A/N: Hello to everyone still reading along! And thanks to krikanalo and CampsMcCamper for reviewing the last chapter. I tell you, if I keep getting reviews like that I'm going to get such a big head! But thanks so much, the support means everything to me! Speaking of support, I'm so happy to say that Fire and Ash has now got over 5,000 views, and people are still reading it. That probably isn't a lot at all in the grand scheme of Elder Scrolls fanfiction, but it's certainly more than I ever thought it would get. Onto this chapter, which I'm happier with than the last two, though I am obviously still playing fast and loose with Tribunal's storyline and interpretations of Almalexia. I should probably slap down a warning before we start (apologies if I've forgotten before, the language is a little stronger in this fic, but it does say in the summary I guess):
Warning: for potentially offensive language and depictions of violence.
Chapter 12: Storm and Strife
Llovesi and Julan held each other for a long time that night before they drifted off to sleep, and when they did it was a restless and uneasy slumber.
They'd spent the rest of the day fruitlessly trying to come up with an idea of what to do: how to approach Almalexia again, how to learn more about Sotha Sil and the attacks. How to help the people of Mournhold in the escalating hysteria. Eno Romari's voice carried loud over the noise of the street below as people made their way between taverns and eateries. It seemed that Almalexia had yet to deal with him.
But they'd come up with nothing. The best Llovesi had suggested was to go back to Almalexia alone, apologise, and persuade her that dealing with Sotha Sil was the best way to comfort her people and restore her faith. But Julan would hear nothing of her going back alone, not after the encounter they'd just had.
"Almalexia is guar-faced whore!" he'd whispered ferociously, braver now they were alone, before holding her protectively close.
Llovesi was glad for his companionship, she always had been and she knew she always would be, but she did not like the path his thoughts were taking. Almalexia had made the rivalry between herself and Julan explicit, and it still wasn't something Llovesi could quite wrap her head around. At least she now understood why Helseth and Barenziah both had stressed the importance of her being the Nerevarine. They must have known she'd be like this. But why do they want me to goad her? It's just going to end badly for everyone. And now a line had been drawn, a line between her husband and a Goddess of the Tribunal. She knew that both of them only saw one way out.
Could you kill a God? That was a moot point, Llovesi supposed. Dagoth Ur was dead, wasn't he? The Heart had been the only thing tying him, his Ash brothers, and the Tribunal to immortality. It wasn't really a question of 'could', it was a question of 'would'. Julan felt Almalexia was dangerous enough to warrant taking care of. Llovesi still thought neither her nor Sotha Sil had done enough to condemn them, not yet. Vivec's words came to mind. "Can you, mortal, presume to judge the actions and motives of a God?"
Llovesi rolled over resolutely and tried to go to sleep. Yes, she could judge the Tribunal for what they had done to Nerevar. She could judge a God if they had caused direct harm and had the intention to do so again. Neither Sotha Sil nor Almalexia fulfilled those criteria at the moment, no matter how unhinged they were.
That same night, Salas Valor was in the most central and secret part of the Temple, and he knew his time must nearly be up. Sweat poured furiously down his forehead and his breath was shallow, but he hadn't wanted to waste time by removing his armour.
He was on his knees in Almalexia's quarters. The Goddess rarely slept, so it did not truly resemble a bedroom in any conventional sense. There was a bed, but it seemed to have never been lain upon, and was almost ornamental in its presence. Instead, the Goddess used the room as a safe space for all the possessions she had amassed over the years.
Salas Valor searched through chest after chest, his fingers brushing countless priceless objects: trinkets and rings, embroidered cloths and sheathed weapons. He knew what he was searching for: the Goddess had mentioned it only once in a sermon, but it had stuck in his mind ever since.
But how much time did he have left? The Goddess would surely return soon from wherever she had decided to go–her trips never lasted long. And he had no intention of being in the Temple when she did come back. His fingers trembled as his ears strained to grasp any small noise that might be a warning.
He shifted a burnished shield that held powerful resistive enchantments and hissed a sharp intake of breath between his teeth. There it was.
The dream was strange to be sure, but she'd had stranger. It wasn't really the images that disturbed Llovesi as she tossed and turned in bed next to Julan, so indistinct they were. It was the sounds. It was the screams. And she shook in her sleep until the movement dragged her through the many dark and hazy pressing layers, and she woke, wrapped in the sheets and shivering, despite the humidity of the room.
The screams were real.
So was the howling. And it was a howling that Llovesi knew well, a howling that had pricked the hairs on her neck and caused her to look around ever since she had first heard it. The howling of an ashstorm.
She kicked off the sheets and ran to the window to see that the glass panes were rattling with the force of the wind. The world outside was a greyish-brown blur. She could see trees being tormented, their branches whipped and their leaves stripped as the wind pulled them this way and that, and the ash bit into their greenery, leaving ragged holes.
She saw people, fighting against the storm, fighting to get to shelter, but blundering in the dense clouds. It was hard to tell at a distance, but was the ash tearing into their skin, just as easily as it tore through the foliage? Llovesi knew it must be. And if the screams were any indication, it was forcing its way down their throats, filling their lungs. They wouldn't last long without help.
She jumped back from the window, pulling on her clothes and armour as fast as she could. Numb shock was evaporating now, and something that burned both cold and hot was taking its place. Rage. Perhaps it was also a sort of disappointment. She had expected more of Almalexia. Had hoped, somewhere deep down inside her, that the Goddess was capable of more. But she had staked her pride over the well-being of her city, for who else could have caused these ash storms?
Llovesi was furious now, as wild as the tempest outside. How dare she. How little regard she had for these people. She strapped her weapons to her back and belt with shaking fingers. Sotha Sil and his creatures be damned. Almalexia was going to be taken care of. Today.
Suddenly, a large branch was ripped from a tree, and it sailed through the air into their bedroom window with a wall-shaking crack. Julan sat bolt upright, the bedsheets falling down to his waist.
"What was that?" he panted.
The branch was gone, but thin, spidery cracks had appeared in the windows thick glass. Another blow like that and the storm would claim the room.
"Almalexia has realised she doesn't need faithful slaves to carry out her every whim," Llovesi said, slinging her pack over one shoulder. "Now, I'm going to let her know what I think of this development."
Julan jumped from the bed and ran to the window as fast as his legs would take him. He paused there a moment, knuckles turning white as he grasped the sill. Then, he turned back to Llovesi, and his panicked face was gone, replaced by a grim expression of determination.
"Yes," he said. "I think we should."
Salas Valor could hear the howls and the screams from the sewer, and he cursed himself as a coward for not springing to the people's aid. But the object he now carried was too precious to risk losing. Not until he could be sure she was near.
If the sounds coming from above were any indication, the Goddess herself had achieved what she had asked of the stranger, of Llovesi. It did not surprise him. She had a certain bull-headed stubbornness that only drove her further in her ambitions. The word 'no' was an alien concept. He still had to stop himself mentally scolding his own thoughts, for slowly he was beginning to realise the liberty in thinking them. My Goddess is a mad creature, and I hold in my hands the key to her defeat.
He took the object carefully in his hands, and unwrapped it slightly from the cloth he had shoved it in. It shone down here in the murk as brightly as it had shone above. Perhaps it could be mistaken for a small dagger, admittedly of a curiously outlandish design with its short, curved, spiked blade and carved grip, but he knew it was part of something so much bigger.
He leant his head back against the damp tiled wall and sunk slowly to the ground until he was sitting in the inch of muck that filled this branch of the Temple sewers. Now he had to wait. From what he'd been able to guess of Llovesi's character, she would come soon, and when she did, the detect life spell he'd created would reveal her to him. So he sat, as the wind beat furiously upon the ground above and the cries of the people of Mournhold rattled though the tunnels. And he waited.
Llovesi had left her chitin helm in Vvardenfell, and Julan had never had anything of the sort, so they had to improvise. They took the gauze from their curtains and the sheets from their beds, fashioning head wraps with a protective layer for their eyes. All while they worked, the wind and ash continued to beat on their window. There were no more screams from outside which meant either everyone had managed to find shelter or...
They went down the stairs into the bar area. Forlorn eyes stared back, those of men, women and mer who'd come to seek refuge. Many had the distinctive ash scrapes lashed into their unprotected skin, ugly red-raw rashes weeping beads of blood. Most were huddling together, more than a few were praying. Ra'Tesh, the bartender, was occupied, fetching blankets, food, and drinks to calm nerves. All the eyes in the room followed Llovesi and Julan as they made their way to the door.
Hession stepped forward, moving between them and the door. Her normally slick bun was winding loose, and tendrils of silver-golden hair were escaping down her face.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice trembling but her posture firm.
"To stop these ashstorms," Llovesi replied, her voice slightly muffled by fabric.
"I can't let you leave," the Altmer said, her voice growing in strength. "These people," and she gestured to the ash-worn refugees, "barely got in without bringing the ash with them."
Sure enough, patches of ash swirled round the front door and Hession's feet.
"Besides," she continued, "we know that the storms will not stop until Almalexia wills it. She has brought them upon us for being faithless. They started around two hours ago. Then the High Ordinators came and told us 'the ashstorms will stay until you learn to appreciate all that the Lady of Mercy does for you.' So we pray, and we hope she hears us."
The fervent, whispered prayers in the room were growing louder. Llovesi was aware of everyone's eyes upon them.
"If you want to help," Hession said. "Join us in prayer. Do not risk causing us more harm."
Julan reached for his sword and unsheathed it slowly and audibly.
"Let us out," he said. "Now."
Hession stared at his blade, then drew herself up imperiously. "Fine," she said. "Fine. Leave then. But do not expect to be welcomed back."
She moved out of the way. Julan sheathed his sword and reached for the door handle. He twisted it and the latch clicked, then the handle was wrenched from his grasp as the wind kicked the door in. Llovesi and Julan barely had a moment to collect themselves before they were pushed outside and the door slammed behind them.
The wind tore at their head wraps immediately, but the knots held fast. Llovesi squinted through the raging brown-grey clouds, horrified by what she could glimpse. Part of her wanted to stop and stare, but she knew they couldn't. The trick with an ashstorm was to keep moving, head bowed and limbs tight to the body. Stay still too long, and the ash had time to accumulate, work its way into the folds of your clothing and weigh you down. Worse, it also had the chance to find any unprotected bit of skin, and slice into it mercilessly. The storms had come so suddenly, the people walking the streets had had no chance. Llovesi could see some of them. Dark forms slumped in the streets. Maybe some of them were still alive. Llovesi blinked back furious tears. She couldn't go to them, had nothing to give them, not enough magicka to heal them all.
They pushed onwards towards the Temple district. The ash was piling against houses, forming banks and drifts. The trees were bare now, the branches writhing in the winds like electrified limbs. The flowers might have never existed at all. Everything was grey, everything was brown, and no living thing walked the streets.
How many hours it took them to struggle through the streets, Llovesi and Julan didn't know. It was impossible to tell the position of the sun through the clouds, the little light they were receiving let them know it was still day at least. Finally they reached the Temple gardens, now a wasteland. Llovesi felt that somewhere Gee-Pop Varis must be weeping the loss of his life's work. Then she gasped, because as they rounded the Temple to come onto its steps, they could see people.
Many, many people, mostly Dunmer, all swaddled in protective clothing, were lying prostrate on the ground before the Temple. Others were raising their arms in supplication. Among them and at the foot of the great steps, Eno Romari was striding. His face was covered too, but his white robe shone even through the swirling ash. He was shouting something, waving his arms, but those praying were shying away from him. Llovesi and Julan drew closer.
"The Goddess has created these storms to show us true power, but power through fear! She means to draw us back to her, a cruel mother reining in her children! Resist, people of Mournhold! Do not pray to the Goddess! Come into the light of realisation! The End of Times is near!"
Suddenly, and silently, two high Ordinators came down the steps from the Temple, and seized Eno Romari from behind. His protests were lost to the wind as they dragged him backwards up the steps. The Dunmer before the Temple neither seemed to notice, nor care about his disappearance, so lost they were in their own prayers.
Llovesi and Julan followed the High Ordinators up the steps and towards the Temple door, but before they could reach it, another Ordinator ran out towards them. She recognised his armour–it was the same pale gold as the Hands of Almalexia. Llovesi drew a spear and the Dagger of Symmachus, and moved into a fighting stance, but the Ordinator was waving something at her and shouting. She hesitated, then moved in closer to hear the words coming from within his Indoril helm.
"... she must be stopped!" he was shouting hoarsely. "You must take this and reforge the blade! Reforge the Blade of Nerevar! Reforge Trueflame!"
He pushed the wrapped object at her, and Llovesi sheathed the dagger she was holding and took it. It seemed to be a dagger itself, though strangely angular in design, with a spiked blade.
"Find a master craftsman!" the High Ordinator was shouting. "Seek help in finding the other parts of the blade. It is the only way to slay a God becoming mortal in battle! You must ref–"
He was cut off, by a sudden silence. The winds had stopped. All around them, the ash was frozen in motion, as if time itself was being held still. Llovesi stepped backwards, feeling the ash brush and stick against her armour like warm flakes of snow. The praying Dunmer below them were gazing up in wonder.
"Salas Valor." The words rang out all around them, motherly and warm, gently admonishing, yet rich and powerful.
The High Ordinator was backing away, back towards the Temple. Suddenly he stopped, as if he had bumped into something invisible. Slowly, very slowly, his helmet was lifted from his face. His hands flew up to stop it, trying to pull it down, but it was pulled irresistibly free of his fingers. His hair was dark, his face handsome but distraught, his eyes were wide and full of fear, and his mouth was forming silent pleas.
"You have betrayed your Goddess, Salas Valor. Leaving my service. Speaking madness and blasphemy in front of my Temple."
Llovesi felt a vibrating in her hands, and looked on in shock as the strange dagger was lifted free of her hands.
"You have lost your mind. You are not responsible for your actions."
It moved through the air, slow as time itself, until its warped tip was touching Salas Valor's forehead. Then it began to push.
The scream it tore from the man was unbearable. All around them the praying mer had stopped and were rising to their feet, covering their eyes and ears in shock. Llovesi wished she could tear her eye away from the tortured man in front of her, howling as the blade dug its way through his skull. He sunk to his knees, fingers grasping desperately at the ground, and Llovesi could take it no longer. She drew her dagger once more, and ran to his side. Then she bent over, and slit his throat, holding him as he died.
There was a bright flash of golden light as Salas Valor slumped to the ground, and Almalexia stood before them.
There were screams of joy and terror from the assembled crowd as she raised her arms in front of the strange scene, coating herself in the suspended ash. As Vivec had, she seemed only more alien outside of her Temple, and it was a bewildering sight.
"My champion," she said, indicating Llovesi as the latter bent to remove the dagger from Salas Valor's head. "My Nerevarine has taken care of a problem that could have plagued as all. She has brought the peace of understanding to Salas Valor, my rogue Hand, and dealt with him. The pain is almost more than I can bear, but see how she has served me faithfully!"
Her voice rose, impossibly loud, over the crowd who, as one, began to bow.
"You must all serve me faithfully! Until then, until I am convinced of your loyalty, these storms will continue."
A great cry of anguish went across the crowd, but Almlaexia was already turning back to her High Ordinators, who had fanned out of the Temple behind her.
"Oh yes," she said, as she passed Llovesi. "I did promise you would see Almalexia is capable of more than you think." Her eyes flicked to the strange blade in Llovesi's hand, and she smiled.
"Take the man."
Ordinators came forward, grabbing Julan forcibly by the arms.
"No!" Llovesi shouted! "No!"
But it was too late. With one last smile, Almalexia sent the same bright golden light around them, and then they were gone. High Ordinators, Almalexia, and Julan.
"No!" Llovesi yelled again, but it was almost a strangled whisper. She ran to the doors of the Temple, tugged at the ornate handles, but the door was unyielding. She beat upon it with her fists, but still it stayed closed.
She took several disbelieving steps backward and sank to her knees beside the corpse of Salas Valor, the object he'd given her hanging loosely in her hands, and she wept, as the wind began to howl again and the ash began to tear at her clothes, her heart, her soul.