A/N: (1) Chapter 7 correction. Mistwatch Keep is in Eastmarch, not the Rift.

(2) Old question re: 300-yr lifespan, found the reference, but it was actually on Bosmer, UESP pages. So I guess lifespans shorten the further away from primary Aldmeri stock? Altmer longest and betmer shortest? That's my overall impression.

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, likewise for mod creators.

Chapter 9: Tales in the Deep

DOV-AH-KIIIN!

Whoa! 400 feet underwater and that sonic boom still shook his bones. He hated to think what it felt like at ground zero. And by the timbre, he'd bet this month's College stipend that Paarthurnax the Dragon was shouting along with the Graybeards. Wonder what's up?

Nothing that had anything to do with him, that's for sure. He went back to his knitting. Can't ever have too many scarves in Winterhold. Besides, it was a simple, calming physical meditation that kept the nervous animal part of his mind busy and left the rest for him to contemplate things like deadlines, training schedules, student evaluations, and adjusting lessons plans for the rest of the week.

And he had six hours to kill in this decompression bubble.

He'd been working 800 under with the Windhelm argonians demonstrating and testing the new staves. One was a breaker stave that used explosive bursts of fire and force to break rocks. The other was a drill stave made of two parts. The swappable tip half was studded with industrial-grade diamonds, the other half was the handle and power source. Both tools were deadly out of the water, the rock breakers would just explode and the drills would have a friction melt-down and explode into molten metal and diamond bits. It was only the subzero temp and depth pressure that made the tools practical. They still needed to work some kinks out with the operator safety gear, like, eye protection from the light and shrapnel, ear protection for percussive blasts, thick, padded armoring with safety anchors, again because of blast waves... It wasn't easy. Too bad there were no argonians mages currently at the College. Oh, there were students this year, but an experienced mage interested in serious research and development in construction techniques was hard to find. They'd advertised, but most of the argonian mages who'd answered were more the destructive/couldn't make it as a bandit type. They'd put out some inquiries with the mage groups in Black Marsh, but so far nothing. While the work was interesting, being required to live and work this deep in arctic seas was the deal breaker.

So he made do with J'zargo's help. Curtis drafted the designs and explained the concepts and desired results to J'zargo who then had the really difficult part of constructing the destruction spells and controls for non-mages. He also couldn't pre-test the spells because they were too dangerous until at the correct depth. J'zargo had to wait at the surface. The current deep water drugs didn't work with khajiit and one cat, even if he was willing, wasn't worth risking. Good news was these test staves worked perfectly. The cat now could boast of being a master of constructive destruction. He just had to produce 12 more pairs in the next two weeks. He was going to be one exhausted, grumpy cat.

Money was getting critical and the tools were needed for the argonians digging through the ruins of old Winterhold for lost treasures.

He looked up from his knitting as two dunmer entered the decompression station. They were on the home fabrication team and working on taking measurements and making todo lists for pod modifications for the argonians' comfort. They grumbled at the six hours. Curtis didn't bother explaining to them that without the magic potions and the College medics stationed in each bubble, initial, unassisted decompression and natural elimination time an individual's body needed to process out the low-oxygen assist drugs could be three days to a week.

He also didn't bother telling them just how depressing a non-magical decompression chamber could be. Here, in this pod, there was adequate room for up to a dozen people, comfortable cots, an alchemy area for the medic, a mini-kitchen with magic heaters to reheat meals, shelves that held books, cards and games, a shower room to remove salt and deep-sea slime, complementary robes to wear while the non-argonian diving suits enchanted to compensate for pressure was magically dry cleaned, and even a separate toilet area. In all consideration, these pods were fuckin' five-star fantastic.

The next five in were argonians and one dunmer. Drains-the-Swamp had been showing his great granduncle Brand-Shei the work sites.

+—+—+—+—+—+

"Brandyl Tenvanni is the name I was given," said Brand-Shei, "according to the book Helsette Faro found for me at the wreck of the Pride of Tel Vos. Now that I had a family name, the Temple's Kin Finders located Folayna, my father's sister. She had been doing business in Blackreach when the invasion occurred. She'd taken that assignment in his place so that my father could remain with my mother during the last weeks of her pregnancy. She and my father had been in charge of collecting port fees and taxes."

"Wow. That's great," said Curtis. He remembered the book. It had been Lymdrenn Tenvanni's last thoughts as he held his newborn son while hearing the tramping of the argonian invaders overhead looking for dunmer to kill. "How'd she take the news that you were raised by Argonians?" At Brand-Shei's hesitation he quickly added, "Sorry. Too personal and not really my business, I know. Old-world prejudices and life-span differences can be hard to get past." Dammit. It was a pain having to pretend he didn't know anything about Brand-Shei. Game people weren't always the same as real people and the book meant for Brand-Shei may have read different.

"We're... negotiating," Brand-Shei admitted. "I can appreciate her anger. As you say, life-spans... It's said matters of the heart knows no time, so what is true for love is also true for hate."

"And maybe some guilt," said Curtis, staring slightly cross-eyed at nothing. "Tel Vos was a slave trade port even if Master Aryon was instituting some liberal changes on the treatment and care of slaves. And your family, being port officials, would certainly be targeted by the argonians. Didn't matter if they weren't active in the trade as raiders or transporters, they enabled the business. Sure, the argonians killed your family, but maybe there's survivor's guilt also in play. It was just business, handling the port paperwork for the slavers, but still... And maybe your family had argonian slaves. Did they turn on their owners or were they loyal enough to plead with their avenging people to spare the life of their owner's newborn child while so many others died in the invasion? Would your aunt be second-guessing all her past interactions with the house slaves?"

"Maybe," said Brand-Shei, his dry voice cutting through Curtis's free-floating thoughts to crash him back to the present moment. Brand-Shei's expression was hard to read. Drains-The-Swamp and the other argonians gathered around were staring at him like only lizards could. Fuck. Curtis felt like a stupid, chirping cricket that had hopped into the wrong terrarium.

"Worth consideration though. I wouldn't know about house slaves.

"I still have no idea why I survived. My adoptive father, Salish, had a large fishing boat and he was drafted to bring the soldiers to Vvardenfell; he was not obliged to take part in the land battles. When he returned war party home to Black Marsh, he found me while inspecting the deck after they had disembarked. Don't know who brought me aboard, kept me quiet and fed during the journey back, but there I was. No one would have thought any worse of him if he'd tossed me over the side with the trash, but he took me home with him and Flowers-on-Water, tired from laying her clutch of three eggs, was willing to adopt me as well."

"Wow. You lucked out big time." Curtis scratched at a non-existence itch at the back of his neck and wondered how to change the subject. Fortunately, Brand-Shei felt the same.

"Your turn, ser. From whence comes your not-very-dunmer name?" asked Brand-Shei.

"Oh... Well, weirdly enough it's the only one I know. See, I'm told that before I came to Skyrim I was in Raven Rock and there I was known as 'Slitter.' Some kind of bodyguard to an orc loan-shark, er, money-lender. He got killed and Slitter left before he could be next. On the way, the ship sunk and he drowned. That's when I came in. See, my first memory is swimming up in ice-water to avoid drowning. I knew my name was Curtis Johnson. What I didn't know was that I was apparently a dunmer. I was damned confused. I didn't know how I'd gotten where I was or how I came to be dunmer. The day Drains here rescued me was my first day on this world.

"Yeah, the folk at the College asked me in all sorts of ways if I'd pissed off Uncle Sheo so much that he'd kicked me off the Shivering Isles. Couldn't find any trace of daedric magic on me though. Heh, they're certain it's aedric magic. If I'm insane, well, then at least I'm so far into it that I can fake sanity. Makes sense?"

Brand-Shei managed a faint, amused smile. "Maybe if I drank skooma, friend, but even then I doubt it. You say you were surprised you were dunmer. Were you human originally then? Is necromancy suspected? But, no, not if they think the Divines are involved."

"Uh, yeah. Big mystery is who and why. So until I find out, Drains here was nice enough to give me a job."

"Worth every scalebit," said Drains, hiss-chuckling. "Even if half the time no one can understand what you say."

"Yeah, but I produce, right?"

"Yesss."

"What the Hist is that?" exclaimed the lizard nearest the door to the entry room.

All eyes turned to the creature in the doorway. It almost looked like an altmer, tall enough but the eyes were white, the hair colorless, and the skin had a translucent jelly quality that rippled in such a way that Curtis could imagine it disappearing in water like a chameleon would in leaves or a squid against corral. It wore armor reminiscent of falmer but of lighter, more delicate appearing chitin. It was also female. She didn't appear hostile though her right hand cautiously rested on a belt knife and her other hovered near the knife strapped to her left thigh.

"Is that a fish elf?" asked Curtis. "I read about them in one of the Wolf Queen books."

"Maormer," said Brand-Shei. "But what is one doing so far north? They only live in tropical waters."

"Windhelm?" the fish elf rasped.

They all pointed upward in a southwestern direction.

"Go back along the coast and first large, wide freshwater river from inland that tastes of ice melt with no ash. Swim up that. Windhelm is a heavily fortified city," said Drains in common speech. "Be wary. The nords are not friendly to mer. It is also spawning season and many predators along the banks. If you go visit my kind in the deeper pods," he pointed down in the proper direction, "they are recent come from Windhelm and can give you better directions and advice."

The strange female nodded, apparently understanding, put on her helmet (which looked like a jewel-crusted octopus, the body bag fitting over her head, with stomach-turning tentacles writhing and locking onto hooks on her body armor), and left.

"Now that," said Curtis, "is one deep sea mermaid." He abruptly rushed to the nearest window. "I wonder if she rode a waterdragon here? It's way too far to just swim." A couple of argonians rushed to the entry room to dive back into the water for a better look.

"Ohmygods! That's a fucking megladon!" Exterior lights gave them the brief, ghostly image of a shark bigger than their bubble. It had large bundles strapped to its sides and at least three riders. It angled downward for a dive then disappeared into the deep with a seemingly lazy wiggle of its body.

"Oh, man, I wish they could've stuck around more," Curtis mourned. "I mean, that diving gear she wore! Just imagine the enchantments on them. We sure could use 'em."

"I'm more wondering what business a maormer has in Windhelm," said Brand-Shei.

"What was that book you were talking about that mentioned maormer?" Drains asked Curtis.

"Oh, it's part of that book series about Queen Potema who was trying to make herself the Empress. There was one tale where Potema royally screwed over the fish elf king."

"And literally," chuckled Brand-Shei. He knew the story and entertained everyone the next hour by recounting the story both in common and in Jel for two argonians who didn't speak common very well.