a few short hours, Neloth. You said you held respect for the Nerevarine. I know how sparing you are with your regard. I saved Morrowind from the Sixth House, from the Blight. I beg of you. Give me the benefit of the doubt."

He glared at her for a long minute, the muscles in his cheeks moving up and down. Finally he let out a beleaguered sigh.

"Three curses. I knew this island would be the death of me." He put a hand to his chest, and teleported away in a rush of charged air. Nadene pitched forward, steadying herself on the door. Gelebor put a hand on her shoulder.

"Maybe you should take a breath," he suggested. "Rest for a few minutes. You've been grievously wounded."

She turned the unbandaged part of her face towards him. With his body blocking the way, the others couldn't see her shields falling away. For a long moment Nadene looked up into his eyes; and he knew it was her, not the Nerevarine, that he was beholding. She looked to be on the verge of total collapse, like a hound that had been beaten every day of it's miserable life.

"Just a little while longer," Nadene said. "We just have to be strong for a little while longer. The Nerevarine and the Knight-Paladin. After Red Mountain, we can rest."

He nodded slowly, fearful of the meaning behind her words. "Neloth. What did you say to him? What did he agree to?"

"I asked him to deliver a message to Port Telvannis. But it's nothing that will matter if we don't survive the day. Namira's champion is coming. For us, and for her lost little cannibal."

Kharjo stepped forward, his fangs bared. "Tell us what to do, Nerevarine. This Khajiit's sword is yours."

Nadene grimaced. "First of all, I need to get these fucking rags off of my head. We can't afford to show a shred of weakness."

"I'll help you," Gelebor said, and followed her out.

They found the helmet in a small storage space tucked away on the first level. There were other relics of old Vvardenfell present: colorful tubers and eggs preserved in jars of amber solution, rusted weapons and pieces of armor in styles utterly unfamiliar to Gelebor, and paintings of places that had been lost to time centuries ago. He was looking at an image depicting a city of tiered cantons in the sea, a massive dark rock positioned above them, when Nadene stood up from her rummaging with the gleaming shape in her hands. The helmet portrayed the face of a mer, his dour expression permanently captured in the gold cast. Jagged lines, the impressions of scars, covered the face. A metallic plume of a similar shade ran across the top of the helmet. She passed her fingers through it, forcing out the months or years of dust.

"The Ordinators used to wear these," Nadene said wistfully. "If you saw one running towards you, it meant you were destined to rot in Vivec's floating prison. The Ministry of Truth. All for the crime of believing in the Nerevarine."

"I never asked," he replied carefully. "Why you killed Vivec."

"Many reasons. Some of which seem naive now, some of which were driven by base emotions. If you're asking if I knew what would happen...no, I did not. But even if I hadn't silenced Morrowind's warrior-poet, I had already destroyed the Heart of Lorkhan. His powers were waning. The Red Year was an inevitable consequence of defeating Dagoth Ur. Or at least, that's what I tell myself."

He moved to her side, and looked down at the mask. "This face seems very sad. To whom did it belong?"

"To me, of course." Nadene stroked her thumb across the metal. "To Indoril Nerevar. Coming back home, the long way 'round. I'm ready to take off the rags, now."

Gelebor delicately untucked one end of the bandages, and began to untwirl them from the side of her head like a long white scarf. All the while he kept one hand on her shoulder, holding her firm. Finally the last of the bandages fell away. He let them flutter to the ground, discarded. There was a mirror on the far side of the wall. Nadene lurched towards it like a prisoner bound for the gallows. Auriel, Azura, please help us through this day. It's the least you could do, for all we've given.

"Doesn't look as bad as I thought it would," she said miserably. Her right eye was gone, replaced by a small bundle of scar tissue. An angry red line cut across it, the mark of the cleaver, running from the edge of her scalp to the end of her chin. Gelebor squeezed her shoulder. "I probably won't scare any children."

"The scar will fade," he said reassuringly. "And you're right. You're still beautiful. There's no need to wear the mask."

Her gaze hardened. "You're kind, but our enemy will try to exploit any vulnerabilities they can find. We don't even know what they know about us yet. I can't afford to give them an opening. Hand me the helmet."

Gelebor sighed and handed her the Indoril helm. For a little while longer, that's all. Then we can rest. She slid the golden head over her own, and it fit snugly into the gorget of her glass armor.

"Can you see the eye?" Nadene turned to face him. "Or lack thereof."

He studied her altered features. Nerevar had been a mer of harsh, strong features, and Gelebor could see little sign of the woman behind the mask that he loved so dearly. Only a pair of small black openings indicated the spaces she was meant to see out of, and he could discern nothing from their depths.

"No. How well can you see, wearing that thing?"

"The better question would be, how well can I see with one fucking time to answer either of those."

Eldrus burst into the room, breathing heavily. "Someone's coming down the mountain, riding a guar!"

"It's time." The boy looked up at Nadene, his mouth agape. She must seem more a god than ever, now. "I want everyone outside. Tell Kharjo to bring our prisoner. Gelebor, go put on your armor. And make sure your mace is ready."

He nodded, already following Eldrus, but at the doorway he hesitated.

The mask turned towards him. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry you were hurt. I love you."

Behind Nerevar's face, he imagined he could see Nadene smiling sadly, as she always did when he spoke those words. "I love you, too. Now go on, and hurry. We don't want to keep Namira waiting."

At least in one respect, the gods were looking out for them. The sky outside was blue for a change, and the air was free of choking ash. That meant Gelebor could see well the slender Breton woman waiting for them before Neloth's tower, blonde of hair and short of height. This is the one who has caused me such misery? For some reason he'd expected her to be covered in war paint, like some sort of tribal Bosmer, but her face was clear and bright save for the sightless pit of her right eye. It made Gelebor's skin crawl just to look at it. Eola wore simple leather armor; her only weapon, a long dagger strapped to her thigh. The blade that crippled our friend Erandur. She stood beside a bone-white guar, her remaining eye turned reverently towards the tower.

"I have been waiting a long time to meet you, Knight-Paladin Gelebor." Her voice was warm and passionate, like cinnamon and warmed saltrice. It was little wonder how she had become the leader of her cult. "Return to Red Mountain by my side, and all of your mortal pains will come to a glorious end."

"No one is going anywhere with you," Nadene interrupted coldly. She stood the closest to Eola, her bow at the ready.. Gelebor was on her right, his own weapon drawn, and Kharjo waited farther back, standing over Hogni.

"You are the Nerevarine." Eola's words seemed less a question than a statement. "You killed some of my favorite people."

"They tried to take Gelebor from us. I'll gladly kill you, as well, if you take another step closer to him."

Eola giggled, a queer sound that sent shivers down Gelebor's spine. "The prophecy must be fulfilled. I have no personal vendetta against you, Nerevarine. We are both strong women trying to make our way through this world of death. Let Gelebor come with us, and I promise no harm will come to Habisunilu."

Nadene was quiet for a moment. Gelebor could almost hear her mind racing, underneath her helmet.

"We have your man," she finally said, gesturing to Hogni. The cannibal's face was even more of a ruin than it had been, but the Nord was conscious, if not particularly conversational. "Let us make a trade. One of yours, for one of ours. Give me Habi, and we can continue talking from there."

Eola closed her eye and turned her face to the sky. Her mouth split into a wide grin. "Oh, but you are more desperate than I thought. Hogni Red-Arm, the least of my coven, a brute and an oaf, for my most valuable prisoner? The child that is presently keeping you from raining down ruin on Red Mountain? Do not treat me like a fool. Hogni has already completed his task here in the Telvanni properties. Though I would have preferred to have turned some of the wizards to Namira's side, they have been removed from the equation nonetheless. I have no use for them, or for him."

"No!" Hogni leapt to his feet, faster than wind, and ran towards Eola. Kharjo's sword passed through the air just a second too late. Nadene's arrow was no more fortunate. Her aim was off, and the projectile went flying through the air over the two cultists.

"Fuck!"

Hogni collapsed at Eola's feet, pawing at her legs.

"He climbs on to that guar, and I'll kill the both of you," Nadene snarled.

"If I do not return to the citadel by nightfall, my beloved Lisbet has orders to butcher Habisinulu like an ill piglet," Eola replied harshly. She seized Hogni by the front of his clothes and drew him upward, his feet dragging on the ground. As they watched in horror, her teeth closed around his bruised throat. Hogni shuddered and gasped. Blood exploded over Eola's chin and splashed down her chest. In a minute Hogni had stopped moving save for the occasional agonal twitch, but Eola continued tearing and chewing like a wolf with its snout buried in the neck of a fresh kill. Finally it was done. She let the corpse fall from her arms and land in the red ash. Hogni was curled up like a squashed insect.

"Let me put down this beast," Kharjo said, his eyes filled with pain. "I beg of you, Nerevarine. She must not be allowed to continue in this way."

"Who in the void are you?" Eola asked, wiping her chin. "I thought I'd captured the only Khajiit on Vvardenfell."

"My name is Kharjo. Remember it well, because it is I that will put you in the ground to rot for an eternity. You...murdered my family, consumed their remains. I watched you feast in the moons' light, and I've followed you across Tamriel to find my vengeance."

Eola raised her brow, evidently unimpressed. "I don't have time for you. You already know what will befall the Ashlander girl if I'm stricken down. Can you carry that life on your conscience, cat? Will you be able to look your friends in their faces?"

"Please, Kharjo," Nadene spoke. "Now is not the time."

Kharjo returned to his spot behind her, but his eyes did not leave Eola. Gelebor's heart beat like a drum. This is not at all going like we planned. Their only leverage was now lying dead at their enemy's feet.

"I do not know what this waste of flesh may have told you," Eola said, kneeling down to take something from the pack her guar was wearing. "But the time of secrets have passed. You know what I desire. You know what you have to do, if you ever want to see your little elf alive again, or any of the others we've taken. Here is the map to our hidden citadel in the mountain." She tossed a scroll towards them. It landed near Gelebor, and he hastily picked it up.

"Why are you giving us this?" Nadene asked, the muscles in her shoulders tightening.

"So the meal of prophecy knows where to go," Eola replied sweetly. "I have no desire to send Namira's faithful into bloody combat with your tribal allies. We would defeat you, eventually, but I have thought up a better way for everyone. Every turn of the sun that passes, we will send three souls to the Scuttling Void. This will continue until Gelebor has surrendered to Namira."

"Why?" Gelebor spoke up, for the first time in the conversation. "Why are you doing this?"

She looked away before replying, perhaps pondering her response. After a little while, she spoke again. "In my early years, a savage servant of Namira introduced me to a tidbit of knowledge I've been turning over in my head ever since. He ate my mother and father, but then I stabbed him in the back with a letter opener when he came down into the potato cellar to find me. He bled out on the stones. And then I couldn't open the door. Do you understand? My legs were too short. I couldn't reach the lock at the top."

Gelebor swallowed, and rubbed the sweat from his forehead. I think I already regret asking.

"It was a poor growing season. There were no potatoes in the potato cellar, but there was the man. Dead, reasonably clean, reasonably fresh. It was in the depths of my childhood home that I discovered how hungry a little girl can truly get. And what of all those rules and laws, made up by the Jarl or the Empire or the gods themselves? Nothing but lines on paper, I learned, once your body begins to eat itself to stay alive. Pretty words that make people feel better about inhabiting this monstrous world. In that cellar I found my faith, when my mouth filled with the blood and bile of my fellow man. I tasted power and truth."

Nadene shook her head. "You're mad. Well and truly insane. I don't know how I ever thought we could negotiate with a depraved follower of a cannibal god. What was I thinking? What have you done to me?" There was an edge to her words Gelebor didn't care for. If this continues, she may lose herself.

"Let me put it in a way a local would understand." Eola smiled, but there was no warmth in her face this time. She mounted her guar. "In this world, you are either the scathecrow or the scythe. And I will not end up on someone else's feasting table. Gelebor?"

"Yes?" His voice was faint.

"You have the map. You've heard my words. If we do not see you by sundown, you will all see the result of your futile obstinance. One snow elf, or three innocent souls. Namira will have her due either way."

Nadene stepped forward, her finger pointed like a weapon. "If you hurt Habi, I will wipe your cult from the face of Nirn. If you're familiar with the history of that mountain you're hiding beneath like kwama foragers, you know it wouldn't be the first time. And the Sixth House never took anyone I loved from me. I will make certain no trace of your goddess remains in existence, and when I'm done I will lead an army of Redoran into Oblivion to besiege the Scuttling Void itself. Do not think I would pass up the chance to kill you twice, bitch."

Eola just grinned and turned her guar away. Soon she was a receding shape on the horizon, ash kicking up in her wake.

Gelebor found himself on his knees, staring down at the ground. The strength to stand had left him all at once, like it was he and not Hogni who had been brutalized and consumed. The gentle wind tugged at his cloak, and grains of ash pattered against his armor like drops of rain, but they seemed to belong to another world entirely.

"We need to get out of here," Nadene said, eventually, desperately. Now that Eola was gone, all her spirit and fury had fled. "I need to talk to Azura. Gelebor, please. I can't do this without you. I can't even aim a fucking arrow."

He nodded, slowly.

She pulled Gelebor to his feet and whistled for Eldrus to come out of the tower with Spellbreaker. Before too long the ghost city of the Telvanni was behind them, and they were trudging through the ash wastes, bound for the Urshilaku. No words were spoken, but a cold certainty was cementing in Gelebor's heart. The sun was directly above them. Midday, already. Even with the fair weather, they'd barely reach the village before the time of Eola's first ultimatum. The map to Namira's citadel was secured in the pocket of his cloak. He fingered the edges of the scroll, feeling the rough hide. Three innocent souls, against the life of a Snow Elf who has lived through eras. Every turn of the sun. Every turn of the sun. He grimaced and followed after Nadene, the memory of Eola's cruel smile seared into his mind.