A/N: Hey everyone! Here's Chapter 1! Onnamusha: thanks for your review on the prologue, and I hope you enjoy the adventures Llovesi and Julan get up to this time (more than they will, probably!) CampsMcCamper: thanks for your review too! I'm glad the last line got your attention. So who is Almalexia talking about? Guesses on the back of a postcard... or in the review box!
Chapter 1: Loved and Lost
"Ser Llovesi? The city-dwellers from Ald'ruhn are here... I told them you were busy, but they're asking to see you personally... Llovesi?"
"Ouch!"Llovesi had jumped up suddenly from the fruitless searching in her chest and smacked her head on a jutting outcrop of red rock. Even after a month of living in it, Daedric architecture took some getting used to.
Head still smarting, she managed to smile at Sen, a slim Ahemmusa herder with streaks of grey running through her auburn hair.
"Sorry, sorry, it's just I seem to have misplaced the guest-list," Llovesi said. "Maybe Julan has it... or most likely one of the kids has run off with it. Uh, Ald'ruhn did you say?... They're arriving already!?"
Sen looked at Llovesi with wide eyes. "Oh, Llovesi, you aren't even ready! The wedding starts in two hours!"
Llovesi glanced down at her stained pants and shirt, still damp from scrubbing the floors in Ald Daedroth's great hall that morning.
"Oh, yes," she said. "Okay, um, I'll start getting dressed. Please tell Councillor Sarethi and his guests that I'll be with them in a bit... and with anyone else that arrives in the meantime. See if you can't find Julan. Oh, and Sen," she called as the older mer turned to go, "thank you. Really. You're being really helpful. Everyone is."
Sen nodded, with a slightly glazed expression that Llovesi suspected matched her own.
It was this wedding. This wedding that for the past two months had become The Wedding. The Wedding of Llovesi, Hortator and Nerevarine, to Ashkhan Julan Kaushibael of the Ahemmusa.
Of course they were already technically married, thanks to a quirk of Ashlander culture. But that didn't matter, not when word had got out, and it inevitably had, and soon all anyone was asking was when the wedding would be. It had become bigger than all of them–the flood of eager interest had quickly stamped out any notion they and the tribe had held of it being a quiet, modest event.
But then again, it'll all be worth it. All this stress and panic will be worth it if it means this is the start of my life here. No more Blades. No more Blight. No more Sixth House. If I am called upon, I will help. But otherwise... If a quiet life is possible, I'm seizing it with both hands.
The last month living here in Ald Daedroth had proved to Llovesi that it perhaps would be possible. Of course, the first few months after what people had come to call the Red Mountain Event had been chock-full of meetings and missions and expeditions. Llovesi retained her political titles–and the positions that came with them–and at times they'd proved a heavy burden. Before the event Llovesi had been dealing with people's beliefs. Now she had their expectations. But she'd finally moved in with the Ahemmusa, and although there remained much to do to make the island fully hospitable, she and Julan had set a wedding date.
So the invitations had been sent out, to Great House councillors, to the Ashkhans, the Wise Women, to Guild leaders and Holamayan priests, to friends and acquaintances. Llovesi's eye wandered to the crate temporarily serving as her desk as she retrieved her dress from the chest. Caius's letter was buried there somewhere, underneath all the minutes from council meetings, reports and treaties and Azura knows what else.
Regretfully events conspire to keep me in the Imperial City.
Congratulations.
Caius.
He'd even hand-signed it. Duke Vedam Dren's steward, and a few others, had simply sent notes politely declining the invitation.
Spring had slipped quickly and quietly into summer, and then there'd been her decision to plan the day herself. She'd wanted to throw herself into it. Wanted something to help her focus her life, help her come down from the events earlier in the year. Llovesi snorted as she stripped to her undergarments. Of all the stupid decisions... But still, an Ashlander wedding probably wasn't something to entrust to some fashionable Vivec events handler. It had to be traditional, as well as accessible for all the non-Ashlanders in attendance. The decision to hold the ceremony at the Ahemmusa camp in Ald Daedroth was both convenient and deliberate. Neutral territory.
The camp was taking it all in its stride, more or less, even with the near-constant stream of visitors in the month running up to the wedding–caterers and bards and journalists, all very keen to know just how Llovesi would deal with so many different guests.
Only my wedding would end up being a sodding diplomatic event, thought Llovesi as she pulled her dress, the dress once destined to be Mashti's wedding dress, over her head. Still, if the people of Vvardenfell could unite in great strife, then they could unite in great joy as well. Happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts...
"You look beautiful."
Llovesi turned. "You know," she said playfully, "in Imperial culture it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding."
"Really?" Julan grinned and crossed the room, sweeping Llovesi into his arms. "That's funny. Because in Ashlander culture, it's good luck. Very," and he planted a soft kiss on her neck. "Very." Kiss. "Very good luck."
He steered her gently towards their bed.
"Julan!" Llovesi laughed and pulled free. "Come on, the Redorans are already looking for me and I'm not even ready yet. Besides, I wouldn't want to ruin your outfit!"
Julan wrinkled his nose in what looked like a mixture of disgust and amusement. His gulakhans had helped him into some very traditional Ashlander dress: a fringed long shirt complete with feathers and beads, an animal hide sash and dyed pants stitched with traditional patterns. A simple circlet swept his long dark hair back from his face.
"Yes, well, I'm just looking forward to getting it off. And yours too..."
There was a polite cough from the doorway.
Llovesi bolted up guiltily. "Sen! I'm sorry, please tell Athyn I'm coming right away!"
Sen blushed slightly. "Actually, it's Master Aryon of House Telvanni. He says: 'Please do ask Lady Nerevarine to meet us as soon as possible. Mistress Therana has wandered off three times and these corridors are not conducive to hide and seek.'"
Llovesi sighed, and laced up her sandals. "Coming, I promise."
"There's still time to elope, you know," Julan whispered into her ear.
But it wasn't all that bad in the end.
Mistress Therana was found lecturing some pack guar on hormadors and was quickly reunited with the rest of the guests from House Telvanni, namely Master Aryon, Divayth Fyr with a 'daughter' under each arm, and Sadela Areth: Mistress Dratha's steward who'd come in her employer's place. She kept casting nervous glances at the aged and eccentric Mistress Therana as they walked around the reception area, as if she were a scrib keeping an eye on a nearby cliff racer.
Llovesi and Julan walked among the guests, greeting and making introductions as they arrived, ferried over from the mainland in small hired gondolas. Llovesi eventually found the guest-list in shreds, being fed by one of Nummu's children to her pet rat. But it didn't matter too much. Llovesi knew all the guests more or less personally and, despite the fame and prestige of the event, the distance from the mainland seemed to have put off most gate-crashers.
She gave a warm welcome to the Sarethi and Morvayn families as the sun beat strongly down overhead. She was glad for the short sleeves of the dress–Vvardenfell summers were hot, perhaps even hotter than the lava that bubbled in the heart of Red Mountain, and even the sea breeze was doing little to assuage the apparent discomfort of many guests.
But, as she looked around, she marvelled at just how well the reception seemed to be going. Normally Dunmer and Imperials would be at each other's throats, with the Ashlanders fighting against both sides. The old tensions had by no means disappeared, but today, for this one day, they'd been laid aside. It was a ceasefire.
Here all were mingling, Imperial and Dunmer, the traditional and the modern, Great House retainers and Ashlanders. The atmosphere was light and easy despite the stifling heat. The breeze picked up the soft notes of 'Nerevar Rising' as the bards began to play; the music was carried through guests and round flower arrangements, over the fire-pit where fresh fish was cooking until the whole ruin sung with the sounds of joy and summer.
Here Crassius Curio was talking to Ashkhan Kaushad and Falura about his new play while the former guffawed and the latter smiled politely and cupped her pregnant belly as if to shield her unborn child's ears.
Here the priestess Danso Indules was sharing a joke with the priestess Mehra Milo. Two sides of the Temple, not long reunited, joining together with a smile.
But it was true that sometimes the smiles falling on Llovesi faltered. She touched her face self-consciously. Of course, some people hadn't seen her in the past few months. Her souvenir from the fight with Dagoth Ur was quite shocking to the unaccustomed. Hells, it was still quite shocking to her, when she caught her reflection in passing. Both Mashti and Sinnammu had tried in vain to heal the scars closing her empty eye-socket before declaring it beyond them.
"I am sorry, Llovesi," Mashti had said. "Whatever deep magic the Sharmat Dagoth Ur corrupted in his self-creation, he has tainted you with. I fear these scars will be with you forever. If it is beyond the powers of Azura then I regret that I cannot and perhaps should not attempt any more."
If this was Azura's parting shot, then Llovesi could deal with that. The Daedra Prince had been silent on all other fronts, ever since their last meeting on the mountain. No more prophecies. She was free.
Ashkhan Han-Ammu of the Erabenimsun was waving them over. Llovesi was walking beside Julan when she felt someone tug at her elbow.
It was Mashti herself.
"I wanted to speak with you before the ceremony," she said, and motioned to Llovesi to follow her a little way down the beach, away from the music, the chatter and the playful screams of children.
"I will not draw you from your guests and celebrations long," the mabrigash said, and hesitated, "but I wanted to speak with you alone. My son would think me an old fool. Perhaps you will too."
"No, of course n–"
Mashti held up a patient hand. "Whatever you may think, I have been an old fool. But all that is in the past now." She cast her eyes out to sea.
Llovesi studied the other woman's face carefully. She did have a new warmth to her expression when they saw her now, but her eyes bore a sadness that seemed set in stone. And she still carried herself shyly among the Ahemmusa, like a dog fearing a master's kick.
Mashti continued to gaze out over the gentle waves. It was a clear day, and they could almost make out the beach where Camp Kaushibael lay.
"I have been meditating upon the ancestors guidance," Mashti said slowly, her eyes fixed on some mid-point in the distance. "And, well, you are making your lives further from me today. So I think perhaps I will... come to visit more, if...?"
Llovesi took Mashti's hand. "We'd love you to," she said, and meant every word.
Mashti smiled, turning to look at Llovesi. "Thank you. The stars have smiled upon you, Llovesi. You do look beautiful today. I am glad that my dress could finally serve its purpose, and make some better memories."
It was Llovesi's turn to stammer awkwardly.
Mashti cut across her politely. "You have made my son a very happy mer. Perhaps happier than I could have, but I know a mother's love can be difficult to bear. But when I see him happy, I am happy. I thank you for that. You have my blessing, and the blessing of the ancestors... daughter."
Family. Acceptance. The greatest gifts she could have hoped for. Lost for words, Llovesi swept the surprised mabrigash into a hug.
"Come now," Mashti said finally. "They must be waiting for you. Azura take me if I make you late for your own wedding!"
The great hall of Ald Daedroth could hardly be described as light and airy, even in the heart of spring, but it was utterly transformed today. Gone were the tanning racks, cooking pots and storage crates, relegated to interior chambers. They were replaced with wreaths of flowers and benches. Gold Kanet, Willow Anther and Stoneflower, woven into delicate patterns, draped the red stone pillars. Coloured paper lanterns, in blue, red and green, had been strung along the walls, casting a soft, flattering glow upon the faces of the guests.
Llovesi and Julan faced each other, holding hands in front of Sinnammu, who was patiently waiting for the last of the guests to settle themselves onto the makeshift wooden benches. At last she raised her arms, her long-robed sleeves falling to her elbows, in a gesture of welcome.
"Greetings, Hearthfriends and guests, come to witness the joining of these two souls beneath the Gods and ancestors," she began, speaking Tamrielic so that all could understand.
"Long has it been our tradition, and the tradition of many, for the Ashkhan to choose his bride. Llovesi and Julan have chosen to change this tradition. They have chosen each other.
"What a wondrous love it is,
To bind two souls in faith,
Chained completely together,
With never a false word,
Weal and woe, wish and real,
Woven each together,
From first kiss to last breath,
First and last whispered in love."
Llovesi squeezed Julan's hands tightly. They'd chosen the poem together as well. She turned to smile at their guests, catching Hassour Zainsubani's eye, and that of his son, Hannat. She'd discovered the poem just before she'd first met the old trader.
Sinnammu was now inviting them to take their vows.
"Han-Julan Kaushibael," Llovesi began, "I have chosen to take you as my husband, lover and partner for life, in all things and before the ancestors and Gods. Will you take me?"
"Llovesi, I have chosen to take you as my wife, lover and partner for life, in all things and before the ancestors and Gods. If you will take me, then I will take you."
They were married. Llovesi felt sweet emotion fill her up. She had the impression that if she took one step she would float up and away into the clouds. Giddily, she clutched at Julan as applause and cheers popped in her ears.
Then someone screamed.
It was Galdal Omayn, the Grand Marshal of the Buoyant Armigers who had fought with Llovesi at Ghostgate. No sooner had the scream been torn from her lips than a trickle of blood followed. She had been stabbed in the back.
Everything started happening very quickly. Llovesi could only watch, paralysed by horror, as Ralyn Othravel rose in his seat and slew the black-armoured assassin before he had a chance to make another move and as the other guests ran, gasping and yelling. The world moved as if it were a series of images, being displayed one at a time.
Guests falling over each other, as pandemonium descended.
Galdal's body, twitching as she bled out on the floor, as temple priests and priestesses tried desperately to heal her.
The second assassin, moving through the crowd.
Llovesi saw them and she couldn't move. Every limb was frozen in place, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Julan was shouting next to her, but his eyes were elsewhere, fixed on what had happened, and not on what would. They had no weapons on them. Llovesi strained to reach inside herself, to draw out a fire spell. But the assassin was flying towards her now, she could see the soft light of the lanterns glinting off their Daedric dagger...
Then someone else was in front of her. Mashti. Like her son before her once had, she threw herself in front of an attacker's blade.
The dagger sank into her chest to its hilt. The tip pricked Llovesi's stomach as it emerged the other side. The assassin grunted in frustration as Mashti sagged, but she wasn't finished yet. She placed her hands firmly on either side of his head. Llovesi watched, powerless to respond, as the assassin's helmet became frosty, then glacial. The ice spread down his body as he stiffened, lost grip on the dagger, and fell back.
The room was quieting now. No more assassins were springing from the crowd and the guests were holding each other, calming each other down. Llovesi felt as though she were in a thick mist. Mashti fell against her, and she laid her mother-in-law down gently on the floor. Julan was there now, his eyes wide.
"Mo–mother? Mother!"
Llovesi pulled the dagger from Mashti's chest with a sick, sucking noise. She placed her hands on the wound and pushed with every fibre of her being. Heal.
But something was wrong. There was more than blood seeping from Mashti's wound. Some darker substance was leaking out, absorbing Llovesi's healing spell. Keeping the wound open.
Mashti began to shake. Her eyes rolled mouth in her head, sweat beaded on her forehead and spittle bubbled in the corners of her mouth. She reached up and grasped Llovesi's arms till her knuckles went white.
"L–l–l..." she stuttered.
"No!" Llovesi cried. "No, please, this isn't fair. Not like this!"
"L–l–l... d–d–d..." Then her hands dropped, she coughed, and her head lolled.
The guests gathered around them, and Julan pulled Llovesi into his arms. She wasn't sure if it was her tears that were staining her cheeks, or his.
All around them, no one spoke a word. The silence of the grave had descended.