Content Warning: The rest of this story is the reason for the M rating. Please review if you enjoy - epilogue posted tomorrow!
"Let us now guide the hands of the Hortator in war and its aftermath. For we go different, and in thunder. This is our destiny." - 36 Lessons of Vivec, Sermon 8
Habisunulu crept down the citadel passageway, the dim lanterns of a lost race illuminating her path. The Khajiit children were in her pack, an accessory hastily looted from the unconscious form of a Dunmer guard.
They had scant minutes before the battered cultist would awake and alert his hungry brothers and sisters, and Habi was no closer to escaping this fortress. Every hallway seemed much the same. Dwarven metal and stone covered nearly every surface, but in a few places the raw form of Red Mountain had broken through, revealing volcanic rock so dark that Habi shuddered to behold it.
We out soon, Habs? Renji spoke in her head. Jo'ahni wants to see the moons.
"Out soon," Habi murmured under her breath. Around any corner, their enemy could be lying in wait. "At least, I hope so."
Ahk'idzo and his wife had refused to go with them. All that talk about reserving his strength, only to turn away when the opportunity came to escape. Coward. When Habi returned to rescue the rest of the Balmorans, she would have some choice words for that Khajiit.
Steps ahead, Renji warned. Coming fast. His ears and eyes were sharper than hers. Habi held her breath and slid behind a large pipe, holding the dagger to her chest.
"Ain't seeing any greyskins." Banning's voice. He sounded almost amused. "No little cats, neither." Three figures entered the passageway, their faces shrouded in darkness.
"Quiet." Here was someone Habi did not recognize. A tall, severe-looking Dunmer with a top-knot. "Down, betmer. Sniff out your cellmates."
Habi barely stifled her cry of outrage. Ahk'idzo was pushed to the ground, landing on his hands and knees. The Dunmer planted a heavy boot on the small of his back.
Ahk'idzo coughed, and then spoke weakly. "You swear Marasa and I will be allowed to roam the citadel freely?"
"I promised you as much." The Dunmer frowned. "But if you are deceiving me, then I will devour your mate as you watch. And then I will break your back and leave you for the kwama foragers. I have seen them take weeks to completely consume a being."
Banning shuffled his feet. "Maybe we oughta tell Eola the little greyskin escaped, Aymdil. Seems like somethin' she should know."
"Did I ask for your thoughts on the matter?" Aymdil turned his head, glaring. "It was under your watch that these prisoners broke free. I wonder what our mistress would think of your failure, should you report to her empty handed."
For a moment it looked as if Banning might strike the mer. His fists clenched, and the muscles in his jaw worked like a dwarven piston. But then his eyes fell to the ground, and he let out a heavy sigh.
"Yeah, guess you're right."
"Of course I am. Now, stand farther away from me. You reek of hounds."
Ahk'idzo exclaimed, "Hold on. I smell something."
Habi leaned back, her heart racing. Watchful Azura, lend us your aid. Please.
"What?" Aymdil scanned the passageway, his fingers dancing on the hilt of his sword. He dug his boot into the Khajiit's back. "Speak, worm."
"The little kittens. They are close."
Silence reigned for a time. Finally, Aymdil spoke again.
"You may be right, Banning. Eola will want to know what's going on. She only just finished disposing of the Nerevarine."
Impossible. A lie, meant to draw me out of hiding. The Khajiit were as still and rigid as stalhrim in her pack. Renji was managing to restrain his terror, for the most part, but it rolled off Jo'ahni and stole into Habi's own mind. She hoped the cultists weren't near enough to feel it.
Banning didn't respond, but Aymdil continued.
"Yes, the mistress told me the foolish little woman attacked her with a bow. A fine glass piece, made by a masterterful Dunmer smith. You're somewhat of an archer, no? Perhaps Eola will let you wield the Nerevarine's bow in the battles to come."
The pent up trauma of long days erupted from Habi at the utterance of that unforgivable offer. She wiped the angry tears from her eyes with the ragged sleeve of her tunic, and leapt at Banning with her dagger held high.
Habi didn't have the weight to knock him down, but the blade still found a place in his back. Banning yelped like a dog and staggered forward, blood soaking his shirt. Habi spun quickly to face Aymdil, her fists raised in the fighting style of the Redoran guard.
"Pull it out," Banning whimpered. He fell to his knees next to Ahk'idzo. The Khajiit scampered away from them all, his eyes wide with fear. "Oh, gods."
Habs, no! Habi mentally pushed Renji's words aside. They were only a distraction.
"You people took everything from me," she spoke, her voice trembling. I have to be strong. "My home. My best friend. My grandmother. I'm going to kill all of you."
"The Nerevarine is not dead," Aymdil replied coolly. "Not yet."
Meaty fingers closed around Habi's ankle. She had only a second to register Banning's face rising towards her, twisted in fury and pain.
"Little greyskin bitch."
Stars exploded in her vision, and she tasted blood and tears. Habi didn't have time to raise her fists before Banning struck her again, sending her to the ground.
HABS! Aymdil tore the pack away. Habi scrambled to her feet, Renji's cry serving as a final rejuvenator. Banning sent her back down once more, this time for good. Her eyes were obscured in crimson.
"Please," she wept. "No more. I promise...I won't cause any trouble."
Aymdil looked down at her. "I'm sure of it. Banning, I'll take her to the Heart Chamber. Go find a neophyte to help you with that wound."
The Dunmer's callused hands were reaching for Habi, Renji's cries echoing through her head, when all went dark.
On the blasted slopes of Red Mountain, Gelebor suffered alone. He'd drained his last protective potion hours ago. The hot air scorched his lungs, and with every breath he took, the poisonous ash took a greater toll. No matter. I just have to be strong enough to kill Eola.
The priestesses' map seemed to be accurate. He stood before Dagoth Ur, a citadel of the Sixth House Nadene had destroyed so long ago. It seemed remarkably intact. From the exterior, at least. Gelebor wiped the sweat and dirt from his eyes and crept along the ridgeway of black rock. Far below, the lava pools of Red Mountain sizzled and spat.
They will be expecting me. But perhaps not so soon. Was every one of the cultists privy to Eola's plots, or only the upper echelon? The answer to that question would determine how long it was going to take him to fight his way to their leader. The map's directions ended at one of the hatches to the citadel, providing no hint as to what may lay inside. It was possible he would enter a room full of enemies, ready to tie him up and perform their vile ritual. If so, let it be done quickly. There's no need for Nadene to be caught up in this.
Gelebor approached the portal. A weathered lever extruded from the nearest pipe, waiting for his touch. My entire life has led to these next moments. He looked up, though he could not see the sky.
"Is this what you wanted, all along?" Gelebor asked. "For me to perish in vain, so far from the snows of the Vale?" When they were children, he'd told Vyrthur it was folly to try to make sense of Auriel's intentions. His brother had evidently not taken this advice, and it had led him to madness and eternal agony. Perhaps we were cursed from the start. The mother that birthed us must have committed grave crimes against Auriel. Our lives have been a punishment against this faceless and nameless woman.
What other explanation could there be? To a child born in pain, a quick death was a mercy. But he and Vyrthur had known happiness, contentment, for almost three decades. In the form of the priests and soldiers of the Forgotten Vale, they had been given the family fate had taken from them. Such an ephemeral taste of life, given the millenia that had followed, but it had been enough. I should have known better than to think I could have that again. I should have learned my lesson.
He drew his mace and yanked on the lever before fear could stay his hand. The lever screeched, hurting his ears, and the hatch slid open with a groan of dwarven metal. Gelebor slipped inside before it finished, his mind scoured clean of doubts and worries. This is my final mission. For Vyrthur, for the Snow Elf islanders, for Kharjo and his family, for Nadene Othryn and Habisinulu.
The first chamber was narrow and dimly lit. Flickering dwemer lanterns hung from the ceiling, powered by some unseen force. Two Dunmer ran at him. One was young, no older than Nadene's granddaughter, wearing a bonemold helmet too large for him and wielding a chitin spear. The other was clearly more experienced; he wore netch leather from head to toe, and held two swords in his hands.
"Where's Eola?" Gelebor asked, raising his weapon.
"We'll take you to her," the young one said. "In the Heart Chamber. Hand over your weapon."
"N'wah," the other mer cursed, and said something else in Dunmeris.
It wasn't much information, but it would have to do. He rushed the older mer, who was clearly the greater threat. Gelebor ducked under the first sword, and the second deflected harmlessly off the Snow Prince's breastplate. By then he was inside the Dunmer's defenses. He drove his forehead into the smaller elf's face, stunning him, and followed it up with a blow from his mace. The ragged warrior's head was ripped from his shoulders, spraying Gelebor in blood. He stepped back and wiped his eyes clean.
The young Dunmer ran.
Eola can't know I'm coming. Gelebor considered for a second and threw his mace. The mer had not yet reached the turn for the next passageway when the weapon struck him in the back of the leg. Gelebor heard his bones crack from across the chamber. The Dunmer screamed.
"Please," he wailed as Gelebor approached. "Mercy!"
"Shut up," Gelebor said. "You're going to alert the others."
"I couldn't help it...voices in my head. They poisoned us, in the city. You don't understand!"
"I do not care." Gelebor knelt, wrapping his hand around the boy's neck. "If you don't be quiet, I will kill you."
This only seemed to exacerbate the Dunmer's anguish. He cried out again and clawed weakly at Gelebor's wrist, unable to get under the heavy gauntlet.
His grip tightened. "Shut the fuck up."
The boy began hyperventilating, the rhythmic sound filling the chamber like a heartbeat. Gelebor was overcome by an intense loathing. So weak. So powerless. These are the beings who were to conquer the world? They deserved to inherit the realm my people left behind? No. Never.
"Mumma," the youngling gasped. "Help me…"
The skin around the Dunmer's neck darkened. Gelebor watched, detached, as the boy's struggles faltered, and the fingers scrambling at his chokehold slowed their movements. The breathing became blissfully silent.
"Good," Gelebor murmured. "That's all I wanted from you. A little quiet. Will you cooperate, if I let you go?"
He offered no response. Gelebor released his grip, and leaned back. The chamber was as still as a crypt.
"Hello?" He gently shook the child's shoulders. "I'm sorry I was so rough. You need to tell me how to reach the Heart Chamber from here."
Perhaps he's fallen unconscious. Gelebor leaned forward and slipped the Dunmer's helmet off. The face underneath was young. So young. Sixteen or seventeen years, at most. Thin facial hair, like the fuzz of a peach, covered his lower face.
Gelebor looked down at his hands, covered in blood and scraps of grey skin. The child's neck was purple with bruises. The shapes of my fingers. He saw his reflection in the steel of his fallen foe's sword. A pale, bloodstained face, contorted in fury. White hair clumped close to his skull, heavy with ash and filth and vital fluids. Eyes strained and bloodshot, alight with lethal mania. Gelebor had spent most of his life dreading the sight of such a countenance. I have become the Betrayed. Oh, Vyrthur. What's happened to us?
What have I done?
Panic seized Gelebor. He straddled the young elf and beat desperately on his chest, all else forgotten. He bent over the mer and lifted his neck, sharing his own breath. Gelebor continued in this way for several minutes before the young cultist violently returned to life, in a spray of saliva and hungry gasps of air.
The boy scrambled away from Gelebor and vanished into the darkness, his croaks gradually transforming into shouts.
Gelebor sat on the ground, closed his eyes, and waited for the other cultists to find him.
Pain, darkness, warmth on her face. Habi was blindfolded. Where Aymdil had thrown her, she could feel steel bars against her back. Already the covering over her eyes was sticky with sweat. Waves of heat washed over her. They're gonna throw me in the volcano. I'm going to burn to death. Even if Habi could see anything of her surroundings, she hadn't the strength to lift her head from the cold floor of the cage. Thoughts passed through her head like shooting stars, too quickly to make sense of any of them. Renji. Jo'ahni. They were my friends.
There were many beings in this chamber. She could tell that much, at least. The many footsteps against the volcanic rock were hard to miss, as were the whispered voices of excitement. She heard the distinctive laugh of Banning somewhere in the distance, like the braying of a nix hound. What she didn't hear, in her mind or her ears, were any Khajiit. They must have...when they decided the little ones were too small to make a meal, they...Habi could not bring herself to think about it. A single tear traced a path through the dried blood on her cheek.
A murmur of activity in the gathered cultists. Something was happening. Habi turned her ear towards the crowd, wincing at the pain such a movement summoned. Someone, or many someones, were coming towards the cage.
"He's here!" A Dunmer voice cried out in delight. "The meal of prophecy!"
"What are we waiting for?" Another shouted. "The fated time is upon us!"
Aymdil barked, "Stay back, my brothers and sisters. You will all have your place in the promised feast. This I swear to you in the name of Namira."
The meal of prophecy. Habi had heard the cultists speaking of such things, of course, but somehow it hadn't occurred to her this meal would come in the form of a living being.
The cage door opened with a creak. The meal's escorts ignored her, which she was glad for. She expected the pitiful creature to be thrown in the cage as carelessly as she was, but she felt the meal being placed down gently beside her. The cultists receded, and the door closed again.
Mutterings of hunger and lust surrounded the cage. The breathing of many beings caught up in rapture. Oh, gods. I don't want to die like this.
"Children of Namira," Aymdil called out. "Leave the promised meal to stew, for now. His time will come in mere minutes. Ildrasi, go tell the mistress that he has arrived. The rest of you, join me around the altar in a final prayer to our lady."
The ravenous watchers followed his commands. Habi's heartbeat slowed. A reprieve, for the moment.
"Would you like me to take that off for you?" The captured being asked politely. A male's voice, in an Elven accent she couldn't place. Altmer. Or a high-class Bosmer, perhaps. Her addled mind gratefully seized onto the distraction.
"Okay," Habi rasped. One of Banning's blows had taken her in the throat. It was a wonder her windpipe hadn't collapsed.
Large, warm fingers on her face. It was strange to feel a touch that didn't end in pain. One of her eyes was swollen shut, but with the other Habi saw the palest elf she'd ever come across in her short time on Tamriel. And perhaps the most fit, as well. He wore only a thin tunic and pants, his blindingly white arms exposed.
"I'm a Snow Elf," he supplied with a weary smile. "Or at least I will be for a few minutes more. My name is Gelebor. Once I was a Knight-Paladin of Auriel, sworn to guard the wayshrines of the Forgotten Vale and guide pilgrims on the path to true clarity. I came from the land you know as Skyrim, but it was not my home. I have no home, no faith, no weapons. My armor has been taken from me. I expect the woman I love will be arriving here soon, despite my wish for her to remain safely away. I'm afraid I do not think Nadene will arrive in time to save us."
"Nadene? Nadene Othryn? She's alive?" And she's coming here!
"Oh, yes." Gelebor rested his hand on her shoulder. "We came such a long way to find you, Habisunuli. You have my dearest apology."
"For what?"
"For what you're about to witness." His eyes stared past her. "What these cultists have been preparing for since they landed on Vvardenfell. I know not if their prophecy holds any true strength. I will not live to discover the truth, in any case. I have made my peace with that."
"Knight-Paladin," Eola said. She pressed her face against the bars, staring past Habi as if she didn't exist. "I'm so happy you've come. I knew you would see my point of view, in time."
Gelebor rose to his feet. "Give Nadene my love, Habi. I'm sorry we will never get to know each other better."
Eola opened the door. Beyond her, Habi saw for the first time the horrific place they'd been brought to. A cavern that seemed too capacious for such a small word; the ceiling, if there was one, hid far above Habi's meager view. They were on one of the craggy lips of the chamber, stretching around a massive emptiness that led down to the boundless lava pool below. Dozens of cultists in tattered robes and scraps of armor were gathered around an ebony altar, nearly all of them Dunmer. Sparks of flame and clouds of poison drifted through the air. This was a place that had never known darkness. The fires here had been burning since the beginning of time.
"No." Habi struggled to stand. "Don't take him."
"Silence!" Eola screamed, kicking her back into the corner of the cage. Gelebor bowed his head and left the small prison, and the priestess followed. Habi watched helplessly as they walked to the ebony altar. The cultists circling the ritual place made an opening for the two to enter, and then closed ranks around them.
"You've done it, my love." Lisbet embraced Eola, holding her tightly. "From that first moment I saw you, when you walked into my shop in Markarth, I knew you were a woman destined for greatness."
"I wouldn't have made it this far without you." Eola kissed Lisbet tenderly, then gently pushed her away. She nodded to Aymdil, and even provided a warm smile to Banning. "Without all of my brothers and sisters. What we have built here is the work of a legion. Be proud, followers of the Great Darkness! Look upon the fruits of your labor!"
Gelebor stood upon the altar, his eyes closed. The cultists cheered and shouted, their arms raised in worship.
"The last true child of Akatosh is ours!" Nadene knelt down, and when she rose she had a large enameled breastplate in her hands. "He came here wearing the armor of his lost people. But to the Scuttling Void, he will go in rags." She strolled to the edge of the cavern's lip, and dropped the heavy breastplate over the side. The rest of the armor set soon followed, destined for the lava below. With each piece tossed in, the cultists' roars grew in intensity.
Eola returned to the altar, her hands raised in victory. When the crowd had fallen quiet again, she drew a serrated dagger from her hip. The dagger that killed Erandur. Habi could barely watch. Am I about to witness the end of the world?
"On your knees," Eola ordered harshly. Gelebor obeyed. Namira's inner circle gathered around him. The other cultists could barely keep themselves still, hopping from foot to foot like overstimulated children. "Where all the Aedra belong. With the consumption of this Knight-Paladin's blood and bile, we will break the sacred covenant between the Lord of Time and the mortal world. Nations will fall, and Namira will rise. We seek not to conquer, but to consume. Come, Aymdil. See how I reward those that are loyal to Namira. I promised you the first bite. Take my dagger, and be the hallowed architect of the world's undoing."
Banning forced Gelebor's shoulders down, so the Snow Elf stared up at the ceiling. Even from her cage Habi could see he was trembling. She didn't plead for Azura's help. She knew better now.
"Thank you, mistress." Aymdil accepted the blade. All went quiet in the great cavern. Not even a whisper could be heard. "I believe I will take his forearm, first."
The flames of Red Mountain danced like wicked spirits against the metal of the sharpened blade as it fell through the air. Habisunilu screamed, and the cultists screamed back, lost in the throes of ecstasy and hunger. They pressed in towards the altar. Over their heads she saw Aymdil raise a pale hand above him, drinking in the cries of his fellow cultists, and then bit into the flesh. Blood ran down his weathered cheeks and neck.
A momentary pulse of fire, and then the smell of cooked flesh. Habi crawled across the cage, dogged in her pursuit to find a way to kill herself before they came for her. A broken bone with a jagged edge would be enough to get the job done. She was still searching when the chamber fell silent again.
"Did it work?" Banning asked, scratching his chin. His voice seemed small in the vastness of the cavern "I don't feel no different."
"We won't be able to tell from inside the mountain." Lisbet pointed out, though she cast a worried glance at Eola. "The prophecy said Namira's children would awaken across Nirn. We already belong to her. Right?"
Banning frowned. "Still expected a flash of light, or the Lady's voice, or somethin' like that. She spoke when Eola was chosen as champion, but not for this? Maybe we need a bigger sacrifice. Take his head, this time."
"I…" Eola swayed unsteadily. "I feel unwell."
Lisbet caught the priestess before she could fall. "Aymdil, help me with her."
The Dunmer stood away from them, watching with an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes flickered to Eola, and then to the altar. He licked his lips.
"Damn you!" Lisbet cursed at him. "This is your mistress. She needs our help!"
Eola groaned in pain. "My love...this isn't what was meant to happen. Something's gone terribly wrong."
"No. Don't say that. You're alright. I've got you."
"No...the voice in my head." Tears of blood spilled down her cheeks. "We were deceived. Oh, my sweet Lisbet. I never should have brought us to this place."
"Hush, now. You're fine. We're going to your quarters, and you're going to tell me which potions to give you." Lisbet took a deep breath and slipped her arm beneath the other woman's legs, carrying her towards an opening in the wall. "Okay?"
Eola didn't respond. Her head was limp against Lisbet's shoulder.
"Hey!" Banning called out. "What're we doin' here, Liz?" A shudder of unease ran through the gathered cultists.
Lisbet ignored him. She vanished with her mortal cargo into the opening, leaving the children of Namira without their mistress.
Many eyes turned towards Banning.
"What're ya looking at me, for?" He spat at the ground. "I don't know no more than you all do. Guess we'll just have to wait for the ladies to get back."
Aymdil emerged from the crowd. The dagger was still in his hand, dripping with Gelebor's blood.
"Put the blade down, for void's sake. Ain't nobody getting another piece without Eola's say so. Without her, you'd still be eating ash and bug shells. Don't soon forget that."
The slender Dunmer took another step towards Banning. The rest of the mer watched in silence.
Banning swallowed, evidently realizing just how alone he was now. He drew his own dagger and raised it protectively, slowly backing towards the opening. None of the Dunmer moved to stop him.
"Fucking greyskins," Banning snarled. "I told Eola this was a bad idea." With that, he made his escape.
Aymdil sheathed his weapon. All the elves turned towards the altar in unison. Habi could now see Gelebor lying motionless, his left arm ending in a cauterized stump. He seemed thankfully unconscious.
The fear gripped her heart in one final harrowing moment. She allowed herself to panic for a few seconds. The final seconds of my life. I am the last of Veloth's people. Ash runs in my blood. I do not cower.
"Hey," she shouted, unwisely. "Leave him alone!"
Many of the cultists looked up, their expressions dull and uninterested. She felt a rush of triumph. That's it, you fetchers. Come over here.
"He will not be harmed," Aymdil said calmly. "He is very important to us. One of the three."
"Who is 'us'?" Habi slammed her fist into the bars, frustrated. "What are the three?"
"You would not understand. Your mind is not ready."
From the dark opening that led to the rest of the citadel, a bloodcurdling scream. The sharp sound of a woman in mortal agony. Habi's eyes widened. The cultists turned from the altar towards the opening, Gelebor and Habi completely forgotten.
"Explain to me what's happening!"
Aymdil's eyes brightened. "The return. The return to Red Mountain. I have been waiting a long time for this."
Habi slid to her knees, resigned to her ignorance. The screaming had stopped, and the air in the chamber was still. The world seemed to be holding its breath. If you're truly coming, grandmother, now would be the time.
A tall figure stepped from the shadowed portal. What had been a woman named Eola was her no longer. Legs had lengthened grotesquely, torn muscles pushing against stretched skin. Long gray arms terminated in leathery hands with nails long enough to brush the ground below. In one claw it gripped a woman's ankle: Lisbet was dragged behind like a basket of saltrice. The torso was a mess of tattered flesh and cloth, a new form fighting to assert itself against the old.
Atop it all, a golden mask with three ebony eyes. A matching number of square extrusions sprouted from the top of the ornament, shining brilliantly in the firelight of Red Mountain. Habi knew the face. She had spent much of her childhood seeing it in her nightmares.
"Eola!" Lisbet cried out. "Give her back!"
Dagoth Ur held the cultist up to the light. His golden face was inches from her. Lisbet flailed, her blows landing uselessly against firm muscle.
Ribbons of flame rippled down his arms and into the Nord woman. She screamed, her flesh burning and melting. Dagoth Ur threw her against the cavern wall, as casually as one might dispose of an empty kwama shell. Lisbet writhed in anguish for almost a minute before going still.
"The Sixth House is risen," Aymdil spoke. "And Dagoth is its glory. I served the intruder as you instructed, my lord. The minds of these others have been weakened. They are ready to share in the dream, now. They are ready to hear the song."
Dagoth Ur made no reply. The mask turned towards the altar, towards Gelebor still dead to the world.
Ash storms battered Veloth's people the entire journey to Red Mountain. Nadene had ordered them to bring along everyone in the village, even the old and the young, even wounded Eldrus. There would be no returning to the Valley of the Winds. That is, if all goes to plan. She wasn't sure if the Ashlanders grasped the situation entirely. It was very likely that all of them would grow to loathe her, in the afterwards. No matter. At least they'll be alive to hate me.
They lost a few men to the storms, and by the time they arrived at the citadel the survivors were exhausted. Even Dunmer had their limits, when it came to the toils of Vvardenfell. The children had fallen asleep. On a flat rock near the entrance hatch, one of the tribal healers attended to Eldrus.
"Niranil," Nadene said. He came up to her, his spear held at the ready. "I need you to remain outside and guard the others. I'm taking six warriors. You'll have the rest."
"A half-dozen fighters, against our enemies combined and fortified?" The Ashlander frowned. "I do not understand. And I wish to put my cursed father to rest. I cannot do that if I'm guarding the weak."
"I'll have Kharjo, too." The Khajiit nodded gravely, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I promise I'll take care of your father. What I'm asking you to do is very important, Niranil. The survival of everyone depends on it. There will be a Dunmer here soon. A tall and generally unpleasant wizard with a long beard. Do everything he says, and watch for Kharjo's return. Okay?"
"Okay. I swore to follow you, Nerevarine, and I will follow your orders, strange as they may be. Be careful in the citadel. I smell dark magic at work."
You don't know the half of it. Nadene, Kharjo, and their small band of warriors entered the citadel of Dagoth Ur without further delay. There was a dead body in the antechamber, but they encountered no further resistance as they descended into the bowels of the facility. The lack of combatants did nothing to ease Nadene's worries.
"They must be gathered somewhere," Nadene murmured.
"For their ritual, perhaps?" Kharjo shifted nervously. He, too, had become more agitated as they went along. Does he still expect to find Eola, here? Surely he's sensed that all is not as it seems. "Khajiit hopes they have not arrived top late for the Knight-Paladin."
"Me too, Kharjo. Me too."
They found most of the Balmorans unguarded in their cells. Nearly a hundred souls, pressed in tightly against the walls, dishes of mer flesh sitting untouched or half-eaten before them. These poor Dunmer. What did they do to deserve this?
"You mer," Nadene pointed to her warriors. "Set these townspeople free, then lead them back to Niranil on the surface. If the wizard has arrived, tell him that the Nerevarine said to begin the process."
"As you command, Hortator." The lead Ashlander bowed his head, and the six went to work on the prisoners' cells. Nadene and Kharjo forged onward, and she tried to focus her mind on the task ahead.
Old memories rose to the surface as they walked the metal hallways, summoned by the noxious familiarity of her surroundings. Two centuries, and the nightmares had not left her. Nadene suspected they never would. She had barely emerged alive from this citadel the first time around, her body covered in shallow wounds and the scorch marks of magical attacks. Her favored weapon, the Bow of Shadows, had been destroyed, along with most of her armor. And now I'm older, more out of practice, with one less eye. What could go wrong?
Finally they came to the Heart Chamber. The heavy dwemer door was closed. Nadene took a deep breath.
"Ready?" She asked.
"Khajiit is prepared to claim vengeance for his family at last." Kharjo drew his sword. "Finally, I can fulfill my purpose."
"Listen, Kharjo. Whatever we find in there, you have to do what I say." Nadene was glad her face was hidden behind the ordinator helmet, so he wouldn't be able to see the doubt in her eyes. "Promise me."
"Very well. Khajiit swears to follow your lead."
The door slid open, and they stepped inside.
Dozens of heads turned towards them, twisted in fury and confusion.
"Step away from him," Nadene's voice echoed in the cavernous chamber. "Right now, Voryn."
"Welcome, Moon-and-Star." Dagoth Ur's voice was shockingly ordinary. That was one thing she'd never grown used to. "To see you again brings a smile to my face. Lay down your weapons. I have no intention of harming you."
"First, let the others leave. Release them from your grip."
Dagoth Ur cocked his head, almost curiously. "This is something you know I cannot do, Nerevar. You laid waste to the Tribe Unmourned, leaving us with few disciples. Your own army is lost to time and fate. These gathered dozens will serve us faithfully in the wars to come, and their ranks will swell with conquest."
"I don't care. You went through a lot of trouble to bring me to this place, to talk to me." She grabbed a knife from her belt and raised it to her throat. "Let these people go, or I'll kill myself right here. You know I'm not bluffing."
"As bold as ever. Very well." Dagoth Ur raised his hand towards the cultists. Most of them began looking around, blinking, obviously unaware of their surroundings. A few began weeping. Only Aymdil remained still, by his master's side. "They were a means to an end that has been fulfilled. Unfit to be instruments of the Sixth House. Dispose of these wretches in any manner you deem fit, Moon-And-Star. Then we shall speak for the Law and the Land, one last time."
"Grandmother!" A girl's voice called out. Nadene rushed to the cage, and unlatched the door with trembling hands. Habisinuli launched into her arms, so dreadfully thin. My baby. What have they done to you?
"I've got you." Nadene stroked her back. "You're safe, little sera."
"I knew it," Habi said. "I knew you would come for me. I didn't - the others, they ate the food the cultists gave them, but I didn't do it. I never surrendered to Namira."
"I knew you wouldn't. You've always been very stubborn."
"Your friend...I'm sorry. I couldn't keep Eola from taking him. I don't know if he's…" Her eyes stared past Nadene, towards the altar.
"Don't worry about any of that." Nadene squeezed her shoulder. "I'm going to take care of it. Now, I need you to do something for me. To be strong for a little while longer. These Dunmer have been under Dagoth Ur's influence, but now they're free. That Khajiit behind me is named Kharjo. You need to help him lead them out of the citadel." Before the Sharmat catches on and tries to control them again. That last part, she left unsaid. He was no doubt listening in.
"No." Habi wiped the tears from her cheeks and glared fiercely. "I'm not gonna leave you to die."
"I'll be right behind you," Nadene lied. "Please, Habi. I won't be able to fight if I'm worried about you getting caught in the crossfire. And Kharjo doesn't speak Dunmeris. He'll need your assistance."
She bit her lip. "Fine. Right behind us, you said. If you don't show up after we get to the surface, I'm going back to get you."
"Agreed." Nadene embraced Habi again and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm so proud of you. Now go." Go, before I lose all my strength. The sight of her granddaughter's bruised face had nearly been enough to undo her.
Habi limped towards the freed cultists, already barking orders in Dunmeris. She's going to make a fine Redoran Guard, once all of this is over.
"Where is Eola?" Kharjo asked darkly. "Who is this tall Dunmer, who wears her clothes and hides his face? Khajiit does not understand."
"Eola is dead, Kharjo. Or near enough not to matter." Nadene spoke in a hushed whisper. "Whoever you came here to destroy, Dagoth Ur has done the job for you."
Kharjo turned his head towards the masked figure beside the altar, who watched them silently.
"Truly? This is the one your people call the Sharmat?" The anger had left his voice. "Then Khajiit knows his adversary has met a fate worse than death. That must be enough."
"Of course it is." Nadene gripped his arm. "Leave this place. Don't let revenge consume you, as it did Voryn Dagoth. Go with Habi and save these people. Tell me. Do you still have that fireball scroll I gave you outside the Telvanni estates?"
Kharjo felt around in his satchel. "Yes."
Nadene hugged him, and spoke low into his ear. "When you reach the surface, destroy the entrance behind you. None must leave or enter this citadel ever again."
"But you and the Knight-Paladin…" Kharjo drew back, his brow creased. "You can not ask me to abandon my friends. What will I be, after leaving this place? A Khajiit without purpose, without the love of his family or his companions. No. Better to die here, I think."
"A coward's words." It hurt Nadene to say it, but there was little time. "I sometimes forget how young you are. There's nothing brave about dying, Kharjo. It's a horrible, awful thing. And remarkably easy, especially on Vvardenfell. You want a purpose? Protect my granddaughter. Help her get off this island. After that, stay with her if it pleases you. Habi is going to need people who love her, now that her entire world has been destroyed. Tell her of your family, and of the adventures we shared on Solstheim. Take her to beautiful places and fill her life with happiness and warmth. If you still want to die after that, Gelebor and I will be waiting. Without judgement or regret, whether you join us today or in ten thousand days. We both know how difficult it is, to live."
"Very well," Kharjo replied hoarsely, turning his head away. "Khajiit can not find the right words. So he will simply say: farewell. Farewell, Nadene Othryn. If you should speak to the Knight-Paladin again, tell him that I loved him as a brother."
"He knows." Nadene closed her eyes, so she would not cry. "Goodbye. Keep Habi close. And don't forget to seal the hatch."
She kept her eyes shut for several minutes. There were stumbling footsteps as the befuddled Balmorans and Ashlanders were led from the room, and she heard the hushed voices of Habi and Kharjo urging them along. She thought she'd be more afraid, at this point, but all Nadene felt was a weary sense of resignation. Some part of her had always known she'd end up back in the Heart Chamber, looking up at that golden mask. Indoril Nerevar and the Tribunal had killed Voryn Dagoth the first time. Nadene had sent him to the darkness twice herself, and that third death was meant to be final. This time around, I must leave nothing to chance. Morrowind had a long memory, but it had forgotten the persisting menace of House Dagoth too many times now. She wasn't going to leave Dagoth Ur to be someone else's problem in another two centuries. This time, it has to be forever.
"A valiant effort, but in vain." Dagoth Ur looked towards the opening, where the last released Dunmer had disappeared a minute ago. "My influence spreads across Vvardenfell. None will depart, without my consent. Do you truly believe the seaworthy vessels of the Telvanni escaped my notice? Your cunning and deceit will not serve you well in this place. I sent one of my followers to scorch the docks hours ago, my naïve old friend."
"You have?" Nadene asked, in a shocked voice.
"Oh, yes. You are clever, Nerevar, but I have had two centuries to watch the world and form my plans. All variables have been accounted for. The Sixth House has awoken from its long dream once again."
Nadene stepped past him, to look down at the altar. Gelebor was still, and his skin seemed even paler than usual. But if she looked closely, she could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
"His hand," she said softly.
"This was not my work. I have never had any intention of harming your beloved mate. Alas, the tools of my resurrection were sometimes clumsy and blundering. The cursed followers of Namira would not have been my first choice."
"Has it been you, from the beginning?" Nadene stroked Gelebor's cheek. "It took me so long to notice the signs."
"Your ignorant destruction of the Heart left only a trace of divine power here." Dagoth Ur walked to the edge of the cliff. His mask turned towards the lava pools below. "I could not recorperalize in physical form. For two hundred years I slumbered, existing only as a soul floating on winds of flame. As Vvardenfell remained lifeless, so did I. Only recently did circumstances change. Dunmer began to return. To the city called Balmora, a loyal dreamer of old began to whisper in the darkness of his cellar. He knelt before an ash statue and murdered small creatures in the name of the Sixth House. Small, pitiful souls, scarcely enough to rouse me from my slumber. Then Aymdil sent me a mortal soul, murdered with a Heart Stone, and I began stirring at last."
On the other side of the altar, Aymdil bowed his head.
"His worship granted me enough strength to send a single message across Tamriel. The Tribe Unmourned lies in ashes, thanks to your misguided crusade. Though it brought me no small amount of shame to do so, I was forced to speak under another's name. To wear the face of our enemy."
"You sent the prophecy to Eola," Nadene said. "Fine. I suppose that makes sense. But why bring Gelebor into this?"
"I foresaw that you would grow close to this child of Akatosh. I knew I would have to push you to your limits, to ensure your return to Red Mountain. Beyond that, the n'wah I controlled needed a purpose. You have seen first-hand what destruction they wrought, without a firm hand to guide them. The slaughter of so many Dunmer on the southern coast...that was truly a waste. None of these mer will now taste of the divine power."
Her hands tightened into fists. "All of this, so many lives lost, just to bring Gelebor and I to this place? Have you ever heard of a fucking courier, Voryn?"
Nadene had hoped it would put the monster off balance, referring to him as his mortal name, but Dagoth Ur merely chuckled. "You make me laugh, Nerevar. I faced you alone in battle the first time, believing you to be an honorable opponent. Of course you would have arrived here with an army of Redoran or Telvanni, if you had known it was I who desired a meeting. Perhaps they would have been able to defeat me. You will not prevail. To this place where destiny is made, you have come unprepared. A wise reincarnation would not have dared step foot on Vvardenfell without Kagrenac's tools. They remain on Solstheim?"
"Like I would ever tell you." Keening, Sunder, and Wraithguard were now secure in a pocket dimension, if Neloth had delivered her message to Divayth in time. "I destroyed Lorkhan's Heart. That was supposed to be the end of it."
"And so it would have been, were it not for the Heart Stones I had the n'wah collect. They hold only a shadow of divine essence. Akulakhan will never live again as he does in my dreams. The winds of blight have fallen forever silent. Nevertheless, these shards of power will be enough to shape destiny. Morrowind has been made weak under your watch. The Dunmer people have been degraded. This land will be simple to conquer, and by the time it is led to glory all will praise the name of Dagoth. The Sixth House will be restored, and the essence of the divine will gild the hills of Resdaynia. In one day or a thousand, I will share my dream with all Dunmer. Then we shall ponder ambitions of empire."
Some of his words struck true. Nadene felt her anger rising. "I did all that I could! How was I supposed to know what would happen, years or decades in the future?"
"Such was the price of your shortsightedness." The mask turned towards her. "You freed the Heart and struck me down. You did not weep for me, as I did for you. In perhaps your wisest act, you also felled the false Tribunal that betrayed us both in turn. Then came your gravest mistake. You scourged Morrowind of living gods, and left nothing in their place. The Dunmer required a formidable leader to guide them to victory. You shirked this burden. Morrowind has paid the blood toll for your ignorance."
"Nothing good would have come of me taking Lorkhan's power." Nadene had been having this conversation with herself for centuries. It felt cathartic, almost, to speak to Dagoth Ur again. If this will be my last conversation, at least it's an interesting one. "I saw what taking part in the divine did to Vivec, Sotha Sil, and Almalexia. And to you most of all, Voryn. You were a proud and loyal Dunmer, once. Now you're just a withered wraith."
Dagoth Ur shook his head, evidently disappointed. "I see you have learned nothing since our last encounter. Together, we could have stopped Baar Dau's fall and averted disaster. The mongrel dogs of the Empire abandoned Morrowind in times of trouble, just as I foresaw. The Septims were a formidable enemy. Now they are gone, and the rotting carcass of Cyrodiil threatens to pull our land down with them under the dirt. Can you truly say now that my plans would have been worse for Morrowind? Bloodshed and war were a foregone conclusion, but under the Sixth House's rule we would have emerged stronger than ever before. You chose the path of the righteous prey. Do you truly believe those that burned away in the year of fire would have thanked you for the pleasure? Thousands and thousands of Dunmer have perished for nought. Our civilization has descended to the level of an impotent lover, discarded by the Empire you placed so much faith in. For shame, Nerevar. For shame"
She'd forgotten how much Dagoth Ur liked to talk. Before their first battle, when she had arrived with the tools of Kagrenac, they had spoken for nearly an hour in the cavern outside the Heart Chamber. At least this time around, it's serving a purpose. Nadene could only pray that Habi and the others had reached the surface by now.
"None of this matters. What's already happened can't be changed, not even by you." Nadene left his side to go back to the altar. Gelebor was stirring. Would it be better, if he had stayed unconscious? A selfish part of her was glad she'd be able to hear his voice again.
"Gelebor? Can you hear me?"
They had almost reached the entrance when the cannibal stepped into their path, a sword in his hands.
"Banning," Habi spat the name like a curse. "It's over. Eola's dead."
Kharjo had not recognized the man at first. Then it dawned on him, in a rush of painful memory. This was one of those who had consumed his family in the name of Namira. Eola's life was taken from his reach, but he could still deal with this aberration of nature.
He unsheathed his blade, and Renji's words burst into his mind.
PAPA!
He gasped, nearly dropping the sword.
Banning stepped into the light, two furry bundles under his free arm.
"I don't know what in Oblivion is goin' on," Banning growled. "But I ain't dying on this greyskin island. Take me with you, or these little cats are dead."
Papa! Help us! The sound of his son's voice in his head was like a heavy spirit to Kharjo. How many nights had he stared up at unfamiliar ceilings, longing for the sound of his children? There was Jo'ahni, too, now. Not yet old enough to form words, but filling his head with a feeling of terror. And this cannibal, stinking of dogs, dared to threaten his kittens in front of him?
This would not do.
"Habi, go ahead with the others." Kharjo stepped aside to let them pass. "Khajiit will speak with this cultist. Perhaps we can work something out."
"You better hope so," Banning said.
"You sure?" Habi bit her lip. "You don't know this man. He's evil."
Khajiit knows better than anyone. "Do not worry about me. Just move along, and quickly."
Soon enough Kharjo and his children were alone in the passageway with Banning.
"So what'll it be?" Banning's arm tightened around the two small Alfiq, and Kharjo felt their fear rising. "You lead me to your way off of Vvardenfell, or I make myself a nice new pair of socks."
Kharjo closed his eyes and gently conferred with his son, calming the boy and issuing some simple commands. Then he raised his sword. For Zaynabi.
"Drop the blade, cat!"
"You failed to kill me, on the road outside Markarth. This was not a wise choice."
Renji bit down, Banning yelped, and Kharjo's sword flashed forward like a long claw. The blood of a man splattered on the volcanic rock. Kharjo clutched two children to his chest, caught just before they hit the ground. Tears dripped from his whiskers.
"My babies," he whispered. "My little kittens."
Renji and Jo'ahni rubbed against him, purring. Kharjo hurried down the passageway, eager to leave the citadel called Dagoth Ur behind.
"Nadene?" Gelebor spoke, his eyelids fluttering. His world was agony and flame. Is this Oblivion? Perhaps the torture has already begun. A short figure wearing an ordinator's mask stood over him. "Is that you?"
"I'm afraid it is. I love you, endling. I love you and I'm sorry. They...they took your hand. I wasn't fast enough to help."
What does she mean? His whole body ached, but he could feel both his arms, whole and healthy, resting on the ebony of the altar. Gelebor raised his hand to wipe the tear from her cheek...without success. The tear continued its path, despite his intentions, and dripped on to the volcanic rock below. His left arm ended just below the elbow, in a charred stump. Gelebor stared at it for a long moment. Then he let his head fall back on to the altar, utterly numb. There was a tall being wearing a golden mask standing nearby, as well as one of Eola's Dunmer followers.
Gelebor didn't ask what was going on. They seemed to be past such things.
"Kharjo and Habi are safe?" He asked, running his tongue over lips cracked and dry.
"Yes." Nadene squeezed his right hand, but Gelebor couldn't bring himself to look down at his body again.
"Good. That eases my mind." A thought occurred to him. "I've not been eaten. Did you kill Eola?"
"It wasn't me." She inclined her head towards the golden masked figure. Gelebor took a second look at the mer, his head clearing. He noticed now the horrific condition of the being's form, like a collection of skin and muscle stretched over too much bone. Eola's robes were barely distinguishable among the mass of gore that composed the figure's torso. "Meet Voryn Dagoth. We're old friends."
"Oh. I see." This was a welcome distraction from his missing limb, at least. "I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, Voryn, but Nadene has told me some disturbing stories."
"He was the one speaking into your head, visiting your dreams." Nadene smiled sadly. "It was never Azura at all."
So it was never Vyrthur, either. That gave Gelebor more relief than he could have ever imagined. My brother loved me. He didn't want me to kill anyone. Whether he was waiting with Auriel was another question. One that would be answered soon, from the looks of things.
"Why me? I have no great power or influence."
"Not as of now," Dagoth Ur agreed. "But you possess a noble spirit. Though I curse the false Tribunal for all eternity and with all my breath, they stumbled upon wisdom by accident. Only a foolish leader refuses to learn from his mistakes. By possessing the bulk of divine power for myself I made the Sixth House vulnerable. My Dagoth brothers were too weak to handle the true essence of the Heart. That is not the case with you, Nerevar, or this Falmer you have paired with. He is not so different from the Chimer we used to be, before Azura's foul curse. Together we will reap the power of the Heart Stones, and form a new Tribunal to lead Morrowind to triumph."
Gelebor exchanged a look with Nadene. "And what should befall us if we refuse this offer?"
The golden mask offered no hint of his emotions, but nevertheless Gelebor could sense Dagoth Ur's disappointment. "After all that has transpired to bring you here, you would spit in the face of destiny? The power of gods is within your reach! I have spent much time inside your head, lost child. Your forsaken deity is no less deserving of scorn than the Daedra who brought Morrowind to ruin. The fury of millenia runs through you. I called for you to purge this citadel of n'wah, but you refused the call. This is your chance to atone."
"I have no desire for divine power." Gelebor sat up, finally forcing himself to look down at his left arm again. "I just want to live in one place, surrounded by those I love and who love me in return. It's all I've ever wanted. A home."
Nadene sat down beside him, and rested her metal chin on his shoulder.
"Bah." Dagoth Ur turned away from them. "A being of so many years should know better than to believe such an ideal can exist without being won through prolonged war and hard-won victory. Suffering is a certainity."
"I know. I survived a conflict that ended long before your people ever came to this land. I'd rather die as who I am, as misguided and naïve as you believe me to be. Every being that has touched Lorkhan's Heart has committed atrocities with their divine power. I will not stain the legacy of the Snow Elves further by becoming a living god."
"Very well. I will reunite you with your lost race soon, and mourn the lost opportunity. What is your answer, Nerevar?"
Though he was sure of his own decision, Gelebor was curious what Nadene would say. No one on Nirn knew better than her the dangers and benefits of taking power from the Heart of Lorkhan. Perhaps that made her the most qualified to do so. But then, it was the hubris of the Tribunal that made them believe they could handle the power without it corrupting them.
Nadene stood, and walked over to face Dagoth Ur. She stood a few heads shorter than him, even with the ordinator mask.
She twisted the mask off, revealing the face he loved so dearly. Nadene dropped the helmet over the edge, and Moon-and-Star soon followed.
"Nerevar is dead," Nadene spoke. Gelebor's heart swelled with pride. "I don't know if you killed him or the Tribunal did. I don't care. You are a monster. You're arrogant, selfish, bigoted, murderous. Your plans have never been to help Morrowind and the Dunmer - you seek only to expand your own power. It makes my skin crawl to breathe the same air as you. I could spend days listing all the reasons I will never join your tribunal, but we really don't have that kind of time, and it's not going to matter anyway. My name is Nadene Othryn, I don't want any of your fucking Heart Stones, and in a few minutes everything on Vvardenfell is going to die."
Dagoth Ur grabbed her shoulders in his clawed hands. "What have you done? What doom has your lack of ambition brought on us, fool?"
"You remember Baar Dau?" Nadene grinned. "The rogue moon that Sheogorath shot at Morrowind, for no particular reason? I asked him to do it again."
Gelebor laughed, a warm and honest sound that echoed off the far cavern walls. He leapt up from the altar and pulled Nadene into a hug, pointedly ignoring the looming figure before them.
He said, "Gods, you're mad. I love you so much. Have you warned the coastal mainlanders to prepare?"
"If Neloth can be relied upon, my message should have reached all of Morrowind by now. I requested a smaller moon, and for all the trouble I went through, the God of Madness better deliver. How could he resist? The Nerevarine, asking him to blow up Vvardenfell. I bet he'll make a holiday out of it."
"The Daedra are not known for their generosity." Gelebor pulled back, studying her face. "What did you have to provide, in return?"
"In exchange for Neloth's help, I gave him the location of my hideaway on Solstheim. There are countless priceless artifacts and relics hidden there. To Divayth I left the Tools of Kagrenac. He's the only mer I can trust them with. To the Urshilaku Ashlanders I am leaving the deed to my tower and the lands surrounding it. My forest will be put to good use. It's the least I can do, for destroying their ancestral home. And…" Nadene took a deep breath. "To Sheogorath, I gave my soul."
He frowned. "Just yours?"
"I didn't want to speak for you, Gelebor. I know you want to see your brother again-"
"I'm coming with you."
"You really don't-"
He silenced her with a kiss, and the silence endured for a pleasantly long time. Dagoth Ur watched. Whatever machinations were occuring behind his golden mask, they were not privy to. His loyal follower Aymdil glared at them, no doubt waiting for his master's command to attack.
"Insanity," Dagoth Ur finally spoke. "I just cast my focus to the heavens. The madness you spoke is true. You would obliterate Morrowind, rather than leave it in the care of your oldest and most faithful friend?"
"I'm not your friend. And I'm just obliterating Vvardenfell. I did tell the Dunmer not to return here. Maybe next time, they'll listen."
"You have deceived me. I sense Namira's cultists have been taken from the island. Is your fear so overwhelming that you dare not face me in battle? The fates are cruel. In all my designs, I never accounted for cowardice on your part. Nerevar Indoril was never one to turn away from his duty."
"Maybe I'd win, the first few times. I'm quick with my bow, and powerful with magic. But eventually I'd slip up. Not to mention, I have no idea how many Heart Stones are hidden in this citadel. I don't know what Nerevar would've done, but I'm not leaving anything to chance. Everything here is going to be vaporized. Which means, Gelebor and I aren't going to just let you leave this chamber. So I'm guessing this is the part where you kill us."
"A pity. We could have built an empire to withstand the tides of time and fate, Nerevar. An enlightened society, bathed in the divine, without fear of the ancient gods." Dagoth Ur's hands crackled with energy. The heat inside the room was rising, impossibly. "So be it. Others will come. Perhaps your next reincarnation will prove more open-minded."
Out of nowhere, a rush of movement. A shadow fell on Dagoth Ur from behind, stabbing again and again with a dwarven dagger. The Sharmat cried out, his gathered energy dissipating like smothered kindling.
"My lord!" Aymdil rushed at the shadow, slashing with his own blade.
An unspoken strategy formed between Gelebor and Nadene. They stepped past the dying god to grab Aymdil while he was distracted. By the time he had focused his attention on the new threats to either side of him, it was too late. They tossed him over the cliff like a sack of ash yams.
Aymdil screamed all the way down.
It was no easy feat, hoisting a grown mer with only one good hand. Gelebor leaned against the altar, breathing heavily. "Who is it?"
Nadene was crouched by the shadow. "I'm not sure."
"Eola," the charred woman gurgled. "My love...we are free." She took one final, rattling breath.
"Felled by an n'wah," Dagoth Ur spoke, his voice weak and thready. "The gods humiliate me for standing against them. How cruel that my final words shall be shared with the woman who has doomed Morrowind. The end arrives again, but the taste is no less bitter. I am coming, my general."
And then Gelebor and Nadene were alone in the chamber. He began to register a low rumble, that began near the edge of his hearing but was gradually increasing in intensity.
"He'll be back," Nadene said quietly. "With the Heart Stones spread all around this citadel, and all the blood spilled here, he'll be strong enough now to recorporealize. But it won't be in time to escape Red Mountain."
"Good." Gelebor patted the space beside him. "Come sit with me, love."
She cuddled up beside him, and he wrapped his good arm around her shoulders.
"This world is a strange one, isn't it?" Gelebor relished the feel of her heartbeat. "The Dunmer didn't even exist, for a good part of my life. Now I'm going to die for them." The rumbling was growing to a roar.
"I've done it before, according to prophecy." Nadene glanced at the ruined corpses before them. "There are worse things to die for." Pebbles and ash rained from the ceiling. Gelebor's ears popped.
"That there are." My friends are safe, my brother loves me, I did not fall to the path of darkness, and I'm in the arms of Nadene Othryn. If this is why Auriel kept me alive, then I accept his choice. I die for the Dunmer.
"Still," Nadene went on. "I don't really want to. Do you?"
"Hmm. On the whole, not particularly." He winced as a sharp rock hit his face. "I've discovered many things I'd like to live to do and see."
"Do you remember what I said about Bal Isra, a while ago?"
Her estate in the western Vvardenfell Ashlands. "Vaguely. Something about a Recall marker in your bedroom, buried under a mountain of rock?"
Nadene had to shout to make herself heard. "Only possibly buried. As opposed to the definitely buried that we're about to be."
"Let's do it," he yelled back. A boulder smashed on the ground nearby, sending them both flying. A plethora of ash filled the Heart Chamber, and lava seeped from the cracks in the rock. A vision of Oblivion.
Gelebor heard Nadene screaming his name. His eyes were stinging. Is this how it ends? Both of us alone, stumbling around in the darkness?
"Brother!" A child's voice called out. Gelebor's eyes widened. Vyrthur, all of twelve years old, grabbed him by his remaining hand and pulled him through the ash. "This way."
He didn't have time to ask any questions before Nadene was in his arms, wonderfully intact.
By the time Gelebor had regained his senses, the child had vanished. The world was shaking, and the sound of a thousand maelstroms filled the Heart Chamber. Gelebor and Nadene clung to each other. Her magicka was gathering.
"Now, Nadene!"
Warmth enveloped him.