Chapter 51
Curse
Upon returning to Miscarcand that afternoon, Telepe rode straight through the city gates and headed directly to the palace, where he locked himself in the archives and threw himself into two tasks – first writing a letter to Perrif informing her of the Khajiit army's arrival, and then focusing on finishing the trade agreement between Miscarcand and the rebellion. He didn't even bother greeting his companions when he entered the city. He couldn't bear to face them… at least, not yet. He feared that his golden eyes would be an obvious indication that something had happened while he was gone, and he had no pressing desire to explain his monumental failure with Meridia.
Fortunately for him, working on the trade treaty provided him with a temporary measure of peace, as it kept his mind occupied and allowed him to suppress his panic and despair so long as he was focused upon his task. He worked at a feverish pace, scribbling out page after page of the items that the rebellion had available for trade, as well as their value, and what the rebellion would expect in return. The figures began to blur together after a while, but even when his hand began to cramp, he couldn't bring himself to stop writing for more than a moment.
Thankfully, he was only interrupted twice. The first time, Dynar called out to him from behind the door, asking where he had been that morning, and when he expected to leave. Telepe had felt a cold chill run down his spine when he heard the elf's voice, and that dread turned to full-blown panic when the prince tried to open the door. Telepe half-screamed a reply that they would depart as soon as he was finished drafting the treaty, and he demanded that the prince not bother him until then. He was met with a cold silence, which made him grow increasingly anxious the longer it lasted. At last, Dynar quietly told him that he understood, and then asked him not to work too hard. Only when he heard the prince's footsteps fading down the hallway did he slump back into the chair with relief. Sweat was running down the back of his neck, and his heart was hammering in his throat. He knew that he couldn't avoid Dynar forever, of course, but he still needed time. He would tell the prince what had happened. Just not yet.
The second time he was disturbed by a knock at the door, the person announced themselves as a servant, come to offer him some food. Telepe had been so absorbed in his work that he only then noticed then that the sun was halfway down the horizon. Dread began to creep over him as the encroaching darkness reminded him that he likely wouldn't be able sleep that night, else he would risk being burned by Meridia's curse. Shaking that thought out of his head, he opened the door and graciously accepted the servant's offering of food – flatbread, olives, yoghurt, and spiced wine. Upon smelling the food, he suddenly realized how hungry he was, and he finally allowed himself a short break to eat.
Once he was finished, he felt more refreshed than he had expected, and he was able to finish the rest of the treaty before the sun had finished setting. After stuffing it into a scroll case it, he strode quickly through the palace to deliver the finished treaty to the king, who was still holding evening court. When Telepe presented the treaty to him, the king took it with an indifferent nod. The Ayleid's gaze did linger on Telepe's face for a long moment, but if he noticed the change to Telepe's eyes, he didn't say anything. He coolly reviewed the proposal, and after several long moments, deemed it satisfactory. His advisor presented him with a small circle of soft blue wax, and the king sealed the document with his signet ring before returning it to Telepe.
"When shall you leave to deliver this to your Paravant?" the king asked as Telepe tucked the document into his belt pouch.
"As soon as possible, Your Majesty," Telepe replied, lowering his eyes – partially to hide them.
The king considered him for a long moment, then glanced out the window at the darkening sky. "I shall permit you and your entourage to stay one more night in my palace. When you depart in the morning, take the highway east to my borders. You have my word that my patrols will ensure you reach the edge of my kingdom safely."
"Your Majesty is most gracious," Telepe replied with a strained smile. "Truly, I anticipate a long and prosperous alliance."
"Yes… so long as you respect our boundaries, I expect the same," the king agreed thoughtfully. Telepe's smile faltered, and he decided not to respond. Instead, he simply bowed and backed out of the throne room.
After he left the throne room, he wandered through the palace until he saw an open window, which gave him a clear view of the night sky. The sight of the twin moons rising made his stomach turn with anxiety. Now Meridia's curse would truly test him. He still couldn't sleep – once or twice, while he was working on the treaty, he had settled back into the chair and closed his eyes to think. Each time, after only a few moments, the searing light behind his eyes began to shine, and he had immediately snapped his eyes open to prevent himself from being burned. He would need to find a way to pass the night, to keep himself occupied enough that he wasn't tempted by the siren call of sleep. With the treaty finished, he could no longer distract himself with his work, he mused bitterly. After a moment, however, he realized that the palace still had a full library for him to peruse. With no better ideas, he pushed himself away from the wall, then wandered down the hall to the palace archives.
As he pulled open the door, he was pleased to see that the room was empty. He was grateful for the peace – it meant no demands about his purpose there, and no prying questions about his golden eyes. He took a few minutes to pull entire stacks of tablets and scrolls, which he spread out on the table. He then lit a clay oil lamp and began reading. He didn't particularly care what the subject of any one document was – one was a simple tabulation of crop yields for the year, another was a letter from the King of Garlas Agea sending his congratulations for the king's birthday, and yet another was a proposal for how to make the slaves work harder for less food. It didn't matter to Telepe, so long as the text helped him pass the time and kept his mind active.
After a few hours, however, he was no longer focusing on the documents. His thoughts kept wandering back to his meeting with Meridia. He began wondering whether he could have approached her differently, offered her anything else, addressed her more respectfully… anything that might have saved him from this torment. He also wondered why she was so stubborn, so certain of her victory. Did she still have yet more assets that she could unleash upon the rebellion? Was Umaril even more powerful than they realized? He was a demigod, after all, and Telepe was now beginning to understand the power of his mistress… and he suspected that she had barely used a fraction of her power to curse him so. What, then, could Umaril do? Could he-?
With an irritated growl, Telepe slammed his hands on the marble table and pushed himself up. His sudden movement knocked over the lamp, which clattered off the table and spilled out on the cold stone floor, though thankfully, it didn't break, and the flame was extinguished immediately. He glared down at the fallen lamp for a moment, then sighed and stooped down to pick it up. He simply couldn't read anymore, he decided. He needed to take a walk and collect his thoughts. And, more importantly, he needed to stop avoiding the question of what he intended to do about his curse.
After rolling up the scrolls and placing them, along with the tablets, back onto the shelves, he walked out of the palace and into the cool night air. As had become his habit, he took a moment to once again glance at the moons and check their position. There was, obviously, little change from the night before, though he thought Jone and Jode were perhaps a bit closer together. He couldn't be certain, though. Even so, the fact that they seemed to be coming nearer to each other was yet another source of worry for him.
Sighing, he looked back down and began to wander aimlessly down one of the empty cobblestone streets. Fortunately, it was a clear night, and Miscarcand's streets were well-lit by a series of tall, evenly spaced wooden posts, each capped with a glowing white stone that provided far more light than a torch. These, along with the sizable guard detail prowling the streets, made Miscarcand one of the safest nighttime cities he had ever visited. Which was fortunate for him, as he might be out in the streets for the rest of the night, he thought sourly.
Telepe shook his head as he continued his stroll, earning himself a confused glower from a guard that he was passing by. There was no point in dwelling on his mistake, he told himself sternly. He had erred by misunderstanding Meridia's temperament and power. He would not do so again. Now, it was more important to decide what to do next.
He couldn't keep the curse a secret, he decided. It would be physically and logistically impossible. One glance at his eyes made it clear that something had happened to him, and it wasn't as though he could isolate himself from the others. What's more, if he tried to hide his condition, it would only arouse curiosity, then suspicion, and then mistrust, especially if the others discovered the truth before he had the chance to explain himself. Thus, he decided to tell Dynar and the others about his meeting with Meridia first thing in the morning. He knew that Dynar in particular was likely to be furious that Telepe had ignored his advice, but there was no helping that. If anything, Telepe thought bitterly, he deserved the prince's scorn. Dynar had been right, after all.
A yawn suddenly escaped his lips, and just as he finished, he felt the blinding light starting to creep into the edges of his vision. He snapped his eyes open again, then let out an irritated groan as he ran his hand along his face. He would need to find a remedy for his lack of sleep as well. He was already tired, having stayed up long past the usual time he fell asleep, and his exhaustion was only going to grow worse in the coming days. Until he could figure out how to dispel the curse, he would need to find a way to stave off his growing fatigue. Perhaps Tari could brew him a potion, or maybe Moralasil knew a spell to invigorate him… perhaps the sage might even know a way to break the curse! His heart began pounding wildly with hope. After a moment, however, he took a slow breath to steady himself, trying to temper his expectations. While that would be wonderful, it was better to prepare himself in case Moralasil couldn't aid him. In any case, until he could speak with his lover and her mentor, he would simply have to cope with his mounting exhaustion.
Until then, he mused, he would have to find ways to make use of the additional time he now had. Looking at the moons, he realized, to his chagrin, that it was likely only an hour or two past midnight, at most. He had never realized how much time he spent sleeping until now, when he was forced to endure the silence and stillness of an entire night. The seconds and minutes seemed to be creeping by, especially now that he had nothing to keep his attention. He idly wondered if this was meant to be another part of Meridia's torture – to endure the weight of time as it crawled by.
Telepe pushed himself up from the bench and resumed wandering the city, strolling through the deserted streets while silently composing poems and ballads in his head, as he had done when he'd had free time back in Malabal. That thought brought a melancholy smile to his lips. A few months ago, he had silently wondered – complained, even – that he did not have enough time to keep pace with all the tasks set before him. Now, he would have plenty of time to attend to anything Perrif wished.
Eventually, his aimless wandering attracted the attention of a guard, who demanded to know why he was walking the streets at night. Fortunately, when she recognized Telepe, she simply chastised him for acting suspicious, then demanded that he return to the palace. Reluctantly, he did as she bade and returned to the archives, which were still deserted. After spending some time pondering what to do next, he realized that this would be an excellent opportunity to try to master the invisibility spell that Moralasil had tried to teach him. With a clear objective in mind, he began concentrating his efforts on his magic.
Thankfully, he quickly became so absorbed in attempting to finally learn the spell that he hardly noticed the sky outside lightening from velvety black to silver-grey. Only when a rooster crowed did he realize how much time had passed. To his disappointment, however, his hours of training had not borne fruit. He felt as though he was on the edge of learning the technique, but he couldn't quite push himself past the threshold. At least now he had plenty of free time to keep experimenting, though, he thought drily.
As the sun began to creep over the horizon, Telepe stepped out of the archives and stretched his aching muscles. He was surprised to find that he wasn't as tired as he had feared, especially considering how long he had been practicing magic. Of course, he was still weary, and it was only the first night he had gone without rest, but he was slightly pleased to note that his fatigue wasn't as severe as he had feared.
Telepe made his way to the dining hall, where a servant presented him with a plate of dates, figs, flatbread, and wine, the latter of which he dipped the bread in. Telepe ate quickly, but before he could finish his meal, another figure wandered into the hall. His blood ran cold as Dynar approached him, flashing him a quick smile as he took a seat across from him.
"Good day," the prince greeted him, glancing at the servant and nodding in thanks as he was given a similar platter to Telepe's. He glanced down at the plate and picked up a fig before remarking, "You're up early."
"I was working all night," Telepe replied evasively, glancing away from the prince. "Fortunately, the king has agreed to our trade proposal, so we can depart immediately."
"Excellent," Dynar smiled, looking up again as he bit into a fig. "Though I would like to finish-"
Telepe swallowed hard as the prince stopped mid-sentence, then scowled and leaned in to peer at Telepe's face. Telepe's stomach sank, but he didn't look away as the prince examined his eyes.
"Telepe… are you sitting in the sunlight?" he asked in a low voice. "Your eyes seem… odd."
"They… they are," Telepe sighed, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat.
"Are you feeling unwell?" Dynar asked. There was genuine concern in his voice, but his tone also carried an undertone of suspicion.
"Quite," Telepe replied. He took a deep breath to brace himself, then continued, "I… spoke with Meridia."
Dynar's frown deepened, and then his eyes widened. "You did not," he hissed.
Telepe swallowed heavily again, but didn't turn away from Dynar's accusatory look. "I wished to see if I could bargain with her, to secure peace-"
"After I told you that you shouldn't?!" Dynar bellowed, slamming his hands onto the table and staring furiously into Telepe's eyes. Telepe flinched, but managed to hold the prince's gaze. The Ayleid glared at him for a few seconds longer, then sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Were you successful, at least?" he growled.
"I was not," Telepe confirmed reluctantly.
Dynar nodded as he slowly lowered himself back into his seat. "I see. And I presume that… this is the evidence of her displeasure?" he asked coldly, gesturing towards Telepe's face. When Telepe nodded, he let out a low growl and covered his eyes with his hand. "By Oblivion… for one who's praised so often for his cunning, this was unspeakably foolish of you. You were fortunate to have escaped with your life." The prince paused for a moment, then lowered his hand. "Or… were you?" he asked slowly, narrowing his eyes even further. "What did she do to you?"
Telepe opened his mouth to reply, but to his surprise, his voice suddenly died in his throat. "I…!" he began, but the words seemed caught in his mouth. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but try as he might, he couldn't answer the prince clearly.
Dynar stared at him in confusion, apparently wondering if he was choking on his meal or suffering a head injury. After a few moments of staring at him, however, his eyes widened slightly as realization dawned on him. "You cannot tell me, can you?"
Telepe closed his mouth and shook his head. "It seems I cannot," he confirmed in a bewildered tone. Was this another part of Meridia's curse? "Though, if she wished for me not to speak of how she cursed me, why not simply rob me of the ability to speak altogether? Or at least prevent me from mentioning that she was the one who did this?"
"Pride, most likely," Dynar murmured thoughtfully. "She wishes for us to know that it was she who inflicted this fate upon you, as a warning to any who would dare challenge her power."
Telepe sighed and leaned forward to stare down at the table, his loose, silver-blond hair falling into his face. He scowled and gathered the stray strands and began pulling them into a loose ponytail behind his head. "So… what now?" he asked, looking back up at the prince.
"Now?" Dynar asked, raising an eyebrow. "Now, that depends upon you. Do you believe that you can continue serving the rebellion as you are?"
Telepe hesitated for a moment, then glanced away. "I must," he murmured.
Dynar stared at him silently for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Very well. If you believe you can, then I'll not press the matter." When Telepe blinked in surprise, the prince chuckled. "Is that so surprising? Certainly, we've known each other for only a short time, especially as mer count the years. Yet, even in this short time, I've come to trust you. I can say that about very few of my own race. You should consider that quite an honor, Telepe."
Telepe glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "I do. Yet… should you?" he asked softly.
Dynar chuckled lightly and sat back in his chair. "Do you feel that I shouldn't?" he asked. His smile faded, and he shook his head. "True, you acted foolishly by attempting to speak with Meridia. However, a moment of foolishness is not enough for me to lose trust in you. If you feel that you can continue to work on the rebellion's behalf, even as you are now, then I shall take you at your word."
Telepe smiled weakly and inclined his head. "Thank you, my friend," he murmured. "That is far more kindness than I deserve."
Dynar shook his head as he pushed his empty plate aside and pushed himself up from the table. "Perhaps. However, I shall also warn you – do not give me a reason to feel that my trust has been misplaced," he said in a cold tone. Telepe swallowed and nodded cautiously. "Now, if you're finished, come," he added, jerking his head towards the door. "We have a long journey ahead of us."
It took Telepe, Dynar, and the rest of their entourage slightly over an hour to finish preparing their horses and ensuring that they had all the supplies they needed for the journey south. While they were readying their steeds, Telepe noticed both Pasare and Reili eyeing him curiously, but neither said anything. He wondered if Dynar had already told them what had happened, or if they were waiting for him to explain why his eyes were different. As Pasare looked away once again when Telepe caught her eye, he sighed softly to himself. Even if Dynar had spoken with them already, he decided that the next time they made camp, he would tell them what had happened himself – or, at least, as much as the curse would allow.
"So, you're departing, then?" a liquid voice asked, startling Telepe out of his thoughts. He glanced down to see Ra'karra sitting at his feet, her bright eyes shimmering in the morning light, her tail twitching idly behind her. "Have you informed the Paravant of our proposal?"
"I sent a falcon with a message last night," Telepe assured the feline with a nod. "It should arrive at Silorn in a few days. Chances are high that they'll arrive at the city shortly before the bird arrives, so it should give your people ample time to meet them there."
"Very well," Ra'karra nodded, sounding pleased, though her feline face remained expressionless. "We shall fly ahead then, to meet with the rest of our army. When this one has informed them of our destination, I shall return before they arrive, to prepare your Paravant for their arrival. Even if she knows of our approach, I suspect that a horde of 'savage cat-men' would be unsettling for anyone. I wish to make our arrival as… palatable as possible."
"Yes… that would be best," Telepe agreed drily, shuddering at the thought of what Pelinal might do if he wasn't informed of the Khajiit army approaching.
Ra'karra stared up at him for a moment, then nodded and began padding past him. "Very well. Then hopefully this one shall see you again soon," she said. Telepe smiled as she walked past him, though his smile faltered slightly as she paused mid-stride and glanced over her shoulder at him. "Gold does not suit you, Telepe," she remarked, emphasizing the "silver" part of his name. "It is good for Khajiit and Ayleids… but not you. This one hopes to see silver once more when next we speak."
Telepe blinked at the cat, then chuckled lightly. "That's clever," he admitted softly.
"Perhaps. But no less true," Ra'karra replied calmly, before nodding and bounding off. "Until we meet again!"
Telepe watched the Khajiit dart through the city streets, weaving her way past the citizens' legs until she was out of sight. He smiled faintly to himself, then turned to Emero, who let out a snort as he climbed onto his mount's back. "My apologies, but we must ride hard again," he said in a low voice to the horse. "Can you manage?"
Emero stared at him over his shoulder, then snorted and shook his mane. Telepe scowled at him. "Come now. You complain when I leave you in the stable for too long, you complain when I ride you… what do you wish?" The horse didn't respond, instead turning back around and flicking his ear irritably, which made Telepe grin to himself.
He was joined by his companions shortly after, and together they rode for the city gates. Hardly any of the citizenry paid them any mind as they departed, though a few grumbled as they reluctantly moved aside to let them pass. As he glanced over his shoulder, Telepe spied the king of Miscarcand standing at the top of the steps of his palace, watching them depart. He didn't nod or wave, but even from this distance, Telepe could feel the king's eyes fixed on him. A grim look settled over his face, and Telepe turned back around, following his guides out of the city.
Once they were on the highway again, they set off at a quick pace, traveling more quickly than a walk, but slower than a trot. A few minutes after they departed, a shadow fell over them, and Telepe glanced up in time to see Nahfahlaar flying overhead. He couldn't see Ra'karra riding on the crimson dragon's back, but there was something comforting about knowing she was there. If she could indeed return with an army, that would be one small bit of good news he could present to the Paravant. He felt he would need it to help offset his failure with Meridia.
The group rode east along the highway for most of the day, shadowed the entire time by a quartet of Miscarcand warriors. At first, the others were worried that they were going to be ambushed once they were alone, but Telepe assured them that the king had promised them an escort through his lands, and it seemed he was making good on that oath. Shortly before dusk, the Ayleids turned and rode back west, leaving the group to continue on their own.
Once camp was set up for the evening, Telepe took a seat at the fire between Pasare and Reili, and he briefly explained to the group why his eyes were now gold instead of grey. They listened in awe and disbelief as he told them how he had gone to speak with Meridia, though when he tried to tell them about the nature of his curse, he only got as far as mentioning that he couldn't sleep before his throat once again seized up. After struggling futilely to tell the rest of the story two more times, he gave up and instead simply finished by mentioning that the meeting had gone poorly.
When he finished his tale, Pasare's eyes filled with pity, while Reili tried to make light of it, casually quipping that at least now they didn't need to concern themselves with keeping watch at night. While the others glared at him, Telepe let out a chuckle. He was grateful that the knight was finding humor in his situation, as it strangely made the curse easier to bear.
That night, as he was unable to sleep, Telepe put Reili's jest into practice, sitting in front of the fire and watching to ensure that nothing approached the camp, while absently continuing to practice the invisibility spell. Thankfully, he wasn't alone this time, as Reili, and then two of the other knights, shared the watch with him. They much spent the night talking with each other, which made the time pass by far more swiftly, and while he was very tired by the time the sun began to rise, he wasn't as morose as when they had left Miscarcand.
This pattern continued after they left the highway and traveled southwest towards the city of Silorn. By the third day, they had left the highway far behind them, and Pasare was leading them along hidden pathways and natural passes that were easy enough for the horses to travel along. They made excellent time, especially as the remnants of the jungles of central Cyrod gave way to savannah-like grasslands, with golden stretches of cereal grasses and sparse, shrub-like trees. The only way they could have been moving any faster, Telepe thought to himself, was if there was a road leading due south. Perhaps that was something to consider after the war was over.
Unfortunately, his exhaustion continued to mount as the days crawled by, and by the fourth day after they left Miscarcand, he could hardly keep his eyes open, even with the threat of Meridia's searing light lingering behind his eyes. More than once, he began drifting off on Emero's back, only for the blistering white heat to jolt him awake again.
Of course, it was astounding he had lasted this long before his fatigue truly began to take a toll on him, he mused to himself in a rare moment of lucidity. He had never stayed up for much more than a day in his life, and he had heard tales that most people could only stand two or three days at most before their bodies forced them to rest. He wondered if Meridia's curse was not only forcing his body to stay awake, but actively pushing him along, spurring him until he could reach Perrif and the others and unleash Meridia's fury upon them. After all, there was no point in sending an assassin after them if he succumbed to his fatigue before he even reached them.
Finally, after six days of travel, Pasare climbed to the top of a large, flat rock and pointed at something in the distance. "There we are!" she announced, beaming as she turned to look over her shoulder at her companions.
Telepe was barely conscious at this point, but the sharp tone of her voice pierced through the fog clouding his mind, and he nudged Emero forward to see what she was pointing at. In the distance was a medium-sized Ayleid city, stretched out like a serpent over a small lake. The long walls formed a narrow rectangle which enveloped most of the buildings in the city, and Telepe could see archers prowling on top of the walls like cats. They seemed agitated, he noted, and when he nudged Emero forward a bit more, he quickly realized why. Lying a short distance away, out of the range of their arrows, was a collection of leather tents, ringed by a palisade of hastily constructed wooden spikes. Telepe immediately realized that the camp must belong to Perrif and her army, though he noticed that there were only a few guards posted at the edges of the camp, and the army was not surrounding the city. If the kingdom was not truly under siege, then it seemed that Perrif was upholding her pledge to attempt diplomacy with Silorn before attacking it.
As they approached the camp, two of the Nedic guards posted at the edges spotted them and began to unsling their bows, but they stopped when they recognized the members of the party. They relaxed and nodded in greeting as the group brought their horses up short, and one of them grinned and stated, "Good day to you! The Paravant is expecting you all. Especially you two," he added, pointing to Telepe and Dynar.
"Indeed? Well… we shouldn't keep her waiting, should we?" Dynar asked, giving Telepe a sidelong look. "Are you ready?"
"As I can be," Telepe replied dully, stifling a yawn. "Let's be swift about it. I wish to speak with Tari and Moralasil as soon as possible."
The guard led them through the camp, past the clustered circles of tents. Telepe noticed that some of the soldiers were lounging around, playing dice and trading stories, while others were enjoying midday naps on their leather bedrolls. He felt a pang of jealousy when he saw the latter, and he quickly looked away before another wave of fatigue could wash over him.
The warrior led them to the largest tent in the center of the camp, and as he pushed open the flap, he announced, "My lady? Prince Dynar and Telepe have arrived."
Telepe ducked his head and peered inside. Arrayed around a low, round table were Perrif, Edanu, Moralasil, and some of her other priests and centurions. Telepe only managed to take this in at a brief glance, however, before a small shape hurtled itself at him and fastened itself to his chest, making him grunt, and forcing him to catch himself on one of the tent poles. He looked down to see Tari burying her face into his chest, her arms wrapped so tightly around his midriff that his ribs hurt.
"I missed you as well!" Telepe gasped, awkwardly petting her head as he gazed down at her. Tari responded by tightening her grip around his chest, which made him inhale sharply. The others around the table chuckled as they watched the pair, with one of the centurions even whistling playfully.
"I'm pleased that you all have returned," Perrif greeted them, smiling warmly as she looked up from the table. "I trust that all went well?"
Telepe looked up from Tari to meet Perrif's gaze… but as soon as he made eye contact with her, the searing light began to creep into the corners of his vision, and his irises started to burn. He let out a sharp, pained gasp and quickly looked away, blinking rapidly to clear the tears building in the corners of his eyes. His heart pounded rapidly as he shot another furtive glance at Perrif, only to feel the heat quickly building behind his eyes again, and he once more forced himself to look away.
This damned curse! he thought bitterly. It seemed that if he was this close to Perrif, the curse became stronger, more acute, coaxing him into seeking relief by surrendering to it. Not only was the burning becoming more intense, but his fatigue also seemed more pronounced. He wanted so badly to close his eyes, to rest….
Telepe shook his head rapidly to snap himself out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see the curious stares of the rest of the council fixed on him. Staring down at the floor of the tent, he quickly replied, "We've managed to arrange a truce with the king of Miscarcand. His troops have sworn not to interfere with our campaign so long as we respect his kingdom's independence and sovereignty. We even arranged a trade agreement with him, so we can now exchange our goods for western luxuries and supplies. In time, we may even receive items from as far as Alinor."
"Indeed? That's wonderful!" he heard Perrif say. "Well done! Is there anything else?" she added. Telepe could hear the curiosity in her voice, plainly wondering why he wasn't meeting her eyes.
"There is another matter that I wish to discuss with you in private," Telepe said softly. After a moment's pause, he belatedly remembered, "Ah! And I must inform you that I encountered an acquaintance while in Miscarcand who has offered her aid. An army of Khajiit – the cat-men of the southern desert – should be arriving shortly to join our cause."
"Truly?" Perrif asked. Telepe couldn't tell for certain without seeing her expression, but she seemed either awestruck or concerned – both tones of voice sounded remarkably similar. "Well, we must make arrangements for their arrival, then. Cat-men you say?"
"Indeed," Telepe nodded, glancing at Perrif out of the corner of his eye for a moment before glancing away again when the heat began to creep into his eyes. Glancing down, he saw Tari staring up at him with a puzzled frown. He noticed, much to his relief, that looking at her didn't make his eyes burn, so he held her gaze instead. As he did, however, her eyes suddenly widened with shock as she noticed his golden irises.
"What-?!" she began to exclaim, but she stopped short when Telepe shook his head sharply. She closed her mouth, but continued to frown up at him.
"Where is Whitestrake, by the by?" Telepe asked, looking up for a moment and quickly sweeping his gaze around the tent before lowering his eyes again.
"Scouting the wilds around Silorn," Edanu answered. Telepe looked over at him and was relieved that it didn't hurt to look at the centurion either. Perhaps Meridia's curse was solely directed at Perrif? "He spent most of the day helping to strengthen our defenses, and now he wants to ensure that no reinforcements are coming to Silorn's aid. While we would prefer to secure their cooperation peacefully, if a battle is necessary, we wish to be prepared."
"Wise," Telepe smiled, nodding to the centurion, before looking down at Tari. "Was… there anything else?"
"You said you wished to speak in private?" Perrif prompted him. "We may do so once this meeting is adjourned. Until then, if there is nothing else, I imagine that you're quite tired. I encourage you to rest while you have the opportunity. Prince Dynar?"
"I have nothing to add," Dynar said, giving Telepe a pointed look. Telepe shot him a slight, grateful nod, which Dynar responded to with a shrug.
"Very well. Telepe, allow me to conclude our discussions here, and then I shall seek you out," Perrif nodded.
"With your permission, my lady?" Tari asked. She then closed her fingers around the front of his tunic and began dragging him towards the entrance of the tent.
Perrif smiled slightly and nodded. "Of course," she replied calmly. "This way, I'll know where to find you."
Tari grinned back at her and pulled Telepe with her out into the sunlight. Telepe didn't resist, allowing her to guide him back to her tent. He noticed that hers was large enough to hold at least three people, and that she had set up a small table inside, upon which were her mortar and pestle, as well as various flowers and herbs.
Once they were in the tent, she finally released his tunic and turned to scowl at him. "Your eyes have changed," she accused him. "And you look as though you haven't slept in days."
"That's because I haven't," Telepe admitted. He sat down on the floor of the tent and began telling her about his meeting with Meridia, once again explaining as much as the curse would allow. Tari listened silently for a while, but eventually she wandered over to her table and began placing herbs in her mortar. Telepe hesitated when he saw this, but she motioned for him to keep talking as she worked.
"So, in the end, all I did was anger a Daedric Prince, and now the war continues unabated," Telepe finished with a sigh.
"Quite. You fool," Tari said shortly as she poured the mixture she had been concocting into a small clay bowl. She then poured some water over it and walked it back over to him, pressing it into his hands. "Drink this."
"What is it?" Telepe asked with a frown.
"Poison," Tari replied sarcastically, narrowing her eyes at him. "Drink."
Telepe tilted his head at the slurry, which was an unappetizing tan color, mixed with indiscernible bits of green. However, as instructed, he sipped the mixture, struggling not to gag as he did. When he pulled it away from his lips, nothing seemed to happen for a few moments, but then, slowly, life seemed to return to his tired limbs. His eyes felt lighter than they had in days, and he even felt himself standing up a bit straighter. "That… incredible," he murmured, taking another sip of the potion before looking up at Tari. "What's in this?"
"Poison," Tari repeated with a coy smile. "Rather, it would be, if I didn't temper the ingredients. I used to make this for slaves who were unable to meet our masters' demands due to exhaustion. It'll not only restore your fatigue, but even fortify your stamina and your health for a while, which will to ease your exhaustion. It's a poor substitute for sleep, but it should help keep you awake, at least for a while."
"I… cannot thank you enough for this," Telepe murmured, lowering the bowl.
Tari shook her head and stepped up behind him, wrapping her arms gently around his shoulders. "There's no need to thank me," she murmured in her ear. "You looked after me every time that I was rendered blind. I'm almost pleased that I have a way to return the favor."
Telepe smiled and tilted his head to kiss her cheek affectionately. "Well, I suppose it's good that one of us is enjoying this, anyways," he quipped.
Tari stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. "I would never take pleasure in your suffering," she murmured seriously, before nudging him with her elbow. "Finish the potion. In the meantime, I should also see if Moralasil knows any spells that can help further reduce your fatigue. It'd be useful for me to learn them as well."
"I was going to ask him that myself," Telepe admitted.
Tari grinned. "Indeed? If we agree, then clearly it's a good idea, mm?" She took a seat beside him, leaning back on her hands and staring up at the ceiling, and then she added, "Shall I send for some food? I haven't eaten yet, and I'd like to hear what else you've been doing while we were apart."
When Telepe's stomach growled in agreement, Tari rose from her seat and stepped outside, returning a few minutes later with a clay tray laden with fresh flatbread, cheese, and olives. As they dined together, they shared their stories of the adventures they'd had while they were apart. Tari waited patiently for Telepe to tell as much of his story as the curse would allow, and then she regaled him with her own tales of what she had found in Ceya-Tar. She had descended deep into the bowels of the city, past the remains of the slave pens, to seek out Arcanalata's notes. They were, as she had suspected, safely locked in a desk drawer that no one had dared open until then – perhaps because the citizens feared that, somehow, Arcanalata had cursed her desk, she suggested with a smile. Once she had Arcanalata's notes, she was able to quickly decipher them, thanks to Telepe teaching her to read, but she was dismayed to find that there was no mention of the Staff of Magnus.
"That does not, of course, mean that she knows nothing of it," Tari admitted as she rolled a green olive between her fingers, staring at it despondently. "It simply means that she didn't see fit to make a note of it."
"Quite," Telepe agreed grimly as he slowly tore a piece of flatbread. "Though perhaps we'll be fortunate for once, and she won't have any knowledge of this prophecy. If so, it'll simply be a matter of finding a way onto the island and retrieving the staff ourselves."
"Yes, because infiltrating the heart of Umaril's empire is the simple part," Tari replied drily. She then sighed and looked down. "What's more, I know that I cannot read the Scroll again. The readings have already taken such a toll on my vision." She looked up again, squinting as she peered at Telepe's face. "Even from here, I can hardly see your face," she murmured. They were sitting only about fifteen feet apart, Telepe noted with a grimace. "That pains me more than anything else."
Telepe frowned for a moment, then crawled forward and took ahold of her chin. "Then I'll just have to come closer, won't I?" he murmured. He then leaned in and placed a soft, slow kiss on her lips, which she immediately responded to, albeit somewhat glumly. As he pulled back, he gently ran his thumb across her chin. "And you don't need strong eyes for the activities you enjoy, do you? You can still read, garden, and tend to Sparicus, yes?"
Tari smiled faintly, putting her hand over his. "I suppose," she agreed reluctantly, pulling his hand up slightly and pressing her cheek firmly into his hand. "Though I'd much rather see your natural eyes. Silver suits you far more than gold."
Telepe glanced away from her for a moment, stung by her comment, until he realized that she was teasing him. "Another friend said the same. I suppose that's something for me to strive for, then, isn't it?" he replied with a light chuckle. Tari grinned and nodded in reply.
"Telepe?" a voice called from outside the tent. Telepe lowered his hand as one of the scouts pushed the tent flap open and peered inside. "Forgive me, but someone is asking for you."
"Has Perrif concluded her meeting, then?" Telepe asked, reluctantly pulling away from Tari and crawling out of the tent.
"No... it's a visitor that we're unfamiliar with," the scout replied, glancing away with an uneasy look on her face. "In truth, the camp guards wanted to turn them away, but they asked for you by name, so we presumed that you know them. They seem to be a mer, but no one knows who, or what, they are."
"What do you mean?" Telepe asked with a frown.
"For one, their skin is almost as pale as ours, and they're covered in painted designs," the scout replied slowly. Telepe's frown deepened, and she added, "And when they were talking, their teeth seemed unusually sharp. Almost more like fangs than teeth."
"They… what?" Telepe asked, raising an eyebrow. He was certain that he had never met anyone like that before.
"If you don't know them, would you like for us to turn them away?" the scout asked.
"No," Telepe replied quickly, shaking his head and pushing himself up. "If they're asking for me, I should go see them. Thank you."
The scout nodded and quickly led him to the edge of the camp. There, standing just outside of the palisade, was a young male. He stood a head shorter than Telepe, with slightly tapered ears that made Telepe briefly wonder if he was indeed a half-elven Manmer. However, his face and bare torso were marked with bright blue patterns that were alien to Telepe – some Manmer and Nedes in Malabal did paint their faces, but these designs were unfamiliar. The young man's fingers and toes ended in long, sharply pointed nails that seemed more like claws. He wore nothing but a loose wrap around his waist, tied with a thick, brown sash, and his Telepe could also see a small dagger tucked away in the folds of his simple garment.
Telepe stared at the young man in confusion for a moment, but then movement at the feet of the visitor caught his eye. As he glanced down, a small shape slunk its way past the newcomer's ankles and took a seat in front of him. "Well met once more, Telepe," the diminutive figure purred.
"Ra'karra!" Telepe smiled, inclining his head in greeting. "Forgive me, I didn't expect you to return so soon. Did you ride Nahfahlaar here?" he asked, glancing around.
"Yes, though he's presently about half a mile away, well out of sight beyond that eastern ridge," Ra'karra replied, flicking her tail as she gazed up at him. "Unlike our 'friends' in Miscarcand, we did not wish to alarm you."
"Thank you for that," Telepe replied with a relieved grin, before looking up at the other figure. "And… forgive me, but may I ask your name?"
"This one is J'siro," the young man replied with a polite bow. "I have the honor of being Ra'karra's brother."
Telepe stared at the young man blankly for a long moment, then repeated, "Her… brother?" When they both nodded he hesitated, then asked uncertainly, "Was one of you adopted into your family, perhaps?"
"Mm? No," Ra'karra replied calmly, standing and pacing back and forth in front of J'siro. "My mother birthed J'siro just as she did me. In fact, I was born two years before him."
Telepe's mouth fell open, and he found himself at a loss for words for several long moments. "I… h-how…?" he stammered, completely forgetting his diplomatic manners for a moment.
"It is a trait of the Khajiit," Ra'karra answered, her tone dripping with amusement at Telepe's bewilderment. "The moons determine the shapes that we assume when we are born. J'siro was born in a different month, so he and I look different. We have another sister who appears as a lioness walking upon her hind legs, and our youngest brother walks on all fours as I do, though is as large as a horse."
Telepe's mind reeled at Ra'karra's explanation. He wondered for a moment if she was toying with him, but aside from her smug demeanor, she seemed completely serious. Even if she was, though, it would be impolite for him to disagree, he reminded himself. "I see. Well, this is… unexpected, but you are welcome nonetheless, J'siro," Telepe replied, inclining his head politely once again. "I am Telepe, emissary of the Paravant, the leader of this rebellion." He paused, then looked down at Ra'karra. "Does this mean that your army is arriving shortly as well?"
"This one does not command the army. But, yes," Ra'karra nodded as J'siro pointed to his left. "You can see them coming from the south."
Telepe turned to where her brother was pointing and squinted. In the distance, just cresting over the distant hills, was a procession of lithe figures. Most wore little clothing, often barely more than a wrap and a band around the middles of the females, and many had painted themselves in styles similar to J'siro. Telepe frowned lightly and turned back to Ra'karra with a raised eyebrow.
"You know, I told Perrif to expect an army of cat-men," he commented drily. "While I do not doubt those are your brethren, they are not typically what one pictures when 'cat-men' are mentioned."
"No, but my sister did not wish to alarm your common warriors," J'siro replied easily. "Since I, and many of my companions, are almost identical to elves, we decided to lead the army into Cyrod. The more feline of our warriors are in the rear. We presumed that your men would be far more alarmed by an army of beasts advancing upon you."
Telepe glanced at J'siro and let out a soft chuckle. "You may be surprised, my friend," he said, reaching up and touching his own pointed ears. "There are many who would be just as concerned if our army was suddenly approached by an army of… mer…."
A horrifying thought dawned on Telepe. He could feel the blood draining out of his face, and his heart began to pound rapidly in his chest. Ra'karra tilted her head, and J'siro frowned at his expression.
"Is something troubling you?" Ra'karra asked.
Telepe swallowed, and without answering her, he turned back to the scout, who was still lingering nearby. "Scout!" he shouted, his voice strained, almost high-pitched. "Where did the Paravant say Pelinal was, again?"
The scout opened his mouth, then hesitated. "I'm… not certain," she admitted slowly. "I believe he was still scouting."
At that moment, a blood-curdling roar echoed across the hills. Dread washed over Telepe as he swung back around in time to see a silvery figure in the distance charging at the flank of the Khajiit army.
"Mer!" Telepe could hear Pelinal scream, even from where he was several hundred yards away. "Mer are upon us! Reinforcements have come from the south! Glinferen shall not have his revenge! Die!"
"Whitestrake, stop! They're our allies!" Telepe screamed, cupping his hands over his mouth in a vain attempt to project his voice even further. However, Pelinal either did not hear him, or disregarded him. Telepe could only watch in horror and despair as the knight plunged into the unprotected side of the army and began slashing wildly with his sword and mace.
The Khajiit were completely unprepared for the sudden attack, and many were unable to draw their weapons before they were cut down. Even those that did quickly found that their blades were useless, as their bronze daggers and spears slid harmlessly off of Pelinal's enchanted silver armor. Their efforts only served to enrage him more, and soon, he had burrowed deep into the Khajiiti lines. Telepe soon lost sight of him, but he could still hear the distant screams of the army and see the blood seeping into the golden grass below.
Telepe sank to his knees in despair as the Khajiit army turned and began to flee. Beside him, J'siro watched with barely-contained rage, while Ra'karra stared, unblinking, at the carnage, her tail whipping wildly behind her. None of the three said a word for several minutes, simply watching in utter disbelief and horror as the thousands of Khajiit warriors fled back to the south, relentlessly pursued by the maddened knight.
"Telepe," Ra'karra said in a soft voice, quivering with rage. Telepe flinched, as though she had scratched him. "I bear you no ill will. However, you must understand that the Khajiit will never ally with you now. It shall be a difficult task for me to even convince our leaders not to declare war upon you. For the sake of our companionship, I shall do my utmost to prevent that. However… you may never call upon the Khajiit for aid again."
"I… I understand," Telepe whispered hoarsely, still staring helplessly after the fleeing army.
Ra'karra nodded coldly. "Brother. Let us depart this savage land," she murmured. While J'siro glared at him, Ra'karra didn't even spare him a final glance as she pushed herself up and began padding off into the distance, leaving Telepe alone in the tall, swaying grass.
Telepe didn't move for hours, staring silently at the spot where he had last seen Pelinal run off in pursuit of the Khajiit. When the sun began to sink below the horizon, Tari approached him with a bowl of stew, but he silently waved her off. He had no appetite. The only thing he desired at the moment was Pelinal's return, so that he could confront him and assess the damage that he had wrought.
It wasn't until shortly after dusk that Telepe finally heard the familiar, distinctive sound of heavy mail clinking and plated footsteps thudding across the soft earth. Usually, it was a sound that filled him with dread, but tonight, it made his blood boil. He pushed himself to his feet as Pelinal approached the camp, his weapons hanging limply from his hands. Both his sword and mace, as well as his body, were drenched in blood and viscera. Pelinal also seemed more exhausted than usual, and Telepe could have sworn he almost seemed crestfallen.
"Whitestrake," Telepe greeted him in a cold voice, simmering with rage. Pelinal looked up, then took a moment to remove his helmet before stalking over to Telepe.
"Those… they were not like any elves that I have ever encountered before," the knight said in a quiet growl.
"Is that so?!" Telepe snapped sardonically.
Pelinal narrowed his eyes for a moment at Telepe's tone, then sighed and looked away. "They did not fight like mer. They fought like beasts, with tooth and nail, before thinking to draw their weapons. It was astonishing to witness to such primal strength and agility. Yet still they retreated, screaming, howling. As I pursued them, I eventually encountered others, cat-folk that shielded those strange mer from my blades. Brothers and sisters, they called them. Hearing that cooled my rage. I watched them gather their fallen, screaming and crying for them like siblings. It was then that I realized my grave error." Pelinal looked back to Telepe, almost seeming sheepish. "Those were not mer at all, were they?"
Telepe stared at Pelinal silently, his eyes burning, literally and figuratively. After letting the silence linger for several long moments, he asked softly, "How many?"
Pelinal was silent for a moment, then shook his head. "I cannot say for certain," he admitted. "Dozens? Hundreds, perhaps?" He sighed. "Enough to earn their eternal hatred, I am certain. Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters!" Telepe suddenly roared. He stepped closer to Pelinal, so that his face was an inch from the knight's. Pelinal blinked in surprise, actually seeming taken aback by Telepe's sudden fury. "That was an army that was coming to our aid! They marched for miles across a scorching desert to lend their blades to our cause! Yet as soon as you saw them, you saw fit to attack them, before they even explained themselves!"
Pelinal's eyes narrowed, his momentarily startled expression melting into fury. "Am I to simply allow a threat to approach our camp?!" he shouted back.
"If it poses no threat, then yes!" Telepe barked. Pelinal's eyes narrowed angrily, but for the first time, Telepe didn't care. He was not going to back down this time, not even from Pelinal. "You did not even think to ask if it was a threat!"
"It is not my duty to ask your permission to fight, elf!" Pelinal growled. "My sole duty is to aid the Paravant!"
"Yet all you did was hinder her!" Telepe snapped. "Do you think denying her allies will benefit her?!"
"That is not my concern!" Pelinal snarled. "You may bandy words with mer and beasts as you wish! My sole concern is cutting down any who might threaten her!"
"Then you will drown Cyrod in blood and leave her a queen of ashes!" Telepe growled.
"If necessary, yes!" Pelinal confirmed coldly.
Telepe's eyes widened, and then narrowed furiously. "And what if you are the greatest threat to her vision of a free Cyrod?" he hissed. "Should we not remove you instead?"
Pelinal was about to retort, but then he stopped short, peering into Telepe's face with a deep frown. The longer Telepe stared into Pelinal's bright blue eyes, the stronger the heat behind his own grew. His breath came in short, labored pants as white light began to creep into the corners of his vision. Never had he felt so enraged, yet so empowered. He was tempted, sorely tempted, to unleash Meridia's curse upon Pelinal, to call upon her to smite him. He had little doubt the Daedric Prince would be happy to oblige him. She undoubtedly sought retribution for his invasion of her plane, after all.
Pelinal's hand dropped to his sword as Telepe continued to glare at him. An expression Telepe had never seen before flickered across Whitestrake's face for a moment. Fear? No, not quite. But wariness, caution even. A smirk spread across Telepe's face. It was the first time Pelinal had ever truly been worried by him! If so, perhaps Meridia did indeed possess the power to slay Pelinal and end Telepe's suffering at Pelnal's hands! Perhaps she would spare Perrif in exchange for Pelinal's life! Perhaps slaying the knight would even lift the curse she had placed upon him! He was so tired, both from her curse and from Pelinal's actions. It would be so easy to resolve all of his problems at once!
Just as Telepe half-opened his mouth, however, he stopped, his voice catching in his throat. The part of him that was loyal to Perrif and the rebellion was screaming at him to stop, but that wasn't all that was making him hesitate. Logically, Meridia didn't have the power to slay Pelinal, any more than he did. If she did, surely she would have killed him while he was in her plane. What's more, Meridia hadn't told Telepe what form her assassination of her enemies would take. There was no way of knowing if her choice of retribution was indeed enough to even injure Pelinal, much less kill him. All he would accomplish would be to declare himself a traitor to rebellion, even if he didn't inadvertently slay Perrif in the process.
His anger left him all at once, and he sagged, feeling weaker than he ever had in his life. Pelinal continued to watch him warily, but he slowly removed his hand from his sword. Telepe gazed up into the knight's eyes, a wave of hopelessness washing over him. He was nothing before these divine beings, before Pelinal, Meridia, Morihaus… and Umaril. His accomplishments, whether diplomatic, mercantile, or legal… none of them mattered. The gods could so easily foil any of his plans, whether through a curse, or simply by virtue of being an unstoppable, uncontrollable engine of death and destruction that rendered his carefully crafted alliances pointless.
Telepe sighed and straightened up, then stared defiantly into Pelinal's eyes for a moment. He then spat in the grass at Pelinal's feet. The knight's eyes widened with rage as Telepe pointed to his own eyes and hissed viciously, "This I can bear. After all, you are the most terrible curse the gods ever unleashed upon Nirn, Whitestrake."
He abruptly turned on his heel and stalked back into the camp, shivering with impotent anger and exhaustion, as Pelinal stared silently after him.
Later that night, after everyone except the sentries were asleep, Telepe was still awake in the tent he was sharing with Tari. His lover was sleeping peacefully on the hard leather bedroll, the furs wrapped around her body. Telepe paused in his work to smile fondly down at her for a moment, before returning his attention to the half-written papyrus scroll on his lap, illuminated by a hovering ball of light above his head. Tari had asked him to refrain from practicing magic to conserve his energy, and with little else to do to pass the time, he had decided to focus upon refining the legal code he had given Edanu. There were still gaps that needed to be addressed, and now that he had the time, he could focus his attention on possible sentences that might be passed down from a judge for various infractions.
Behind him, he heard the tent flap open, and he quickly grabbed his sword and swung around. He was surprised to see Perrif crouching in the entrance, smiling faintly as their eyes met. Telepe quickly turned back around as the burning light began to creep behind his eyes again. "It's rather late for you to be awake," he remarked, fixing his gaze on the tablet in his lap.
"And for you," Perrif replied quietly, crawling into his tent and taking a seat behind him. "But I promised you that we would speak when I was available." She paused for a moment, then added softly, "I heard about what happened with the cat-men. I wish for you to know, you were not at fault."
"Of course I wasn't!" Telepe snapped. "It's not as though I could command Whitestrake to stop, any more than I can command a wildfire to stop burning!"
Perrif listened to his outburst silently, then added, "If it's any consolation, he seemed genuinely contrite."
Telepe shook his head. "Remorse won't revive those that he murdered," he growled. "Nor will it repair a shattered alliance." He paused for a moment, then sighed and rubbed his eyes, before pulling his hand away as the light began creeping into the corners of his vision. "Forgive me," he murmured. "I am… utterly exhausted. And you must be as well. You didn't need to seek me out this late."
"No," Perrif agreed. "But I knew that you wished to speak with me in private. And I knew that you would be awake." Telepe stiffened, and he glanced over his shoulder as she added, "I also spoke with Prince Dynar, who informed me of your meeting with Meridia, and what came of it."
Telepe sighed softly and turned back around. "Yes, well… it was a foolish of me, and now I'm reaping the consequences," he murmured. He could feel the light simmering behind his eyes as they spoke, but thankfully, so long as he didn't look at her, it was bearable.
"He also seems to fear that you may pose a threat," Perrif added.
"I may," Telepe admitted. He then sighed again. "I have no excuse. And if Dynar is right, and I may be a danger to you, then I should leave-"
"You should not," Perrif interrupted sharply, startling him. Then her voice softened. "Perhaps it is foolish of me, Telepe, but I trust you. I trust that you shall not betray me, and that you will not do anything to harm me. Furthermore, I am not angry with you for attempting to speak with Meridia."
Telepe raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?" he asked skeptically.
Perrif chuckled. "I admit, I had not expected you to approach her directly. But I told you that you speak with my authority, and that you were free to negotiate with whomever you wish, if you felt it would further the rebellion's goals. It was an audacious idea, certainly, but I bear you no ill will for your decision. It is simply a pity that you must now suffer for it."
"Such is the punishment I deserve for my hubris," Telepe muttered.
Perrif reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. Telepe winced as the light began to sear his insides, and he gently shrugged her hand off of him. "Hubris?" Perrif repeated softly, lowering her hand. "While you are occasionally prideful, Telepe, it is usually tempered enough to prevent you from acting that recklessly. Is pride truly all that drove you to speak with her?"
Telepe hesitated, then chuckled bitterly and set down his stylus. "Hubris is perhaps too narrow an excuse," he murmured. "Desperation, more like."
"Desperation?" Perrif asked. He could hear her shifting behind him into a more comfortable sitting position. "Whatever for?"
Telepe took a deep, shuddering breath, then replied in a strangled voice, "I have no place here, Perrif! I'm a foreign interloper who was only meant to stay for a few weeks to negotiate a simple trade treaty! Even after so long in Cyrod, I still consider it a savage, hostile, alien realm! Nor do I have a place among either Ayleids or Nedes! Mer look upon me and see a man, a savage ape barely better than cattle! Men look upon me and see an elf, a vile trickster who will betray them as soon as they turn their backs! And both man and mer alike see me, more than anything else, as a half-breed mongrel, an abomination that should never have existed!"
Telepe took another deep breath, then continued, "Worse, I am an exile. At least I was once a mongrel who had a home amongst other mongrels. Now, I lack even that. So, what's left for me? I cannot return to Malabal. My king will not have me, and no other king would accept an exile into their service, for I would be seen as untrustworthy and treasonous. The Ayleids here certainly wouldn't accept me, not after all the aid I've given you. And even here in the rebellion… my only place was as your emissary. So long as I could conduct diplomacy on your behalf, I had a role to fulfill. Now, however, it seems that you've surpassed me in even that arena. Please don't misunderstand me – I am pleased by your growth as a negotiator. But I now know what it feels like to be a teacher who sees his student surpass them. It is a bittersweet feeling, as it speaks to my own abilities, as well as yours… but it also leaves me in a precarious position. If you can negotiate more effectively than I can, what use do you have for me anymore?"
Perrif exhaled slowly, then murmured, "Telepe, you shall always have a place-"
"Shall I?!" Telepe interrupted, his voice tightening. "Perrif… you can speak with the gods. The highest beings on Nirn favor you, bless you. How can a common emissary compare with that?" He shook his head sadly. "By the Divines, look at the company that's flocked to you! You have the son of Kyne as your paramour! Whitestrake, the mightiest warrior on Nirn, is your champion, and only you have any control over him! Kings bow before you! High priests of all the gods defer to your wisdom, and an entire army is yours to command!" He glanced down at Tari's sleeping face, and he added, "Even Tari… she has the gift of prophecy. She can read the Elder Scrolls and interpret the future. I… I have none of that. I am surrounded by gods and heroes who have great destinies to fulfill, while I have… nothing. I am no one. The only skill I possessed that set me apart was my diplomatic training. And now, you have surpassed me in even that, in every conceivable way. You are more beautiful than I, more naturally charismatic than I, and now, more diplomatically persuasive than I. And most importantly, you have the ear of beings that I never shall." He glanced briefly over his shoulder as a bitter question rose to his lips. "Tell me, Perrif… what use does a woman who can speak with the gods have for an emissary who cannot?"
Perrif folded her hands in her lap and looked down as a heavy silence lingered between them for several long moments. Then, softly, she asked, "Do you remember, many months ago, when I asked you what your birthsign was?"
Telepe tilted his head thoughtfully, then murmured, "Vaguely. I told you that my sign was the Serpent." He chuckled bitterly. "The most cursed sign in the skies. Fitting, I suppose."
"Yes. It is," Perrif agreed softly. Telepe scowled. "However, I was quite pleased when you told me that, for the Serpent can also be said to be the most blessed sign. Do you know why?"
Telepe sighed softly. "I do not," he admitted.
"The Serpent is the only sign that is free to move about the heavens as it pleases," Perrif explained. "Unlike the other signs, whose positions and destinies are fixed, the Serpent may choose the path it follows. And so do you." Perrif turned him around, forcing her to face him, and he saw that she was smiling warmly at him. He gently removed her hand and turned away, but she continued, "You are correct… you do not walk the path of man or mer. You are not bound by the destiny of a great hero. But that also means that you walk between those paths. You see both sides, man and mer alike, and you serve as a bridge, offering perspectives that others cannot see. That is crucial in this war. And no, perhaps destiny does not have some great plan laid out before you. But that means that you can forge your own destiny." She let out a soft chuckle. "In truth, I envy that freedom."
"Envy it?" Telepe frowned, looking down as the burning in his eyes became unbearable.
Perrif sighed and leaned back on her hands, gazing up at the ceiling of the tent. "The gods set me upon this path of rebellion, Telepe. While it was my decision to free my fellow slaves, it was the gods that demanded I that fulfill a destiny as the liberator of Cyrod. Morihaus and Pelinal are even more tightly bound to the will of the Divines than I, and Tari… Tari's gift of prophecy is perhaps a curse greater than the one you now endure. In knowing the future, one may find that they cannot change it. To say nothing of the toll it is taking on her eyes."
"Something we now share, I suppose," Telepe said with a bitter chuckle.
"I suppose," Perrif agreed with a soft laugh. "But you… you are not bound by the will of the gods. You are free to choose your side, to decide your own actions. When you were cursed by Meridia, it was because of your decision to speak with her. That, in and of itself, is a freedom the rest of us have not been granted. You are a valuable piece on this game board, an unaligned player who could help tip the balance in either direction. And what's more, you may choose your side." Once again, he felt her small hand on his shoulder, and a shudder ran through him. "And I am grateful that you have chosen to ally with us."
She let out a soft sigh as she released his shoulder. "I need you, Telepe. You may think your mixed blood is a curse, but I see it as a blessing. Man and mer alike may disdain you, but they also listen to you, because while they do see in you what they are not, they also see in you what they are. You can understand the viewpoints of both man and mer alike, and in a united Cyrod, where man and Ayleid must live in harmony, I need an intermediary who can see both sides, and convince both sides to unite under one banner. Out of all of our comrades, no one else can do that. And even if there were, I need you. You have offered me so much more than your diplomatic skill and your unique perspective. You have offered me advice, wisdom… and friendship." She let out a soft laugh. "At times, I feel completely alone, even with Pelinal and Morihaus at my side. Yet, whenever I am with people like Dynar, Tari, and especially you, I feel as though I don't merely have followers, but true companions. Even if I met an emissary whose skill surpassed yours in every way, I would want you at my side, because I consider you a dear friend. That alone is enough for me to do anything I must to convince you to stay."
Telepe felt his throat tightening. He looked down and took a slow, shaky breath, then murmured, "…Thank you, Perrif. I… I feel the same. Truly."
"I know. And that's why I know you won't betray me, no matter what foul curse Meridia has inflicted upon you," Perrif said. "No matter what, you shall always have a home amongst us."
Telepe nodded once, then exhaled slowly. "It's quite late," he murmured to her. "You should sleep while you still can."
"I suppose so," Perrif chuckled. "Tomorrow, we shall speak with Moralasil about this curse. If any god might counter Meridia's power, it's Magnus, and I'm sure his priest will be glad to aid us. Until then, please, try not to work yourself too hard."
"I promise nothing," Telepe replied shortly. Perrif laughed and gave his shoulder a final squeeze, and then Telepe heard the flap softly open and shut behind him. Softly, he brushed his eyes and scowled as his fingers came away wet. He irritably flicked his hand and took another slow breath, forcing himself to focus. He still had three dozen more laws to review, and it wouldn't do to stain the papyrus with tears.