A/N: Good morning to you all! Thanks again to my wonderful Constant Reviewers (to slightly steal a Stephen King phrase): CampsMcCamper, Ozymandeos and krikanalo for reviewing chapter 7. Your feedback is very valuable to me. We get to meet several very important figures in this chapter... two queens, at opposite ends of the board.
Chapter 8: Isolani
The pillars of the Temple soared to the ceiling, an intricate mosaic of Her triumphs blazoned above. Six High Ordinators took the flanks, Her Hands in six silver helms gazing downwards. And in the centre She stood glowing soft gold, but Her light only brushed the edge of his perception.
Fedris Hler knelt on the ground, bent so low that his forehead touched the stone floor. Besides him knelt Gavas Drin, his long robe pooling onto the tiles. But Fedris was only vaguely aware of this, as he kept his eyes fixed on green marble. His mind was full of Her presence.
There was the softest padding of bare feet on marble as Almalexia stepped forwards. Then, an almost imperceptible gentle tinkling as arms bearing many bangles were raised skywards. He knew this because it had happened before, when they had been allowed to gaze on her for sermons in days past. But now the Goddess was troubled, and now more could they look upon her beauteous face. She had changed, and it ached his heart. He longed to help her. But she could be as fierce and proud as she was beautiful and strong–terrifying to behold in her anger.
"My servant has done my bidding," the Goddess began, her voice all at once deep, rich, and soft, the most delicious nectar for the ears.
"The Shrine of the Dead has been cleansed."
At this Gavas Drin let out a sharp hiss of breath, and Fedris Hler shifted slightly away from him in discomfort.
"I feel its power restore me slightly. It is good, clean and righteous power, power that I shall put to the aid and love of my people. And they shall love me. You shall tell them this. Almalexia, the Mother Goddess and Lady of Mercy, still watches Her people. Almalexia knows and sees. She knows that they lose faith; She sees the faithless conspiring in the streets. It is because of these faithless that we had to restore our Shrine of the Dead. The faithless turn from their Goddess and they will be punished. It is the natural order of things. And the good, the faithful and loyal good, shall be rewarded. You too shall be rewarded, my loyal servants."
There was another soft tinkling as the Goddess lowered her arms again.
"Sadly, the young priest who restored the shrine was lost in our catacombs, lost to the vile and faithless creatures that patrol below. He was a most loyal servant, good and faithful to the end, and his service shall not be forgotten. But now, I see a new servant coming."
Gavas Drin gasped loudly again, and Fedris felt his heart thump in his chest. A new servant? Could She mean... was it finally his chance...?
"This servant comes from outside."
Fedris felt his heart sink and he squeezed his eyes shut against the bitter cold stone.
"You will know her from the description I give you. I believe I have known her before, under another name. It is my hope that she will rise to be my greatest servant of all–to restore me to my full greatness and help spread the Light of my Glory to the whole of Morrowind!"
The Goddess's voice had risen to a crescendo on the final words, so that she was almost singing to them. Now she dropped to a whisper.
"But now, my good and faithful servants, you must prepare. She will be here soon, I can sense it. And there is much to be done before her arrival."
Llovesi walked back to the Palace with a strange buzz in her ears. There was a new spring in her step, and a new document in her satchel.
'The Common Tongue, Special Issue'.
Her bargaining chip.
An article containing details of every single thing Tienius Delitian had had her and Julan doing–had coerced them into doing–according to the King's wishes, since their arrival in Mournhold. Just one copy, but hundreds more sat waiting with Trels Varis in his new hideout. And if she and Julan were to disappear, the distribution of these broadsheets would be immediate.
No more playing games.
Tienius Delitian received them in the throne room, which was still empty of any royal presence. A stern expression sat on his face. Admittedly, this didn't make any great change.
"So you have returned," he said. "Before we get to business I have some unfortunate news."
"Oh?" Llovesi asked, folding her arms. Biding her time.
"Yes. Those men you found guilty of conspiring against King Helseth? All three have escaped." He fixed her with a careful look. "There must be a leak here at the Palace. Now, did you find the anonymous writer of 'The Common Tongue'?"
"I did."
"And he would be...?"
"A man by the name of Trels Varis. Who has promised to stop writing about Helseth. We made a deal you see."
Llovesi stepped forward with menace as Julan scowled darkly by her side, by Delitian continued to stare them down unflinchingly.
"We're done being your lackeys," she continued. "I want to speak with King Helseth. Now."
"As I've said," Delitian said in measured tones, "the King will not speak with you at this time."
The other guards on duty were starting to look their way. Llovesi's cheeks flushed with hot colour, as she raised her voice.
"I don't think you under–"
"The Queen Mother has asked to speak with you."
Llovesi stopped, wrong-footed. Julan spoke up, disbelief clear in his voice.
"Barenziah wants to speak to us?"
"Lady Barenziah," Delitian said, switching his hard gaze to Julan. "She is waiting in her chambers. I will have a page escort you there momentarily. But first..."
He crossed to the throne, and retrieved a long wrapped package from behind it, then returned to them, unwinding the rich cloth.
"Our generous reward," he said. "For your most loyal service, with our gratitude."
It was a sword. Not just any sword, but one of the most beautiful, and dangerous, looking swords Llovesi had ever seen. Easily twice as long as her arm, seemingly Daedric in design, sharper than a Daedroth's fang; the black steel of the handle was carved with a delicate crimson inlay. The whole blade practically shone with its magical enchantment.
Llovesi swallowed hard.
"I thought we had reached an understanding," she said finally. "I'm not taking your bribes."
Delitian lowered the sword. "A shame," he said. "This is a 'King's Oath' blade–exactly like those used by the Royal Guard. Only those sworn to the King's service and tested by great trials may use them. We had thought to offer it to you in mutual friendship. Still, if you will refuse, perhaps there will be other opportunities to recognise this... relationship. Now, the Queen Mother, Lady Barenziah, will see you."
He clicked his fingers, and an Imperial page waiting in the back of the room rushed forwards.
"If you will, seras," he said nervously. "The Queen Mother is waiting."
He led them through a door at the back of the throne room, through many low and winding passages and high-ceiling-halls with planters that burst with colour. They passed through an area with many Imperial shrines and robed priests praying. Finally, they ascended a staircase, and the page knocked on a door.
"These are her Lady's apartments," he said. "This is where I shall leave you."
A Redguard woman in Royal Guard armour opened the door.
"Please come in," she said. "Our Queen is waiting for you."
She led them into a sumptuously decorated room, and then returned to her post by the door, watching them carefully. The walls were the same pastel green, the floors the same deep green marble, as the rest of the palace, but in everything else was evidence of the Queen's touch. Mahogany bookcases lined with hundreds of books, bound in rich red leather with tiny golden letters on the spines. Silken tapestries depicting beautiful and exotic landscapes that Llovesi didn't recognise, mountains and tundra and seascapes. Rose-coloured screens of the type Llovesi had seen on Vvardenfell shielded a large sitting area with divans, a rug, a low table and an empty fireplace. And in this sitting-room, carefully poised on one of the plump-cushioned divans, was an elderly Dunmer woman.
She sat, straight-backed and elegant, her silver hair wound up in an intricate style by many gold pins and a golden crown. Her long crimson gown, with accents of deep purple, complemented her shrewd eyes perfectly. In truth, these eyes were the only true indicator of her age. Many Dunmer, young and old, bore silver hair, and the woman's face was curiously smooth and soft. But her eyes spoke of things seen and done, of tragedies and accomplishments, of flirtation and stoicism, of wisdom and youthful foolishness and above all, of age.
These were the eyes of an old woman indeed, the eyes of Queen Barenziah. The Queen who had lived in Skyrim and High Rock. The Queen who had been a thief, a love, a mother and a schemer. The Queen who had consorted with Tiber Septim, with Symmachus and with Jagar Tharn. Lady Barenziah, Queen Mother of Mournhold, woman of fame and legend.
Llovesi and Julan bowed low before her. Whatever her position in this current state of affairs, she was not her son, and deserved respect.
Smiling, Queen Barenziah rose to her feet with a swish of skirts.
"Approach and be recognised, my good people," she said.
Her voice was soft yet commanding. Llovesi and Julan took each other's hand and stood before the Queen.
"Greetings, Llovesi and Julan. I've been wanting to speak with you. I understand you've been performing some duties for Tienius, and you've done well. I believe there are other matters you should investigate as well."
"With all due respect your majesty," Llovesi said. "If you know about what we've been doing for Captain Delitian then you'll also know why. We believe we've been unfairly and cruelly manipulated and we have no more desire to be involved in Palace propaganda."
Barenziah nodded. "I understand your sentiments. This is why I have asked to speak to you–without my son's knowledge, though he will no doubt find out in due course. It is my belief that my son has been testing you."
"Testing us?" Julan asked incredulously. But in Llovesi's mind it didn't sound that odd at all. Something Delitian had said floated to her: "It's your judgement I'm testing, not mine..."
"Why has he been 'testing' us?" she asked. "What for?"
Barenziah sighed. "Believe me when I say that, like me, my son only has the best interests of his people at heart, and he sees himself able to help only through his current position, a position he ruthlessly and ambitiously fights to hold. I am not blind to this. But even I cannot know his every intention. It is my belief that perhaps he once saw you as a threat, and now he believes you can help us."
She turned to gaze out of the rose-coloured window into the gardens below, and the pages and guards walking through the trees and flowers in the summer sunshine. Then she turned back to Llovesi and Julan and smiled, a little grimly.
"Mournhold is a town of two minds. On the one hand, there is the monarchy, led by Helseth, and on the other there is the Temple, and the Goddess Almalexia. It is hard to know whom you may trust. While there has been no open hostility between the two, there are always undercurrents that bear watching.
"So, I would like you to make yourself known to the Temple. See what you can learn. Speak to Fedris Hler. He is a powerful man in the Temple, a confidant of Almalexia. See if you can get to know him a bit."
"You... still want us to spy for Helseth?" Llovesi asked carefully. "Despite what we've just told you?"
"As I've said, I cannot know all that my son does, and I cannot agree with all his methods. But I think we can agree on the fact that the growing tensions in Mournhold will come to no good. Do these tensions stem entirely from the Temple? We in the Palace are not blameless, but you have doubtless heard reports of how Almalexia has recently... changed. And there is more to Hler than one would think. There are rumours that he was once an assassin. It is fairly widely known that he is the leader of the Hands of Almalexia, her personal guard. This is not a person to be trifled with. I think the Temple bears investigation. Your position is useful for this, and it is my hope that your husband will assist you."
"My position?" Llovesi asked.
Barenziah smiled again.
"I know a little about the prophecies. I know about you and the Temple. Some people in the west set great store in signs and portents, but for thousands of years we Dunmer have had the luxury of being able to speak directly to our Gods. We have no need of prophets, and distrust anyone who claims to speak for the Gods."
"I do not claim to speak for the Gods," Llovesi said. "I speak for the people of Morrowind, and their interests."
"Of course. But Fedris Hler and Gavas Drin would not see it that way, given that they themselves are fast becoming the mouthpieces for their Goddess's new sermons. But those who keep company with Gods are much the same as those who keep company with kings. Why should you trust me?"
She leant closer to them, close enough that Llovesi could smell the spice of her perfume and see something approaching a twinkle in her eye.
"My time in the political arena is done, and I will not miss it. I do, however, like to know what is happening to my son, and to his monarchy. I stay interested. You should also take the time to speak with Plitinius Mero, a dear friend of mine. He is knowledgeable on a great many subjects, and is always interesting to speak with. Apart we two, it is up to you to decide who your friends are."
"The man who wrote The Real Barenziah?" Julan asked, suddenly and eagerly.
Barenziah laughed suddenly and the twinkle in her eye became a full-on spark.
"So you've read it? Not his real name of course, but he is close to me. A man of the people, a good source of information. These royal trappings don't allow me to get out as much as I'd like, but I can always count on Plitinius to know how the winds will change. You'll often find him wandering about in the Palace Courtyard. Get to know him. His knowledge and judgement are unparalleled."
"Very well your majesty," Llovesi said slowly, seeing Julan nod his agreement. "We'll speak to your friend and we'll speak to Fedris Hler. For the good of the people. Not for Helseth. I haven't renounced my ambitions to speak with him."
"Of course," Barenziah said, sitting back down. "And I expect I'll be seeing you both again in the future as well."
The mid-morning sunshine was already growing hot, but there was plenty of shade to be had under the towering trees in the Palace courtyard. Bugs and birds alike twittered overhead, and Plitinius Mero was seating reading on a bench.
Without Barenziah's description, Llovesi and Julan might have dismissed him as just another court noble, or an old brown-noser, an eager social climber. The man's silver hair was combed neatly over a bald spot, and he wore blue silken clothes with the gold brocade, emerald beading and short cape that seemed so fashionable in the capital.
With Barenziah's description, they noticed more. The careful, attentive way he turned the pages. Worn patches on his elbows, as if he spent time hunched over a desk. Callouses on the sides of his fingers. The writer barely even noticed them approach, so engrossed he was in his book, and they had to cough politely before he looked up.
"Can I help you?" he asked brightly.
Llovesi sat down next to him, Julan next to her. "Barenziah sent us to speak with you."
Plitinius closed his book, a dreamy look coming over his face.
"Ahh... the Lady Barenziah. A fine, fine woman. It has been my pleasure to have known her as long as I have."
"And what do you make of her son?" Llovesi asked.
Plitinius's face clouded slightly. "It is certain that his bloodline is strong," he said. "He is a young king, though, and perhaps a bit rash. He does not yet possess his father's courage–or his mother's wisdom."
Llovesi nodded. So, he was prepared to speak his mind, and frankly too. Perhaps he could be trusted, as Barenziah had said.
"We're interested in how the wind's blowing," Julan said. "Particularly the wind... that's coming from the Temple." A funny look crossed his face as he spoke, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was saying.
Plitinius nodded politely. "Yes, I've heard many people express concerns about 'new directions' the Temple may be taking. But Almalexia is still much loved by the people of Mournhold. She was the wife of Nerevar and one of his most trusted advisors."
He glanced at Llovesi's scar. More subtly than most people admittedly, but she still caught the movement of his eyes.
"Yes, I'm well aware of the irony," she said.
"I do beg your pardon. However, I find it perhaps even more ironic that you're here, interviewing me, when arguably you should be the one being interviewed. Such a fascinating story you have. You know, I still possess some of my old ambition and talent. It'd be my honour to tell it to the world."
"Maybe another time," Llovesi said, quickly and dismissively, and Plitinius looked crestfallen. She softened her tone, realising the man had meant no harm. "Look, at the moment we're focusing on one thing. What more can you tell us about people at the Temple. Fedris Hler, maybe?"
Plitinius shrugged. "My research tells me that Hler has been with the Lady Almalexia for many years now, serving in an official capacity as her Steward. What these duties entail is not known to me, but there are rumours that he carries out some of the more... unpleasant chores for the Goddess."
He let the sentence drift between them, then continued. "There's also Gavas Drin, the Lord Archcanon. He came to the position over ten years ago, when the former Archcanon died of old age. Drin has spent his life in servitude to the Lady Almalexia, and he has been rewarded with great power."
"Thank you," Julan said, and glanced at Llovesi. "We should go."
"Of course," Plitinius picked up his book again, then hesitated. "A word of advice, Nerevarine and friend. The Queen Barenziah is a gracious, yet powerful figure. Many might say the same of the Lady Almalexia, although I quietly disagree that she could ever match our Queen Mother. But still, a pawn between two Queens is rarely a safe position to be in."
There were no midday worshippers at the Temple when Llovesi and Julan stepped from the sun into the cool of the reception area. The only sounds were the scratch, scratch, scratch of Granny Varis's dry-twig broom on the tiles, and a similar noise coming from the bald-headed priest they'd seen a few days ago, writing at a desk.
He looked up, and greeted Llovesi and Julan with the same piercing look he'd bestowed on them the week before, except this time he rose from his desk to greet them. His brown robe was patched and worn, perhaps deceptively worn, Llovesi thought, as his glass pauldrons gleamed almost as bright as the stained glass windows. She could see glass boots winking from beneath the torn hem of his robe as well. He doesn't want to be easy to figure out.
"Ahh... you're the one who has recently arrived in Mournhold from Vvardenfell. I am Fedris Hler," he said, ignoring Julan and approaching Llovesi directly. His voice came as a surprise, unctuous and yet warm, almost fatherly. She'd been expecting something pious and clipped or stern and cold, not this slippery familiarity. She took a step back.
"Yes, we arrived last week."
"I was told of your arrival," Hler continued, giving Julan the briefest of acknowledgments. "I understand you had some problems with the Dark Brotherhood. An interesting group... and usually rather effective. I'm surprised you're still alive. Perhaps you have potential, or they sent incompetents. I believe you might be of service to our Lady."
"To Almalexia?"
"Yes. The Goddess has asked to speak with you herself. You should go through the door behind into the High Chapel and take audience with her there. Don't keep her waiting."
Mouth suddenly strangely dry, Llovesi stepped towards the arch-shaped door, her hand stretching out to take the handle...
"Just you. Not him," Hler said from behind.
Llovesi turned round slowly. "Where I go, he goes," she said coldly. "He's my husband and you cannot stop us."
Hler bowed his head, his expression unreadable. "Very well then."
They turned back to the door, and went through into Almalexia's High Chapel.
Llovesi blinked as her eye got used to the dim light. She only had one other point of reference for the hall in which a Tribunate stood, and that was back in the palace of Vivec. Still, there were obvious similarities between the two–the lack of light despite a few braziers, the raised plinth, the figure standing in the middle, as if they were waiting...
And there were differences too. Almalexia's High Chapel was far larger, far more ornate and beautifully decorated, at the heart of her city rather than on the outskirts. And she was not alone–six High Ordinators in pale gold, rather than silver (or the yellow-gold of the Vvardenfell Ordinators) stood around her plinth. Her Hands.
The Goddess herself stepped forward.
"Come, and bathe in my light."
Her voice was deep and rich, as gilded as her fair skin. She was not as Vivec had been, half and half, balancing on a line, she was full Chimer and she looked as soft as any of the flowers blooming in the city. Her hair tumbled down her back in crimson curls, only slightly tamed by a jade circlet on her brow. Her lips were round, her eyes blazing gold. Her limbs were long and her curves sensuous, adorned only by armour: a barely-there breastplate, impressive curving pauldrons and light bracers. She wore many swirling, intricate tattoos, and the only fabric to caress her body was a gently cascading loincloth.
Llovesi swallowed hard. What were these thoughts running through her head? What were these feelings? Some strange new magic? Never had she felt...
She took Julan's hand firmly in her own, felt its callouses, felt his warmth. He was the one she loved, her constant partner and companion. Together they stepped forward to meet Almalexia.
"So," the Goddess said simply, gazing deeply into Llovesi's face. She was tall, nearly the same height as Llovesi. "You are the person I have been hearing about. You have come to dear Fedris and he has sent you to me. This is good."
She looked at Llovesi for a long time saying nothing. Llovesi felt the burning in the pit of her stomach ebb away, to be filled by something else. Discomfort. Julan's hand tightened over her own.
"I welcome you to my chapel, Llovesi... or perhaps I should call you by another name? But, that is a discussion for a later time. I have heard of you. I scarce choose to believe what I have heard..." She raised her hand, bracelets jingling softly and moved it slowly, irresistibly, towards Llovesi face, and stroked her fingertips gently down the left side of Llovesi face.
Her touch was as electric as Vivec's had been. Llovesi jerked away.
"What happened to you?" Almalexia asked softly.
"It was a madman," Llovesi spat; unsure of where her sudden disgust was coming from. It felt as though she were trying to struggle against some unseen force. "A madman who dreamt himself a God while he turned himself into a monster."
"Hmm." Almalexia lowered her hand so quickly it was hard to believe anything had ever happened. She continued to stare at Llovesi, a strange smile playing on her lips.
"I wanted to meet you Llovesi, to ask of you a service. Indeed, a service in my name is a service for all of Mournhold. Now, my faithful and obedient servant, let us discuss Barilzar's Mazed Band."
"I'm not your servant," Llovesi said slowly. "And what is this 'Barilzar's Mazed Band' you speak of?"
Almalexia hadn't stopped smiling. "All things in time, Llovesi. You forget that I am outside of time. Perhaps you have not been my servant, perhaps you are not, but I see that you will become my good and faithful servant. All things in time. As for the Mazed Band. It is an object that seems ordinary enough, but contains great power. I want it. My Lord Archcanon, Gavas Drin will be able to tell you where to find it."
"Hang on," Llovesi said. "You want me to go and find this for you, and you're not even going to tell me what it is? Why should I do this? Why do you want it?"
For the first time, Almalexia's smile faltered. She turned away from Llovesi and Julan, her shoulders shaking slightly. The High Ordinators remained as still as statues, even with this strange new sight before them.
"I cannot expect you to understand," the Goddess said in a choked voice.
Llovesi dropped Julan's hand and stepped forwards.
"Understand what?"
"The difficulty... the feeling of what I had, what I'd always I had, what I could have had–gone. I felt the Heart disappear, and it was a knife in my back."
She turned back to them, her exquisite lips trembling, her eyes shining. "No, you cannot hope to understand. You think I hide myself in here through choice? My people need me, they called out to me, and I could not help them because my power had diminished due to the faithless. And now... I can do nothing at all. It is hopeless."
She hadn't raised her voice once, simply continued to speak as tears seeped from her sparkling eyes.
"But this ring, this Mazed Band, I know it can bring me the power I need. To do good. To serve the Temple and all of Morrowind. I still have my magicka, but you cannot understand what a position I am in now..."
"Okay," Llovesi said. "I'll do this. For the–for your people." It was the second time she had made the promise that day, but this time it felt a little hollow. In truth, it was guilt coursing through her veins.
"Thank you," Almalexia whispered. "Go now, my good and faithful servant. Go now and speak with my loyal Drin in his office."
Llovesi and Julan turned to leave. Almalexia watched them go, watched her go. Her back was straight and her eyes were dry. She spoke, out loud and to no one in particular.
"I always knew how to talk to him."
A/N: Okay, so now we're approaching the part of the story that I adapted the most, and thus also struggled to write the most! The story-line is clear in my head, but occasionally I found I was trying to juggle the appropriate dialogue, motivations and relationships and tone in my head (in fact - I still am, as I'm still writing it!) So, I would be more grateful than ever for feedback on those things! Thank you for reading, one again.